FSE

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Author's Note: What follows is a work of furry fiction, and all characters and events, whether real (I certainly hope not) or imagined, are © me. Also, a warning: some things in this story may offend you or make you think I need psychotherapy, but you have just as much right to turn away as you do to keep reading. It's your decision. Yes, it's not particularly yiffy, but I decided to include it anyway for the hell of it. I can have my depressing moments, can't I?

Feedback always welcome to [email protected]

Whimper ©MMIII, MMIV Whyte Yoté

This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends-

Not with a bang but a whimper.

-T.S. Eliot

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morning sun fell through the bare windows and into the small, neutral bedroom. The two squares of light on the wall were dappled with dark spots, shadows of rain droplets that had not yet been evaporated by the rising heat of the late spring dawn.

Jamie lay on the bottom bunk, breathing slowly and deeply, staring at the springs of the bed above him. He had already been up on the roof, before sunrise, smoking in the wet silence among the scattered puddles there.

Charlie didn't like him smoking, and for a while he had been silent. Not anymore, though. Now, Charlie was "chattering" louder than ever. He did this whenever Jamie hesitated, whenever he was trying to resist. Jamie had gotten good at blocking Charlie's insistent voice at first, but like a virus Charlie had adapted and found new ways to poke through each wall put up.

Charlie's "chattering" consisted of a constant series of sounds, blended into an annoying little hum at the base of Jamie's skull. Sometimes it was easy to bear, but when he was sitting here, still and vulnerable on the seventh floor in his empty dorm room, the noise was almost too much.

Ever so often Charlie would shout, something similar to Tourette's syndrome, but of which Charlie was in total control. It had started with simple words and phrases, most of which Jamie couldn't even remember anymore, but this morning (and for the past week or so) Charlie had had some things on his mind.

(kill them all)

Well, Jamie thought, you just might get your wish, you bastard.

* * *

Outside, the world woke up to another Monday morning, so sure and predictable in its daily tasks that the little fox could say without a doubt that no one on the planet except him (and Charlie, don't forget Charlie, the voice cooed) knew what might happen. He stared upward, listing mentally all the things he needed to do before he set himself free of Charlie for good. He sang to himself, twitching his tail and twiddling his thumbs as he did so. It was the only defense he had left against the monster in his mind.

(I know what you're trying to do, James. Trying to block me out, and you know I don't like that. There is nothing in here I don't know about, so why try?)

But Jamie just changed the tune and kept humming. He thought of how this whole situation started, and wondered for the thousandth time if it could have been prevented. And, for the thousandth time, he came to the conclusion that there was really no way it could have been.

* * *

It was midterm week, and despite all the stress from exams Jamie had breezed through his classes. He only had one more test left before he could let go for fall break. His mind, if not his body, needed the time off.

Charlie came out of a migraine during the last exam of the week. Jamie was trying to fill in one of those annoying little bubbles on his answer sheet when the pain enveloped his entire head in a matter of seconds. It was a little like brain-freeze, but infinitely worse. Colors swirled in his vision, and his ears filled with the white roar of a restless ocean, soft but heinously evil. And then that voice

(do you want me to stop it?)

YES! was the reply, and the vulpine almost screamed at the sudden silence of the testing room. He looked around, as if other students might have heard the noise coming from his head, but of course no one had. He massaged his temples with shaky fingers and tried to pick up his pencil again with sweaty pads, but found it impossible. He was so scared and bewildered he had to give up on his exam and slunk out of the classroom, head hung low.

* * *

Charlie didn't have a name until a few days after the exam, when Jamie had been making lunch. The fox opened a can of tuna and began to mix a tuna salad, and screamed, aloud this time, when the voice came back.

(whatcha doin?)

"Making lunch," replied Jamie, embarrassed to be talking to himself in the kitchen.

(I can't hear you when you talk out loud), the voice said, although it sounded as if whatever was there could hear just fine.

Making lunch, sorry. He paused. What's your name?

(What do you want it to be?) The voice was patient and soft.

The fox looked around, and his eyes landed upon the can of tuna, with its blue mascot smiling stupidly back at him.

How about Charlie?

(Good. I like that. It's my name, then.)

At the start Charlie had wanted to be friends with Jamie (something the fox found out later to be completely false). Despite the unnerving nature of having someone (or something) else in his head, it was a change of pace to say the least. It didn't take long for Charlie to change.

The pace took a decidedly darker detour one night when he went on a date with his girlfriend. As they sat in the movie theater, Charlie kept prodding Jamie to touch her, to try and cop a feel. Shy fox that he was, Jamie couldn't bring himself to do something like that, but Charlie kept chattering, louder and louder, until the fox could no longer take the noise in his mind.

"I'm sorry," he apologized in advance as he reached over and grasped his date's left breast through her shirt, and promptly got his muzzle slapped for it. "I'm sorry," he repeated through gritted teeth as Charlie's chattering grew in intensity and his cheek burned. They had driven home in silence, and by the time they reached the house Jamie finally got enough control of his tongue to try and explain what had happened in the theater.

"I didn't mean to...I mean, it wasn't me, but...I can't really ex-" then his mouth fell dead as Charlie rose up in him and pushed-he was sure he had been pushed-out of his own body. He fell away into thick white fog for a fleeting moment, and emerged again to find himself sitting atop Eileen's chest and pressing a pillow into her head.

The fox yelped and rolled off to one side, giving his girlfriend air and cursing as the weight pressed his painfully erect penis into the floor (he had no recollection of becoming aroused, nor had he been when he woke up). The girl lay on the floor, writhing and coughing. Jamie could only sit a few feet away, curled up into a ball and scared to death. It was evident that Charlie didn't like Eileen, and he definitely didn't like being talked about. He had made that undeniably clear.

That's when the fox first discovered that his mind and body were not totally his own anymore, that if he couldn't find a way to make Charlie go away he would end up hurting himself, or other people.

It took the better part of three weeks for Jamie to reconcile with his girlfriend. After much pleading and begging, she accepted his apology and explanation that the whole thing had been pure instinct, and a bad choice. Only she didn't know that Jamie had had no choice at all. As the two hugged, Charlie laughed the whole time.

(I'll let you spare her), he said.

What does that mean? asked Jamie, but the voice remained silent.

* * *

The fox threw his lanky legs over the side of the bottom bunk and padded to the bathroom down the hall. He pulled his boxers down and aimed into the urinal, and met the usual resistance. Jamie had learned that Charlie disliked the act of elimination even more than he disliked the smoking. The only problem, as effective as it was at shutting Charlie out for the time being, was that the time was so short and couldn't be repeated at will. Jamie pushed a couple of times and managed to break free of Charlie's mental restraint on his bladder, and sighed as he relieved himself. He would have smiled, had he remembered how to.

He returned to the room and opened a window to let in the fresh morning air. It didn't do much to improve his mood, but it added noise to remind him of reality. These days it was harder and harder to tell the difference between what was real and what was another of Charlie's illusions. Leaning on the windowsill, Jamie concentrated on covering his bases. He wanted to make sure everything was taken care of before it became too late to turn back.

Charlie had, swiftly and methodically, destroyed every single aspect of the vulpine's life. First, it was the dreams. Charlie made a cameo appearance in every single dream Jamie had, and usually turned them into nightmares too horrible to recall the next morning. They all resulted in cold sweats, and eventually the fox ceased to sleep at all. Smoking was his only solace, and the closest he could come nowadays. The nights were the worst, and he was glad there wouldn't be any more of those.

Of course, his relationship had dissolved after the second time Charlie had taken over. One minute, the two were talking on the couch, the next minute Charlie had practically shoved Jamie down into the white fog. It took him longer to climb out of it the second time, and when he finally did he awoke to see his girlfriend running out of the room bawling. He didn't even bother asking why or calling her back, because somehow he knew that whatever Charlie had made him do was unforgivable.

(I'm all the friends you'll ever need), said Charlie.

Yes, you are. Jamie dejectedly accepted. He felt like crying, wanted to, but just wasn't able.

The insomnia took its toll on the rest of his life as well: his classes, his social agenda, everything. Granted, he wasn't the most popular guy on campus, and he didn't have many friends, but what ties he may have had to the outside world disappeared the more Charlie interfered.

The answering machine (before he sold it) had shown three messages in the last two days, undoubtedly from concerned professors or, more likely, his parents. Jamie hadn't talked to them in almost a month, and he usually called once a week, sometimes more. For a time the only reason he wouldn't take the final step was because of them; he knew he would be leaving them without a son, the only child they had. But now that he had seen just what Charlie was capable of, he didn't want his parents seeing him like this: thin, weak, and unkempt.

(Haunted), Charlie rasped from deep down below, and the fox shuddered right down to his tail. He was right.

Looking at his watch, he saw that noon was fast approaching. It was almost time, and Jamie rolled off the bed sleepily. He dreaded the task ahead of him no more than he looked forward to it: just another thing to be done. The last thing.

He showered, dried, and put on the only clothes he hadn't given away. The ratty blue jeans and white T-shirt looked huge on his meager frame, but that didn't matter any more than anything else did. He did take a while to brush his russet fur. Charlie ho-hummed the entire time, but let the fox indulge himself.

Jamie checked the room one last time to see that everything was gone. What little things he did find he threw out the window, not looking as they fell the seventy feet to the sidewalk below. He walked out without locking the door, knowing that the first thing the next person opening that door would see would be his letter.

The seventh floor was silent, as was the elevator on the way down to the lobby. The Resident Assistant at the desk, a raccoon whose face he recognized but whose name Charlie had erased, looked up at him and smiled as he approached.

"Hey bud, haven't seen you on campus in forever," he said jokingly, then turned serious when he saw the fox's haggard look and sunken eyes. "Jamie, you alright? Finals take it out of you?"

Charlie was getting impatient and chattering louder. "I'm going...to be on the news tonight." He pointed at himself, as if to emphasize the point. "Promise you'll watch."

The raccoon looked confusedly back at him. "Say what?"

"I'm...just promise," Jamie tried to smile, but his mouth felt like it weighed a million tons.

The RA nodded his head slowly, like a teller in a bank heist. Jamie set his key down on the desk and headed for the door.

"Jamie, I need someone to do a room check for you. Jamie? Hey-" the voice faded as the heavy metal door closed behind him.

Transportation wasn't hard to find, as there were quite a few bikes still chained to the rack to the side of the building. There were almost as many unchained, and Jamie commandeered one of these for the short ride to the gun shop. As he rode, he saw how dead the campus and town were so close to the end of school. The town was a college town, revolving around the mass migration of students to and from school each semester. There was only one more day left, and then three months of lazy summer break. The wind felt good on his fur and in his ears.

Only ten minutes later, he pulled onto the main drag and stopped in front of the gun shop. A tiny bell above the door rung as it opened and a few moments later a hulking bear behind the counter greeted him. He smiled, something that looked genuine but seemed distrustful. Jamie was, after all, barely legal enough to buy a gun.

Charlie was pushing to take over.

"Can I help you, son?" the bear asked, sounding as if he knew he wouldn't be making a sale off this kid.

The fox just stood there, looking blankly up at him. He tried to talk, but his mouth wouldn't move. He knew Charlie wanted to go to the gun shop, knew Charlie had said he wanted guns, but now that he was here he had no idea of where to start.

Charlie pushed harder, and got through.

He felt himself convulse, and then it was like watching a movie through his own eyes. Charlie moved his body with ease now that he had almost total control. He jumped quickly from case to case, eyeing pieces and ammunition. Names and numbers flashed in front of his vision; evidently, Charlie knew exactly what he was going for. He returned to the counter and regarded the bear condescendingly.

"Semi auto, my man. I'll need that, that and two of those. Plus magazines," said Charlie, gesturing to several cases and behind the counter. His heart beat faster and he had begun to harden slightly in his pants. Jamie moaned a little.

The bear put up his hands. "Whoa there, kid! Are you even old enough to buy one of these? I can only sell you one, and there's a three-week waiting period for the paperwork. What, you have something you need to kill in a hurry?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes." Jamie moaned again, fearing what Charlie would do.

The bear cocked an eyebrow and narrowed his gaze at the fox. A sale was a sale. "Fine then, let's get down to business. One gun, your choice, three weeks for the paperwork and one week's wait for ammo. You got a license?"

"You want to let me look at one of those behind you, friend, or are you going to sit on your fucking paws and let twelve hundred dollars slip through your chubby fingers?"

Growling quietly, the bear reached his meaty arms up and grabbed something that looked like a sniper rifle off the high shelf and set it on the counter. The glass clanked heavily underneath its weight. Charlie picked it up eagerly, grunting as he heaved it into firing position.

"This'll do," he said. Jamie watched his hands open the magazine, cock the trigger, and fire several dry shots as if he'd done it plenty of times before. "Go get the papers and get me out of here like a good man." The bear turned, obviously pissed but hoping to earn his money nonetheless, and disappeared around the corner.

Jamie spoke up for the first time. How are you going to get that gun? What makes you think you can just walk out of here and shoot someone without attracting attention?

(What makes you think I don't want to attract attention? Don't underestimate me you little fuck. You have no idea. Say, do you like pain?)

No, of course not! Why?

(No reason), said Charlie as he shoved Jamie's right fist into the front of the display case. The safety glass cracked on the first try, and shattered on the second. Jamie cried out in pain and surprise, watching as his hand reached through the glass, the skin slicing open on the shards. Charlie grabbed a box and yanked backwards, pulling more sharp fragments out with it.

How could you? Jamie shouted, but Charlie was busy breaking the box open and shoving a loaded magazine into the gun. He raised the hand up in front of his eyes, turning it around so Jamie could get a good look at what he had done. He picked the remaining glass from the bloodstained fur and licked slowly up and down the palm.

(God, that's good!) Charlie exclaimed, and Jamie felt sick. He had to get back control, and fast. They both looked to the back room around the corner when heavy footsteps approached.

The bear turned the corner, and his eyes went wide when he saw the scene in front of his counter. The fox turned, aimed the weapon he had been inspecting earlier and fired with his half-shredded right hand. Three button-sized holes appeared in the bear's left thigh, but the wall behind him darkened with a fine mist of blood. He was thrown back and collapsed onto the floor holding what remained of his leg.

Charlie walked over, touched the tip of the gun's muzzle to the bear's head, and said, "The keys to the store and the keys to your car, now."

"P-p-promise you won't k-kill me." The bear sounded afraid and defiant at the same time.

"Promise," said Charlie, but both he and Jamie knew there was no chance in hell the promise would be kept. The bear rummaged through his pockets, never taking his eyes off the gun staring him in the face, came up with two separate rings of keys, and threw both onto the floor at his feet.

"Thanks," Charlie said coldly, and pulled the trigger again before Jamie knew what was going on. He screamed inside, wanting to close his eyes against it all, but felt the rush of adrenaline as Charlie bent down to inspect his handiwork. The bear's head above his eyes had ceased to exist; all that remained was a mass of what resembled bloody tapioca pudding and a gaping hole in the floor. Charlie kicked one twitching hand away as he picked up the key rings, carefully avoiding the rapidly growing puddle of blackish-red on the floor.

Jamie had no words. The horrific trepidation was still there, but not as strong. Charlie was breathing normally, but the fox's lungs were starving. He pushed to get out, and was so startled when Charlie let go he almost fell into the broken counter.

He was thrust back into the world, and the sudden rush of color and sound almost caused him to pass out. The fox stumbled, dizzy and disoriented, then grabbed onto a glass case for balance. For a moment, he wanted to beg Charlie to take control again, but forced himself not to. Besides, when he had regained his balance, Charlie had disappeared altogether.

The store was silent, except for the small tick-tick of the cheap clock on the wall behind the main counter. Jamie looked up: after one o'clock, he made out behind the blood-spattered glass. The blood reminded him of what Charlie had done, had made him do, and tears welled in his eyes again.

No, he yelled to himself, you will not do this. Not like some baby. The voice in his head sounded like Charlie in tone, but it was his own.

Instead, anger started to replace the despair and sadness within him. None of this was his fault, despite what Charlie had tried to tell him. There was no way out, not now. He had killed someone, and there was too much evidence to point to anyone else but him. So he would finish it, then. Give Charlie what he wanted, and even more. This whole time he had been staring blankly at the clock, and when the bell above the door rang he jumped again. An elderly tiger came in, holding a gun so tiny it could only be one of those reserved for part-time house protection.

"Hold it!" Jamie yelled in a voice that was not his, and he had aimed his weapon straight at the tiger's head before he knew what was going on. The tiger, confused, looked at the young fox for a moment, saw the body of the shop's owner on the floor behind him, and his mouth dropped open.

"DO IT, GODDAMMIT!" he yelled again. The tiger threw his arms up to the ceiling, edging carefully around the display cases between himself and Jamie to face the fox head-on. He was halfway there when Jamie pulled the trigger. The store filled with light and a roar, and the tiger's neck disintegrated like a pumpkin at Halloween. Bits of flesh and tendon flayed out, still attached by mere strings. The tiger collapsed backward, not having said a single word, and slid to the floor. The case behind him dripped bright red.

The scent of death hung fresh in the air now, and it was overwhelming. Jamie snuffled and wrinkled his nose, stifled more sobs, and walked unhurriedly to the front door. He locked the door before turning and starting down the street. His heart felt ready to explode in his chest, from fear or exhilaration he couldn't tell.

He had only made it half a block when Charlie came back.

(Nice work, buddy. You're learning well.)

Shut up, thought the vulpine, and was promptly slammed into the side of a building. Charlie didn't like to be mocked, and he had ways of dealing with insubordination. His head split open painfully above the temple and blood (his own this time) ran from the wound through his red fur, turning it a brownish-black.

(Don't do that again, FRIEND, or I'll do more than bash your head in. You forgot the ammo, genius, so why don't you be a good pup and retrieve it?)

The fox turned around without replying and started back towards the store, holding his throbbing head. He looked up at the street again, surprised that the world still looked so normal when his life was spiraling out of control so quickly. He unlocked the door, rummaged through some cases, and came back out with a box of clips. This time, after locking the door he threw the keys in the nearest trash bin.

(Find his car) said Charlie, and the fox suppressed the urge to do a "you're wish is my command" imitation. He looked at the set of keys he hadn't thrown away and saw a pouncing jaguar on the keyless-entry fob. Easy enough, a Jaguar should be easy to spot in this town. After a cursory glance up and down the street, and not a Jaguar in sight, he moved around back of the store, where a late-model XK8 sat gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. A deep navy blue with a beige soft top, it would get him where he needed to go.

(The old fart sure had a good eye for wheels) said Charlie, but Jamie ignored him. He unlocked the car and climbed in, setting the gun and box of ammo on the passenger seat. Now what? he thought, and Charlie pushed to the forefront again.

(Now I take over.) Once again, Jamie was sucked back down into his own subconscious, but he managed to hold on before the fog obscured everything he could see. Like someone being sucked into a whirlpool, he held on with one hand (at least that's what it felt like to his mind) and watched what Charlie did with his body. He turned the key in the ignition, and sighed in satisfaction as the engine settled into a throaty purr. Charlie put the car into drive and shot out of the alley, just in time to clip a little hatchback coming at them from the left.

There was a sharp sound, like a gunshot, from behind and Jamie glanced into the rearview mirror just in time to see the hatchback's front bumper fly off the car and into opposing traffic. Charlie kept on driving, and the scene of the accident (that was no accident, he thought) was soon left behind them. The Jag roared and thundered ahead, picking up speed well past the limit.

Why are you doing this? Why me? Jamie practically begged for an answer. When there was none, he climbed the rest of the way out of the fog and pushed up against Charlie, fighting for control of the car.

(What the fuck do you think you're trying to prove?) shouted Charlie. He sounded like someone who is just about to flick a housefly off his shoulder. Jamie pushed again, hard, and suddenly the entire right side of his body went limp. The Jag began to drift as the wheel steered itself for a moment, then Charlie took over with the left arm.

He was clearly pissed, and Jamie could feel the unbridled ferocity and heat from Charlie's presence. He could also feel the growing energy emanating from Charlie, while he was losing more and more of his own. Soon the fox wouldn't be able to stop him from carrying out his horrific agenda. He decided to save his energy and fell back a bit.

Charlie regained use of the rest of Jamie's body and floored the accelerator. Soon the Jag hit sixty and the buildings on either side whizzed past. He was joyriding, and clearly enjoying the experience. His eyes were focused straight ahead, and never looked to the side for other vehicles.

He didn't even see the baby carriage.

All of a sudden, they were upon an intersection, bathed in the glow of late afternoon sunshine. Jamie could see the bright blue of the carriage and its harsh shadow, and young woman's face as it turned lazily in their direction. Her eyes widened, and she didn't even have time to scream before the powerful Jaguar bore them under. Jamie howled inside his mind's prison, but it did nothing to change what was happening in front of his eyes. The car hit the mother squarely in the waist, snapping her body sideways over the front of the hood, her head hitting the metal and leaving a deep dent there. Blood misted the windshield, and the woman was gone from sight below the wheels. The baby carriage bounced off the right side of the front bumper, tumbling end over end through the busy intersection into cross traffic. A small bundle, wrapped in the same blue as the carriage, was thrown free and hurtled through the air into the path of oncoming cars.

Jamie forced his eyes shut, couldn't dare to look at it anymore. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry was all he could think, and he knew no one could hear him or help him. Charlie flipped the left turn signal on and turned as if nothing had happened. Once they were clear of the intersection, Jamie stole one last glance in the rearview mirror. People had begun to gather around the two bodies on the pavement, and the blanket beside the carriage was no longer blue, but a coagulated black.

* * *

For the next few minutes, neither spoke. Charlie was still in command, and Jamie had the terrible feeling that if he tried to push forward again that voice in his head would kill him. Who knew what Charlie could do, now that he had killed four people?

(the baby oh God the baby)

and he was whistling merrily as he drove, oblivious to the fact that at least thirty people now had the description of the stolen Jaguar. He was under the speed limit, for once, with not a care in the world. Jamie felt sick.

(If you so much as dry heave in this car, I'll rip your nuts off and feed 'em to you), Charlie growled into the back of his mind. It echoed off the walls where Jamie had holed up like an unseen demon.

Fuck you. It was out before he could retract it, and he immediately regretted saying it. Charlie grew red-hot intense and threw the fox repeatedly against the floor of his mind. First his head, then his arm, and whatever part of his body was conveniently in the way, slammed down, shooting pain deep within his soul. He screamed and pushed back, wanting to be rid of Charlie, of his body, of this world if only the pain would go away...

There was a distinct and sickening ripping sound, the sound of someone ripping pieces of flesh apart. Charlie threw Jamie against the wall one final time, and the vulpine simply dissolved into it. The fog grew blacker than any earthly black could ever go, and his vision faded in again.

What he saw surprised and scared him at the same time. He was sitting in the passenger seat of the Jaguar, looking out the blood-streaked windshield. The enormity of what had happened didn't grab him until he looked left and saw himself, who was also looking back at him. A thin line of red ran down the side of the driver's muzzle from the right temple. Jamie was looking at Charlie, for the first time.

There wasn't a single difference between the two, except for the eyes. Jamie's were a rusty hazel that matched his fur, but Charlie...Charlie didn't have eyes. At least, that's what he thought at first. They appeared as blank sockets, but he quickly realized that they were completely black. Soulless. Evil.

Before Charlie could react, Jamie reached forward and grabbed for the wheel. He fell forward when his hands passed right through the material. Charlie took his headfur in one clawed fist and shoved Jamie's head into his crotch. The jeans' zipper scratched his nose, and he couldn't help but take in his own scent, altered in some fundamental but unmistakable way.

Charlie spoke-he actually talked-and Jamie chilled at the sound of his own voice, underscored by something that was neither furry nor bestial: "You ever wonder what it would feel like to give yourself a blowjob, kid? Here's your chance, in a Jaguar, in the middle of the city, with cops chasing your ass. Doesn't that make you fuckin' horny? Damn."

"You fick baftard," Jamie mustered through the jeans. He could feel Charlie hardening underneath the fly, and consequently felt it himself too. He realized that, even though he might have separated his mind from Charlie's, he still had precious little control. "Let me up."

"Only if you promise to stay the fuck out of my business. I run the show, in case you didn't notice. You're not even here." He was right; Jamie looked at his hands and saw Charlie's jeans right through him. He might be independent in mind, but his body still belonged to Charlie.

Jamie agreed without saying a word, and Charlie heard it. He let go and Jamie retreated into his seat, where he tried to buckle in and failed. The belt went right through him, so what good would it do anyway?

As helpless as he was, he did get a boost of confidence now that he wasn't trapped anymore. He decided to ask the question that had been on his mind since the beginning: "So what is this all about, anyway?" He said it in the most neutral way possible, but Charlie bristled at it nonetheless.

He paused for what seemed like a long time, silent, then: "What do you mean, what is this all about? You think I have a reason? You think I need a reason? Here's my number one rule: people do what they like, and fuck the shitters who get in their way." There was absolutely no emotion in his voice, one way or another, and Jamie knew in his heart there was no more to be said. Charlie was evil incarnate, pure and simple, created in his head without rhyme or reason to wreak havoc. Jamie had long since given up asking why it had to be him, because he knew that question would never be answered as long as he was alive. That was why he had to end it, and fast, before more people died. And to find the answer, if there even was one.

The faint drone of sirens behind them seemed to accentuate his point. It was time to think of a way to stop Charlie. If Jamie did nothing, Charlie would never stop. It just wasn't in him to do something that was against his way. Fuck the shitters, just like he said.

He looked behind and saw at least a dozen police vehicles behind them, lights flashing blue and red in the growing twilight. Cruisers, marked and unmarked, cycle units, and even a S.W.A.T. van. "Holy shit...!"

"Great, isn't it?" rasped Charlie. "Let's see if we can hear better." He reached over to the middle console and pushed a button. The convertible top rose up and back and air whooshed around the interior as it settled behind the tiny rear seat. Now the sirens were loud, whooping high and low and rebounding off the buildings lining the street. They were approaching the interstate, and Jamie knew Charlie meant to try and outrun them. The Jag screeched around the corner, blowing up smoke from the tires and howled into second gear up to the highway with the police close behind.

As soon as they were up to speed (which was about 95), Charlie turned to Jamie and got nose-to-nose with him. "Drive." The fire in his eyes looked like hell itself, and it was pure ecstasy. Charlie was having fun. Jamie took the wheel and floated (what a weird feeling) into the driver's seat, right on top of his counterpart. Charlie reached into the back seat and there was the sound of ripping fabric. Jamie looked back and saw that Charlie had taken the seat right off the car and thrown it out onto the highway. Police cruisers parted as the leather seat flopped on the concrete.

Then there were the clicks and snaps of the rifle being loaded. Jamie could do nothing but try and kept the car on the road, at high speed. Charlie climbed into the mangled back seat and took up a sniper's position, laying the rifle on the folded convertible top. Not more than a second later, the fox's sensitive ears erupted as Charlie laid into the cruisers.

The closest car's windshield, headlights and hood crumpled as the semiautomatic gunfire rained over it. The driver jerked backwards and the Crown Victoria swerved to the left, sideswiping another cruiser and sending both cars hard into the median, where they smashed and rolled into one another. Jamie was surprised there was no explosion, but figured the movies weren't always correct. He turned his attention back to the road, as he was taking advantage of Charlie's focused attention to figure out an end to this mess.

Two more cruisers slowed and turned around, returning to help their fellow officers. There were now two cycle cops, five Crown Vics and the S.W.A.T. van. One of the cycle cops pulled up within twenty feet of the Jaguar, an insane move in Jamie's mind. The wolf, he could now see, made to pull his gun and shoot forward.

Charlie pulled the trigger, but the clip was empty already. "Shit! Hit the brake!" he shouted over the roar of air around the car.

"What?!" Jamie shouted back.

(Hit the goddamn brake!) Charlie took over his mind in a burst, and Jamie's foot slammed on the brake pedal harder than he could have by himself. The Jaguar shuddered violently, and screeched in protest. The cycle cop was aiming his gun, and he was upon the Jag before he could brake. The Harley-Davidson plowed into the rear end at the equivalent of 35 miles per hour and flipped end-over-end, sending its rider into the pavement headfirst. His neck snapped on impact, and his lifeless body rolled to a stop, scattering the remaining cruisers.

Jamie reeled in fascination and his stomach cramped at the same time. He was responsible for the death of a cop, maybe more, but he was seeing two separate sets of events at the same time. One was the road out in front of the car, and the other was backwards, through Charlie's eyes. Somehow the telepathic connection was still strong, and a mixed blessing. Most of the stuff Charlie did was nothing Jamie wanted to see. He drove on, gaining speed again on the highway.

Minutes passed endlessly, silent among the rushing air and sirens. The pursuing cruisers were slowing down, so Charlie had turned and sat on the good half of the Jag, the sniper rifle sitting on his lap. The car was hurtling down the road at better than 120, and as they topped a crest Jamie spotted something on the concrete. At first, it looked like an expansion joint, to allow for heating and cooling of the surface, but as he looked harder the sunlight glinted off its metal surface.

It was a spike strip. The police had radioed ahead and set up a roadblock in front of them. Suddenly the fox realized the speed at which he was going, and slammed on the brake pedal as hard as he could, sending the Jag into a wild spin. There was a heavy thump and a loud yip as Charlie was thrown into forward into the back of his seat, and he took a kind of sick pleasure in hoping he was hurt. They turned around completely twice before stopping only feet from the strip in a cloud of burned rubber. The Jaguar rocked on its suspension and sat, rumbling.

Across the road sat a veritable wall of police, state, and federal vehicles, all with lights flashing, all with officers drawing their weapons from behind open doors. Charlie stood up to peek his head over the windshield and fairly beamed at the sight. Jamie turned to look behind him and saw the remaining pursuers in the same position.

"Wow," he said.

"Wow is right," Jamie replied.

The two sides stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, then a voice boomed from a bullhorn at them: "Sit down, Jamie, for your own safety!" Jamie thought for a split second that the cop was concerned for him, but two things squelched that theory: one was the fact that when cops talked like that they meant business, not companionship; and two, the cop was not talking to him at all. Charlie was the one standing up, inside his body, and Jamie was still invisible.

Charlie flipped the cops a double-eagle and continued to stand. The cop behind the bullhorn said something to his officers, and those with guns drawn appeared to aim right at Charlie. Then he walked over to another cruiser and leaned in to talk with its occupants.

"Shit, isn't this great? All this attention, just for you and me. It's what you always wanted, Jamie. What we always wanted."

Jamie looked up at Charlie with wide, unbelieving eyes. Incomprehension and utter contempt fought within him. "I don't know what you're talking about. I never wanted this. I never wanted to kill people. I j-just have...this isn't happening."

"Jamie? I want to talk to you, okay? Please talk to me." As if in answering, the unmistakable voice of Eileen, wafted through the bullhorn's speaker. The fox's ears perked up, then lay back flat as terror seized his soul. What in hell is she doing here? Why did the police bring her? What does she have to do with any of this?

Eileen was standing at the hood of the state sheriff's cruiser, waiflike in the dying light. She was dressed in pastel blue, her favorite color. And her face was unusually gaunt, like she had just gotten sick to her stomach. Had Charlie said something about her weight that second time, so long ago, that had caused her to start purging again? She said she had won that battle, but...

"Jamie?" That pleading, weak voice, so full of compassion and heartache. Charlie sat down slowly into the passenger seat, and then ducked low to reach for the weapons in the trunk. He cursed under his breath, and turned back.

Get out of there Eileen please just get out get out please just do it

"Seems we ran out of ammo. What now, genius?"

Jamie looked back incredulously. "Why are you asking me?" His voice was void of emotion. "Why don't you run over there and bite them, or something?" The fox heard how he sounded, and thought so this is what insanity feels like.

Charlie rose up above the windshield again, holding a piece of white cloth in his right hand. Jamie followed the movement dreamily. He was starting to fade again, starting to get sucked back into Charlie. His out-of-body experience had taken most of his remaining energy. Still he called out to Eileen as hard as his spirit would allow.

"Let's just wave the white flag (I won't spare her), shall we?

"What?" Jamie heard Charlie in his ears and his mind at the same time, and the words came out muffled. He didn't have to wait long for an answer, though, as Charlie raised the white flag out on top of the windshield and waved it back and forth. The entire police force was looking at it, confused, as was Jamie.

No one, not even the fox, knew about the elderly tiger's mini-pistol Charlie had swiped that morning. And as the white cloth slipped away, revealing the shiny chrome barrel underneath, an unnatural smile of childish delight swept Charlie's muzzle back into a monstrous shape. He pulled the trigger.

The sound was like a car backfiring, right next to Jamie's ears, and he flinched in spite of the fact that the gun was not aimed at him. But he knew who Charlie was aiming at, and watched through the haze of his mind as Eileen's shirt tore open at the top of her right shoulder and her body jerked back a little on that side. For a moment silence reigned over the scene.

Jamie saw the growing stain of blood running down Eileen's right side, soaking the shirt over her breast and down her front. Saw she police chief come to his senses and tackle her to the ground, in slow motion, behind the cruiser's door. Saw the rest of the force open fire on the Jaguar. He ducked into the driver's seat. Charlie let out a scream, not of pain or anguish but of celebration, a sound underlined by something else that Jamie couldn't begin to describe. He had taken something that meant the world to him, without so much as blinking. It made his fur stand on end from ears to tail.

The fox looked up into the rain of bullets and saw Charlie laughing hysterically, as if he wanted to be shot. It wasn't funny, though, when a bullet passed straight through his middle and threw him back down into the car.

"Damn it!" he cursed, gritting his teeth from the pain.

That's what you get for-AH! Jamie's thoughts were interrupted when pain blossomed in his stomach as well. He clutched at it and his hands were bathed in hot, red liquid. Like it or not, he was still connected with Charlie, so much so that wounds were shared as well as thoughts. He needed to get out of there, and fast. Put a stop to this madness once and for all. Putting the Jag in gear, he floored the accelerator and sped towards the line of police cruisers.

Three officers jumped out of the way just in time. The car muscled its way between two Crown Vics parked in a wedge, shoving them out of the way as if they were mere toys. The front end of the Jag was a ruin, but the engine was unaffected. Charlie tried to suck Jamie back in again, but he resisted.

(You can't keep this up forever.)

I won't need to.

(You've lost control, Jamie. Nothing you do will stop me.)

We'll see about that, Jamie shot back, faintly aware that Charlie had never called him by his first name until now.

The V8 roared, and the speedometer topped 120 again in no time, with several cruisers gaining despite the breakneck pace. A sign rushed by, reading STATE LINE 10 MILES. (Good. Once we get across that line, we're home free!) Charlie practically screamed in the fox's ear.

"Then what?" Jamie didn't need to think anymore; Charlie could hear him just fine despite the bullet wound. "Just what do are you gonna do over the line? There'll be cops over there too, you know. If you're so goddamned smart, why couldn't you figure that out? Don't you get it? It was over before it started! It was over-"

(YOU PATHETIC WHELP!) Charlie hissed, and Jamie felt his stomach twist on itself. He fought the urge to vomit, but he gagged nonetheless. His vision doubled, then trebled, rivulets of spit forming at the corners of his mouth. Coughing hard, he cleared his throat and shot his arm into the back seat, grabbing Charlie by the headfur. His headfur, and it hurt as he pulled the other fox into the front seat with him. Blood dripped over the beige leather seats.

Charlie responded by punching Jamie hard in the side of the head. He cursed as he felt the pain also, but Jamie let go of his independent hold just long enough to let Charlie whoosh back in, filling him with hatred and heat. "Now it's mine, boyo. We'll see just what this baby can do." The thing that used to be a voice in his head now shifted gears and the Jag leapt forward, whining as its engine was unceremoniously ripped to shreds under the hood. The speedo topped 140.

Jamie fought for at least some vision, and through the fiery setting sun he glimpsed a bridge running over a dry riverbed about a mile ahead. They would be upon it in no time, but time had started running slower as Jamie gathered up the remaining strength he had left for the final push. It was the most important push of all.

Charlie's thoughts came into the fox's mind, things he wished he had never seen and wouldn't want to see again. He didn't know how to describe it exactly, but it hurt his soul somehow. That thing was worse than an incarnation from hell. Jamie realized that there were worse places and beings than anyone knew about, things too terrible for this earth. He had seen a part of that place, and those beings, and he was tainted because of it. Damned because of it.

The bridge was just half a mile away.

Cruisers howled in the background, the sound low and like whale calls. Dust and debris flew as the Jaguar raced to oblivion. This was it.

This has all been nice and interesting, he thought matter-of-factly, but it's time I put a stop to this free-for-all of yours.

Charlie scoffed and tried to push Jamie back, but he met strong resistance. "Shut up and die already," he snarled, but failed to mask the surprise in his voice.

Oh, I will. Except you're going with me, like it or not.

"What the fuck do-"

The bridge was closing fast, and Jamie reached up with all his heart and soul, past the demons and visions, past Charlie's defenses, past the haze of sanity into his own body again. He felt his arms and took the wheel with determination, jerking it to the right and aiming the nose of the car straight into the guardrail. He held his position as the Jag covered the last fifty feet. Time stopped and the world fell silent.

(You little shit)

"Goodbye, Charlie."

(What do you)

"Get out, Charlie."

(How...did...can't)

"Fuck you, Charlie."

(NO)

Reality returned with ultra clarity. The Jag hit the guardrail at 147 miles per hour, and the car bent at the middle. Jamie/Charlie was flattened against the dashboard, smashing his face to bits on the steering wheel and its shiny buttons. As the car flipped end over end, he was thrown free and Charlie finally let go. He saw himself for a moment, body twisted and face destroyed, except it wasn't him, and then it just faded as if on a breeze.

For the first time in months, he was normal again. But he knew what he had done to become normal. The Jaguar was below him now, and as his broken body turned towards the ground he saw it in a kind of sick ballet: the hood and trunk open, the gun and empty shells spilling out and glinting in the sunset. The car landed heavy and flipped end over end down the steep gully below the bridge.

Jamie faintly heard approaching sirens, but did not give them a second thought. He let his mind free, for the very last, and time came back to normal. And the ground rushed up to meet him, and take what little he had left.

Please, he thought for one final second, forgive me, and then there was the warm spring wind in his ears, and then nothing at all.

* * *

Eileen sat in her living room with the television on but she wasn't really watching anything. Her right arm was bandaged in a sling from the bullet wound in her shoulder that Jamie had given her. Even now, she still couldn't take in all that had happened that afternoon. She couldn't believe Jamie was dead. Worst of all, she was no longer sure if it had really been Jamie at all.

Her father poked his head in the door, looking somber and a little worried. "Anything I can do for you, punkin?" he asked.

"No, daddy. I'm fine. Thanks. What's that?" she asked, spying a black box in his hand.

"Nothing, dear." He thought for a moment, bit his lip, and walked into the room. "Actually, the police dropped this off earlier. It was sitting on Jamie's bed at school. They told me not to tell you, but I think you should know. It was labeled to you."

He handed the box to Eileen, and she saw it was a videotape case, with a tape inside. She turned it over in her hands a few times, afraid of what might be on it. "Thanks, dad," she said, and kissed him.

Her father left the room, closing the door behind him. Eileen took the tape out, and a small piece of paper fell out onto her lap. She went over to the VCR and slid the tape in, butterflies doing a nervous dance in her stomach. Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes for the umpteenth time that day, and she sat back down and opened the note. There, in Jamie's unmistakable chicken scratch, it read:

If you're reading this, I'm probably gone.

I sincerely hope this explains what I have done,

And I am truly sorry for whatever damage

Charlie has caused you and anyone else.

Eileen, I didn't mean to do anything bad

To you, and I hope you know that.

I love you too much.

I don't know what or who Charlie is,

But maybe this will explain a little more.

Please believe me, and please forgive me.

~Jamie

"Jamie, what are you trying to tell me?" Eileen sobbed, the wounds of the day freshly reopened, but she knew if she was going to get any closure, she would have to watch that tape. She had thought he was a pervert on their last date, but now she knew for sure that it wasn't Jamie who said those things to her, who tried to strangle her, who shot her just this afternoon. The Jamie on the tape was the fox who really cared about her, and she didn't know how she knew but she did.

Taking tissues from a box on the end table, she picked up the remote and pointed it at the television. "I'll believe you, no matter what," she whispered through the tears, and pushed the PLAY button.

FIN

12/27/03-2/16/04