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Aniline

The sky was dark with softly drifting snow; no clear skies forthcoming--and yet, a strange golden light infused the waxen surfaces of the trees and low-cut buildings. It spilled out onto the wet pavement upon which no snow lingered. The dying sun hung low over the mountains, casting ruddy illumination through a chink in the wooded stone--twilight in the autumn.

A young man of nearly twenty-five years stood alone in the drifting sleet, the youthful smoothness of his face hidden with a week's growth. Guilt lay heavy on his shoulders as he stood before the dimly-lit storefront. A bare fifteen-watt bulb providing little more light than a candle flame cast his face in shadow as he stood, waiting for courage to find him. The malty liquor in his stomach helped.

Face pinched with cold, he could stand it no longer. He stepped inside to a quiet tinkle from the doorbell and headed straight to the back of the store with empty hands--almost as an afterthought, he took off his silver watch. He stamped up to the counter and placed the crystal-faced timepiece down and waited, wordless. The clerk eyed him hesitantly.

"Did you want to pawn that, or sell?" he asked.

"I was thinking of a straight-across trade," Jason mumbled.

The clerk hemmed and hawed, tumbling the silver watch through his swarthy hands.

"Rolex, nineteen-eighty-two, silver rub. What were you thinking of trading for?"

Jason lifted his eyes darkly. The clerk followed his gaze to the point of focus and shook his head.

"No." He moved to block the item from view. "That's an Armalite. Your watch isn't worth nearly enough."

Jason ground his teeth and refocused.

"What can you do for me, then?"

"I can give you $50 cash, or seventy-five in trade credit. I'm overstocked as it is."

Jason pondered the significance of the offer, thinking in terms that he'd never seen reason to before.

"Trade credit, then" he said. "I want a gun--with bullets."

Such a request was not uncommon or altogether unusual in the rural county and the clerk was more concerned with profit return than unlicensed firearm sale. He took to the back room and returned with a battered little revolver.

"Snub-nose, chambered in .38 special" he said. "It was an S&W service weapon at some point in its life before someone got to messing with it."

Jason took the piece in his hand and turned it over carefully. It was falling to pieces; the nickel coating scratched and abraded, the grip loose in his palm. It was a weapon, to be sure--a lethal tool in the hands of even the most inexperienced, but it wasn't right somehow. It wasn't the message that he wanted to send.

He put it down on the counter and the clerk slid him a half-empty box of bullets. Jason popped open the cylinder like he'd seen in the movies and gave it an experimental spin. The action was slow and erratic, the clockwork mechanisms inside grimy with seasons of neglect.

"This'll do," he said. "Do you have a holster for it or anything? I can pay a little extra."

The man shrugged and turned to rummage through a bin of cast-off rifle accessories. Jason waited until his back was turned and took a bullet from the counter, slipping it into the revolver. With a little effort, he found the safety catch. He thumbed it off and drew back the hammer. It made the little click-clack sound that he'd suspected it might, sending a momentary thrill of excitement down his spine. The clerk heard it too; he turned with a look of pained disbelief evident on his heavy features.

"Are you serious right now? Are you really robbing me? Here, in my own store with my own gun?"

Jason felt momentary uncertainty take him, but he kept his eyes hard as he could manage. The weapon drew a bead almost of its own accord, shaking in barely perceptible circles.

Incredulity gave way to unexpected mirth--the man laughed sardonically and raised his hands in mock-surrender.

"What could you possibly want from me? I've only got the coin for chump-change and dog food. You can't do anything with what I've got in the register. Come now, hand me that!"

He made a sudden lunge for the weapon, closing his meaty palm about it and wresting it away. In a crisis of conscience Jason allowed the weapon to leave his grip, but his index snagged on the trigger and let fly the hammer.

A muffled pop turned into a snarl of pain and angry cursing as the clerk recoiled away, nursing a shattered wrist. Blood welled up and slicked the wound--the revolver left the man's grip and fell to the floor, springing open on impact. Unconsciously, Jason dove to recover the weapon even as the clerk wheeled to retrieve an antiquated rifle from the display case at his back. Jason's hand closed about the pistol and he fumbled for another bullet, knowing full well that the holdup attempt had turned deadly serious with the first shot.

Shoving a cartridge home, he rolled on to his back and brought the weapon up at the clerk who was struggling to load a weapon of his own with only one hand. Jason hesitated, unsure of the course he ought to take. Kill and save his own life? Shoot to wound and then flee? He wasn't sure what might kill a man, where to shoot to dissuade without maiming or slaying. Then the clerk's weapon came up and time ran out. Ready or not, Jason had to make a decision. He took aim and fired.

The young man drove through the night on a route he knew with some intimacy, Armalite rifle at his side. The hours passed painfully slow, every mile a reminder of his actions and the painful mission ahead. Dawn broke cold and dreary, the kind of weather heralding an early autumn--replete with freezing fog and a full moon that hung improbably near the dim halo of the morning sun. The newest resident wasn't sure how to interpret the signs, but he could feel the biting chill even through the rattling panes of his ten-year-old Civic and with the heater cranked all the way up. He already felt a bout of sniffles coming on.

He drove slowly down the old road, the temperature had dipped below freezing in the night, and he was wary of ice on the bends. Every corner seemed the same as the last, craggy and hung in slumbering pines. As his high-beams traced a smoldering path through the fog, the first of the town's structures sprang into view.

Elton seemed to embody the spirit of the American Northwest. There was a certain feeling of the frontier to the old brick-and-mortar storefronts and the blue hills with their warren of slowly decaying mine tunnels. The town proper was moderately-sized with several diners and the perfunctory Wal-Mart. Peopled with a whole range of characters ranging from back-woods caricatures to wealthy landowners, it also played host to a fair number of critters--something Jason was still having to adjust himself to. He'd watched deer pick their way down Main Street in full daylight in search of quiet places, and it wasn't uncommon to see black bears grazing with the cattle up on the hillsides. The nights were unpredictable: sometimes warm and full, sometimes wild, dark--weird. He liked it, strangely enough. It was about as far removed from Chicago living as one could get.

Jason followed the streetlights through town. Unsure of his driving abilities, he chose to stay close to the main thoroughfare which was generously spaced, if a little linear. Ice rattled on the roof as he passed beneath an overpass, the vibrations from the aging sedan enough to loosen a few drooping icicles. He shrugged the canvas jacket closer about his mouth at the tart smell of burning oil reared resurgent in protest at a change of gears.

A left turn at the dark stoplight brought him to a gravel parking lot that might have been a scale model of the moon's surface, so pitted and desolate were the stalls. The young man gritted his teeth as every pothole and knoll sent a jolt through the frame and a tweak up his spine. At this rate, the old car wouldn't last through the spring.

He pulled into a chalked-in parking space marked 'Visitors Only' and shut off the car, taking a moment to stash his valuables out of sight beneath the dash. He dismounted with clumsy footfalls, nearly slipping on the icy sheen that dusted the ground. A set of low, squat portable buildings sat gray and utilitarian in the morning light, propped up on cinder blocks and good wishes. It was about as spartan and uninteresting a setup as any office park Jason had ever seen; and he'd frequented Chicago's dismally monotonous commercial zones. This building was hatefully unique, however, and it owed nothing to architecture.

At this point, he experienced a bout of mixed sensations of the like that he'd felt before--desperate loneliness and absurd satisfaction at the gritty hedonism that had driven him to so strange a country and so unique an end. He found his solace within the emptiness of his own heart. Not for the first time, he looked to the hills and wished that the profession of freelance wandering had not died with the advent of culture.

Sometimes, the young man imagined himself a torchbearer and a poet, and at all times a vestige of a dying breed of apologists. He was wrong in this assumption, as you might suppose, and hardly alone in the thinking of it, but at all times it seemed to him perhaps the last absolution in life. Sometimes he allowed a tear to fall for the hardness of life, more often he pushed it from his mind until it polluted his heart and drew bitterness from his tongue.

He did not think himself a hard man nor indeed a wicked one, but rather as a player to which a bad hand had been dealt and was wont to wrestle with the impulses that come of desperation. Such thoughts shaped his waking world along with the impression of sight and frequently held him embattled and unable to see kindness and respond in like. But none of it really mattered any more--he'd lost her.

Out of the greyness materialized a nondescript four-corner cabin, of a prefabricated build that one might purchase wholesale at a home-improvement store. Little more than a shed, it slumped heavily under the weight of the shaggy green carpet of moss that adorned its roof. A little lean-to accommodated a battered 4x4 with a brown-and-white Sheriff's Department motif. All was quiet and dark through the plate glass bay windows, not a light evident.

"Sergeant Kraus!" he shouted. "Come out here or I'm going to shoot your damn glass!" A skyward shot lent gravity to the statement.

He stumbled gracelessly up the walk and tried the door. It was locked, and a film of frosty moistness obscured the view through the glass pane. A brief search turned up a buzzer for delivery work and he depressed it for a long time, listening to the sound with something akin to desperation--as a starving black bear fresh from hibernation might feel in the presence of a bustling honeycomb hung just out of reach.

No response came. A part of him knew that it had been folly to expect anyone's presence this early in the day, but some madness or infirmity drew his finger to the button again.

"I want to talk to you, Kraus!" he ordered the sentinel. The buzzer rang out in the stillness, mocking. He smashed the doorframe with the palm of his naked hand. "Open up! You're going to die for what you did!"

He sagged against the portal in aggravation, staring at the warped wood for a long time, staring in fascination at the blood from his scuffed hand that anointed the place where he stood.

"Please..."

No response was forthcoming. The building was vacant. The man walked back to his vehicle and opened the passenger door, withdrawing the plastic-wrapped package and bitterly tearing it open with tooth and fingernail. The stolen rifle gleamed matte in the dim light, promising lethality--the power to protect or destroy, beautiful in a way known to the desperate and afflicted.

He raised the rifle to his shoulder like he'd been trained and squeezed the trigger. The bolt clicked on an empty chamber, and he realized that he'd forgotten to charge. Squeezing angry tears from his eyes, he slammed the bolt home. The weapon kicked and glass shattered. Jason kept firing, pausing only to swap magazines, desiring to utterly destroy the structure and all that it stood for. He raked the thin wall with rapid fire, sweeping back and forth at waist level to ensure even penetration.

There was a soft click somehow audible over the roaring in his ears and the trigger met no resistance. It didn't seem fair that every round should have left the chamber already--he wanted to cherish the moment until doomsday, but the task was not yet complete. Even when the last cartridge dropped away and the deafening echo of sustained fire returned from the distant mountains, he did not feel satisfied. He had to know for sure.

Inserting his last magazine, he advanced slowly forward over the uneven ground leaving eddies of acrid smoke in his wake. The shattered windows leered like jagged teeth and glass crunched underfoot. He reached for the wooden door and winced as it fell inward with a loud rattle, sheared from its hinges by a bit of shrapnel. Jason stood frozen, silhouetted in the doorframe.

Slightly deafened by the report, he didn't hear the crunch of soft-soled boots on glass. He did take notice of the over-under shotgun jammed into the back of his head, however.

"That you, Jason? You've got a whole lot of nerve coming here and shooting the place up!" growled a squat red-faced man as he clambered out of a recessed equipment locker.

The voice was stern, but it quavered ever so slightly. Cursing fate, Jason whipped about and took a bead of his own. Both men flinched but miraculously, neither fired.

"I don't give a shit, Sarge. I'm here to ask you a question, and then I'm going to kill you. Put your weapon down," Jason snarled.

"What, about Aniline? I had nothing to do with that!"

"I just want to ask you why! Why did you do it? What kind of man are you, that you'd touch my wife? Answer me, you piece of shit!"

The man's face grew even redder if it was possible, and strange blotchy patches broke out across his flesh.

"You'd threaten me, the sheriff, in my own station_?_ I'll have you know that both jury and tribunal convicted me of nothing!" He was livid, stumbling over enunciation in a froth of bile and spittle. "And she wasn't your wife, not yet! You'd been seeing each other for how long now? Nine months? Pah!"

"Shut up! Your 'witnesses' led that court in a mistrial! What did you offer them, huh? I know you've got quite a pool of lady friends to choose from. Did you loan them out like a bloody horse trader? Is that why you thought it'd be okay to touch Aniline? I ought to kill you right now!"

He shook his head angrily and drew off a few feet, the weapon in his hands still leveled. The sheriff stepped up and closed the distance once more.

"She came to me, Private! She said you'd been treating her poorly. Everyone knows how it went down, Jason! You're a bloody alcoholic and your drunken shouting matches are still legendary around here! She just needed a shoulder to cry on and you obviously weren't up to the task!"

Jason nearly pulled the trigger on him, and probably would have if it hadn't been for the twelve-gauge pointed back--it was a near thing.

"I'll kill you, Kraus! I swear I will! I was going to propose to her! She knew it too!"

"Propose what? A lifetime of frustration and uncertainty? She was too good for you, Jason, and you knew it!"

The balding man shook his head and drew closer, to the point that the two stood mere yards from each other, unwavering in their shooter's stances.

"Jason," he said, "I'm sorry for what you're going through right now, and it's completely understandable; but understand this--I did not kill Aniline! Now put down your weapon and let's talk about this like men."

Neither weapon dropped.

The sheriff's eyes softened noticeably--not without apparent effort, but they did soften. Jason readied himself for an execution shot and a black conscience. Then Kraus lowered his gun and ruined everything.

Two shells dropped to the ground and he stood open-handed. Jason couldn't bring himself to shoot this picture of righteous resignation.

"Well, Jason? What will it be? Are you going to shoot me?"

After a moment of hesitation, he lowered his gun but did not drop it.

"No I'm not--not yet. But you had better explain yourself."

"Well, I knew you were smart--mind if I smoke?" His hand dipped furtively within his jacket and Jason bristled, but it came up with a carton of cigarettes. "I'm obliged. I can't explain everything that happened that night, but I can start you in the right place even if I don't think I can tell you any more than you already know. They're still searching for whatever got her, but definitely not as hard as they were three months ago. Animal attack, they're saying."

"You were with her." It was a statement and a question.

"I was," he allowed, "for a few hours. She called me from the depot--asked me to pick her up since the bus wasn't running. I've known you for how long? Jebus, Private, I was there when you were just an eleven-bravo on base security. Of course I'd help your girl--for your sake."

He lit up and continued. "She wanted to go to her cousin's place in Portland and she didn't trust anyone else in town well enough to ask. That's your fault by the way, you jealous lout."

"So you used her distress to take advantage of her?" Jason snarled, ignoring the barb.

"Kid, I never touched her. I mean, I never wanted to. She was emotional, not thinking straight."

"So you fooled around a little, yeah?"

"Jason, don't be that way. I only did what I had to, to keep her going." He lit up another stick and crammed it in beside the other. Jason wanted to knock it from his jowls. "She was distraught. You should have seen her eyes, son. I've seen the look before--one of my lads took fire in his mouth with that look on his face."

"Shut up." He didn't want to hear it. He already knew the story, how it had gone down that night. He'd been a part of it and regretted it.

"I'm just saying, kid. I was only trying to help."

Jason studied the ground intently, drumming his fingers upon the rifle in his hands and mulling on the words. Finally, he spoke:

"You're a sleazy old man. What you did was wrong, and there's no doubt about it. I can't forgive you that." He glanced meaningfully at the rifle.

"However," he allowed, "You make a good point: I never really treated her the way she deserved. It's my fault that she ran and I can't foist that on you in good conscience. Tell me a few things and I'll turn myself in to you--I've done some bad stuff in the last twenty-four."

"Geeze Jason, you could've just called. Have a seat and tell me what you want to know. I'd put some coffee on for an old squaddie, but that could be trouble." He gestured nonchalantly to the ruined station.

"Sorry." Jason shrugged, not particularly sincere. "Tell me where she died. I want to... pay my respects."

"You already know the way of it. We were on our way out of town around midnight when she said she had to take care of business, you know? I let her off near the old fire road on mulberry; she trekked off into the bush a ways. I let her alone for too long--I'm sorry, I really am. When I went out looking, she was gone."

"You mean she--within your sight? You just let her go like that?"

"Easy, kid. I don't think that she met her end there. They found the remains a county over in a drainage ditch by the road. I think she set out walking and got turned around in the dark. Probably wandered around lost for a bit before she stumbled into the culvert. Big animal found her there, I suppose."

"Her funeral was closed-casket. They never found enough of her to fill an envelope," Jason said bitterly. "What do you think happened?"

The sheriff shrugged, leaning heavily on a bullet-chewed desk.

"Mountain Lion, most likely. Conservation officers found tracks in a nearby county--those things have a roaming range of hundreds of miles, you know? It was likely just passing through when Aniline was unlucky enough to stumble on it."

"Yeah, unlucky..." Jason sighed.

"Anyway, big cats have a tendency to drag their kill to a place where they can eat it later--takeout if you will. That would explain why they never found a body--just blood and rags. Coyotes prob'ly got the rest. I'm sorry, Jason--really, I am."

He fished for another cigarette despite the two already glowing in the corner of his mouth. Jason narrowed his eyes.

"Why do you keep doing that?"

"Doing what exactly?" He lit up again, letting the other two fall to the floor unconsumed.

"That." Jason gestured to the glowing stick in his mouth. "When did you take up chain smoking? It'll kill you surer than a bullet."

"Well, I don't know about that, but I suppose it started when someone decided to shoot up my damn office. Job-related stress." He patted his jacket pocket. A curious electronic squelch came from within.

The sheriff's eyes widened guiltily and he made to step away, but Jason darted forward too quickly for the surprised man to follow and flung his jacket open. A black plastic brick fell to the ground with a clatter. Kraus dived for it in alarm, but Jason pinned his hand with the barrel of his rifle.

"Don't." He kicked the device away and stooped to pick it up, carefully keeping the aging cop covered. It was a mobile phone, reinforced for law enforcement duties. Distrustfully, he brought it to his ear.

"Hello? Who's on the line?"

"This is the Oregon state highway patrol. Who am I speaking to? Where's Sheriff Kraus?"

"He's indisposed... Goodbye."

"Hold on, are you Jason Quox? What have you done with the Sheriff? Stay where you are!"

Jason dashed the phone on the floor and glared daggers at his former friend.

"You bastard. You've been playing for time! I trusted you!"

The veteran shrugged apologetically.

"It may behoove you to know that my first duty is to the law, Private. Also, you tried to kill me in my own office. That's a definite check mark against you in my book. Stay where you are and wait for the cavalry to come pick you up--where are you going to run to, really? You've got nothing left."

Jason was already halfway out the door, but he turned to fire off a parting retort.

"You're right... So I'll be leaving now; you know where you'll find me. However, if you come after me yourself, I will consider our agreement annulled. One of us will die."

He turned to go, unabashedly turning his back on a loaded gun. The expected shot never came, and he didn't look back.

Jason put the car into gear and took to the highway. He drove a linear path toward the sunrise, unblinking and unfocused on anything but the shifting of gears. He drove on until he saw the first flashing lights in the distance. He slowed and looked ahead to see three police cars parked across the highway--a checkpoint of sorts. He was surprised that it had taken so long for the hunt to begin.

He glanced at the rifle, grim and malleable beside him. For a moment the thought of a last, desperate gun-battle and death amidst a hail of police bullets, but he shook the desire. He hadn't come to kill cops--well, not real cops. Death would come on his own terms.

The state police would no doubt be arriving at the station by now, perplexed at the damage, comparing data with other incidents and scrambling to contact sister law-enforcement agencies over a possible act of terrorism. He doubted they'd discover his motive, but it was no far stretch to connect the incident with his previous act at the pawn shop. He was likely a wanted man by now, a fact that curiously brought him little bother.

Aniline would have been glad of his actions, he told himself. He was taking a stand for nobility and justice, wasn't he? Wasn't that the reason she'd fallen in with him, a decorated twenty-four-year-old Marine with a whole future ahead? Aniline... Why hadn't it worked out? What had gone wrong in their relationship?

The young man suddenly recalled the incident at the pawn shop and gorge rose in his mouth. It had been an unforgiveable crime--he'd maimed, spilled innocent blood under the influence of drink--and for what? Why? He pulled the car over to the shoulder and shut off the engine. Weeping softly now, he sat motionless in the driver's seat. The wilderness and freedom lay only meters away out the window, but he didn't want to run or hide--that was the mark of a criminal. Again, he glanced to the rifle.

He'd picked the weapon on sight for reasons unknown even to himself; preferring it to the myriad of high-powered and easily concealable weapons on display, but know he thought he knew why. The Armalite AR-15 was a military weapon through and through, matte black and menacing. The rifle was very similar to the one he'd once held aloft in patterned drill, the one that he'd broken down and reassembled time and time again until every bolt, every facet, and every piece of machined steel was written on his heart.

Those had been better days--full of hardship but deeply fulfilling. He remembered the sharpness of gunpowder at dawn and the synchrony of drill. He remembered pissing in that cup and thinking nothing of it until three weeks later when a CID corporal showed up with a grim face and an order for court-martial. They'd found methamphetamines in his urine and the childhood marine-green dream shriveled up and died without so much as a protest.

And then Aniline was all he'd had, everything worth living for. But then he'd lost her, thrown her away. He couldn't even remember why. It all seemed so senseless now. He glanced to the rifle again, fascinated as it seemed to morph into something else--something anxious and frightening. With hesitant hands, he cleared it and slung it over his shoulder for one last cadence.

He left the keys in the ignition and let his feet carry him off the road and onto the old fire road divergence. A half hour of walking brought him to the dry culvert, seasonally empty and choked with rotting leaves. It stank of refuse and oily runoff. Jason's throat tightened at the sight and he felt he ought to say a few words, but none came. It was a somber place, not fitting at all to be the deathbed of the vibrant spark that had been Aniline. The once colorful autumn deadfall had turned to ugly brown in the dampness of the drainage ditch.

He stumbled over to peer inside, and was surprised to find a pair of emerald eyes staring up at him from within the pipe. There was a sharp bark and a flash of red fur before the creature leapt the embankment and scurried out of sight into the underbrush. A fox, Jason thought. Sheltering in the ruins of his old life--it didn't seem right; he felt a brief flash of anger and glanced around with the rifle, but the creature had disappeared into the shrubs, likely watching his movements from somewhere nearby. He sighed heavily and turned back to the ditch.

The sides were steep and fenced with jagged metal, half buried in the leaf litter. He could see how one might stumble in in the darkness and be unable to climb out onto the slick banks. It was too powerful a cruelty for him to imagine, so he didn't try. Instead, he knelt down beside it and cast a freshly-plucked pine bough into the ditch--something vibrant and alive in the grey muck. It wasn't much of a eulogy, but it seemed fitting.

With that settled, he sat down with his back to a tree and steeled himself for the end. It was with the idea of a sort of penance that he placed the rifle in his mouth, like he'd seen in the movies. It tasted of cordite. It was almost funny--he'd never once imagined himself shuffling off the mortal coil in such a manner--falling in the line of duty, maybe, or in his old age with a family at his bedside, but not like this: not under a tree in the woods with a gun jammed in his mouth.

He lifted his eyes up to heaven and mumbled a half-remembered benediction through a mouthful of metal. The barrel brushed the roof of his mouth and he nearly gagged, but he knew he'd come too far to lay himself down at the mercy of the law. His conscience was black but he knew no way to salve it. He shut his eyes tightly and let his index finger hooked the trigger. He pulled...

"Jason..." a soft and welcome voice tickled his ear. A kind voice--a familiar voice, which brought him close to tears.

He screwed up his eyes as a tear threatened to escape. Though his lip quivered, his resolve held and the trigger slowly moved to oblivion, guided by a trembling finger.

"Jason... don't."

"Aniline..." he muttered, knowing the delusion it for what it was, but welcoming it all the same.

He knew the ghost of a warm breath on his cheek. The scent of cinnamon and juniper and an aura of warmth that set his tears flowing unashamedly. It was her--there was no doubt in his mind. He did not care if it was merely a figment of his breakdown: he was grateful for the chance to say what needed to be said one last time. He took the rifle from his mouth and let the waves of bottled-up regret wash over him.

"Aniline... Anna," he sobbed, "I'm so sorry... I love you so very much..! Please, would--could you forgive me? I never treated you the way I should have, and I was never there for you the way you were for me... I--I never ..."

A soft moistness pressed against his lips and warm, spicy breath entered his mouth.

"I'll teach you, my love... I forgive you" she whispered into him.

Jason's eyes shot open and he let the rifle fall away in surprise. The wild beauty of a strangely hominid fox's face hovered mere inches from his lips, at once regal and unknowable, but also instantly captivating to his senses, indisputably feminine and alluring... somehow familiar to him. When he looked into her eyes, emerald green, compassionate and shot through with flakes of gold, he knew without a doubt.

"Aniline..." he breathed. "You... how?"

"Hush," she murmured, leaning forward to kiss him deeply, wrapping him in a tight embrace.

Numbly, he returned the intimate gesture, her muzzle tasting of cedar smoke and wild honey. As they huddled together, lost in the moment of rapture and relief, Jason realized that the woman he'd intended to marry was still the same vision of vibrant beauty on the inside, but her form had changed to match her nature.

He ran a hand unceasingly up and down her back, marvelling at her luxuriant coat of fur, a dappled layer of red and gray that felt remarkably pleasant to his touch. She'd changed--that was for sure, no longer even passingly human, instead she stood before him as a beautiful and majestic creature, some kind of human/fox hybrid with lithe extremities and a sleek tail, soft fur covering her from head to paw.

He buried his face in the downy white fur of her underbelly and sobbed openly, embracing her tightly and rocking on his heels.

"Aniline! I--I thought... "

"I did, Jason... I did. Aniline was--is--just a pile of overlooked rags in a ditch now. And yet I am Aniline, at the same time. I'm what I was always meant to be." She noted the confused look on his face and laughed, a pleasant churring sound, not dissimilar from the bark of a fox. "It was a little bit confusing at first, I'll grant you that."

"How did you come to be--well, this? Not that it's a bad thing or anything like that--I agree, it suits you perfectly..."

She shrugged, spinning in a graceful circle to show off every inch of her new form. Jason could only look on in wonder and disbelief.

"I've come into a great deal of knowledge since then, but there are some things that I still can't explain. Who knows? Perhaps this was the avatar intended for me all along."

"Y-yeah, maybe... What happened?"

"It was midnight; I was a little bit distraught. Your sergeant got a little too familiar with me, so I asked him to let me off. It was stupid of me, really. I didn't know where I was going, and eventually I ended up in the water. The siding cut me pretty badly and I couldn't climb out. It--it was warm and slow, like falling asleep. When I awoke, there was a fox--and me."

Jason shuddered at the thought of his love slowly slipping away in the frigid water, trapped and unable to reach safety only meters away in the dark.

"I'm so sorry... I wish..."

"I know."

He hugged her tightly to him, stroking the back of her head, marvelling at the way her ears twitched away under his touch. He almost chuckled, but then a thought hit him:

"Aniline, you're alive! That's all that matters now. My car is by the roadside, although I don't know if it's safe. I've done some bad stuff, and the cops are on my case. I've got some friends in Colorado, maybe if we drove through the night..."

"Jason... That's not going to work," the anthropomorphic fox cut in sadly.

"No, I understand! I can protect you, you don't have to worry. I swear I'll take care of you, nobody will give you trouble for your appearance. I'll never let you down again!" Jason said, looking into her eyes in desperation. He'd go to the ends of the earth for Aniline now that he'd found her again against all odds.

"No, love... You can't fight this one. It's something else."

Jason felt his heart drop into his stomach as a sobering thought occurred to him. He glanced at the rifle, ever-ready.

"Did I..? Am I dead?"

She shook her head.

"No, not yet. Jason, I can't leave these woods. I don't think I want to leave this life, even--even for you. I'm tied to this place in a way that I don't fully understand. I'm free here."

The former marine put on a brave face but he felt his insides go to pieces.

"I guess I can't question that. I mean, here you are... a fox! You were dead and now you're, well, you're... beautiful, among other things! I mean, wow..."

She smiled softly and glanced coyly over her shoulder at him, the cheerful fire in her eyes rekindled.

"You think so, marine? Well, I'd have to agree with you on that: I can honestly say I've never felt more alive."

Jason winced at the unintentional irony, but a smile tugged at his lips. She did indeed seem born anew: aside from her radical change in appearance, she moved with a new grace that reminded him of when they'd first met, of the carefree and gentle nature that he'd fallen head over heels for--and now he was falling for her all over again.

"Aniline, I'll live here with you," he said. "It could be a little hairy at first, but I've got SERE training, so I'll be okay if they come looking for me. You've been hiding out okay for all these months, so you can do it again, right? I can go into town from time to time, grab some supplies--I've got a little money, enough to last a while if we're frugal. Please, may I? I don't want to be alone again..."

"Jason, I know! I missed you so much, but this isn't your place. You just don't belong here. It wouldn't work. I'm not sure you'll be able to find me again: sometimes I'm just... not here, you know?"

"I--I understand," he said. Unconsciously, he rose to full military bearing. "I love you, Aniline. I always have. I have the gun; I can draw them away when they come. I promise I won't kill anyone--just lay down some suppression. But please, may I stay with you until they arrive? I just want to be with you."

She smiled at him foxily, showing her sharp incisors with a gleam in her eye. She stepped forward on digitigrade feet, placing her paws on his shoulders--she'd always been taller.

"Do you want to be with me? I think--Yes, I feel it. I think I can transfer some of myself to you, so that you and I can be together sometimes--bypass the rules, as it were." She shrugged apologetically. "I don't really know what will happen--you might become a little fox-like, or you may not. I've never tried this before."

Jason opened his mouth to reply, and then shut it just as quickly. There was nothing left to go back to save for facing a prison sentence... and perhaps making restitution to a certain clerk.

"Please, let's do it. I don't want to leave you alone again."

She moved to embrace him fully, and they stood supporting each other in their arms. Her breathing slowed and she shut her eyes, concentrating on the animalistic side within her.

Strangely enough, Jason actually felt something move into him from her body, like a warm cube of gelatin being forced into his chest. It didn't feel bad... just strange and uncomfortable. He almost flung himself away from the sensation, but Aniline dug her newfound claws firmly into his arms.

"Don't," she hissed through clenched teeth, her fur standing on end. All the while, Jason felt something flow between them--like a small part of him broke off and into Aniline. She yipped in surprise, and for a moment Jason thought he'd hurt her, but then he realized that her face had transformed with ecstasy, her tongue lolling out and her eyes rolled back. He was confused for a moment, until he felt a piece of her move into him to replace the bit he'd given.

In an instant, they were linked in mind and body, sharing a wave of searing pleasure that sent a ripple up his spine. He felt his legs go rubbery and he collapsed helplessly to the ground, and a second later, Aniline did the same, coming down on top of him. He squeezed her tightly, riding a wave of sensuality that seemed to start at the top of his head and travel all the way down to his extremities.

He felt no pain, only strange satisfaction as his body began to shift and change. His ears slid up to the top of his head as his face pushed out into a muzzle. Fur began to sprout all over his body, sending a shiver of pleasure up his frame. Aniline felt it too, because she shuddered in his arms with a cute little cough. He laughed aloud, caught up in the surrealistic nature of it all.

"This feels... good," he sighed contentedly.

"T-tell me about it..." Aniline said with a chuckle.

"Yeah, I bet you've never--oh!"

He gritted his teeth as he felt his spine elongate and protrude from the base of his backbone, forming into a rapidly-filling tail. It seemed to be time for the more extreme physical alterations, because he felt his legs shift, fracture, and bend backward to accommodate his new digitigrade stance. His fingers shortened and filled out, becoming more paw-like in nature and bristling with black fur to accent his red-orange pelt.

With a final swelling of his torso, the changes stopped, the pleasurable sensations dying away to leave them exhausted but happy, basking in a radiant afterglow.

Jason weakly raised his head to glance at his new body, shrugging out of his jacket as he did so. He was now very similar in form to Aniline, but perhaps a little more masculine, leaning toward wiry muscle rather than lithe curves. He turned to look her in the eyes, and she in turn looked to him. They both shared a weary grin before falling into an exhausted slump.

"Wow..." Jason muttered. "That was pretty intense."

"Shut up and be soft for me..." Aniline mumbled, burying her face in his flank. He obligingly covered her with his forepaw.

They lay for a while in the shadow of the autumn leaves, content just to stare up at the cloudless sky in each other's company.

"Anna, that fox in the culvert... Was he a friend of yours?" Jason finally spoke, adding a touch of playful jealousy to his voice.

"Sometimes a fox is just a fox, you big dummy." She nipped him gently and rolled over to glare at him with a gleam in her eyes.

"Not this time. Marry me?" he offered hopefully.

Aniline laughed and playfully rolled on top of him.

"I believe the term is 'mate', marine."

They shared a grin and together on the forest floor, amongst the leaf litter that had nearly claimed two lives, two kindred spirits consummated their love.