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The ninth floor of Hotel D'Arc lay in shreds. The windows were bared, the curtains collapsed on the carpets, lying in thin patches and strips, exposing the inside and fully vulnerable to the prying eyes of the city. A myriad of food were on a messy whirlpool around the suite, liquids spattered on the walls and furniture like carelessly sprayed paint. The perpetrator kneeled atop the bed, springs bounced up and down in between the claw-marked stripped sheets. The black cat's flexed paws clawed and ripped at the story books that he now so hated. His fangs were bared, tongue slipped and licking his muzzle. His saliva trickled on his neck, breaths burning against the roof of his mouth. His eyes were crazed, wide-eyed like that of a person gone feral, perhaps even insane. With a scream that cackled like a death rattle, he collapsed on the torn pillow's fluff. His back slammed on the springs and with an annoyed groan, he rolled over and dug his face on the bed.

Trapped. Betrayed.

It's everything he's feeling. Every breath he took in this cage that was an unknown floor in a closed-down hotel was like poison. He didn't want to breathe, for the possible next thing he knows, he's inhaling sleeping gas and the traitor that was the rhino called Alexander would take him and have his way with him. Nothing changed, he knew. It was but all just an illusion covered over Ryleigh's eyes to give him a momentary hope of living a better life. And for what? To be Delivered?

His mind went back to his days at the Dungeon and Best-seller ringed like a church bell directly to his ears. Whatever happens, he didn't want to go back to that place again or go through the same experience that he had before. He did not want to be an object again.

He mulled over what had happened at the mall; Of Alexander running after him after he caught Ryleigh overhearing his conversation. Ryleigh was smaller, and faster, but he was no athlete nor was he exactly in shape. Alexander however, was big, but he had the endurance to chase Ryleigh around even if it would mean chasing him for the whole day, which Ryleigh couldn't even do if he wanted to. But it only lasted for a minute. Afterwards, Alexander already had him by his stomach, and it felt like a chokehold on his neck. He had struggled but his strength was to a child's compared to Alex. There were meager people around, but those that were present did not even bother to intervene, and all they did were stare. Somehow, he went limp at that point, the entire scenario bearing a grave similarity to what happened way back: The attempt to run, the chokehold, the way the car's door closed as a huge figure blocked his only way out. Then there was that feeling of a thin pinch on his neck. And he was gone out. Half a week ago, he woke to the sight of Alexander's back disappearing on the door. That was the last he saw of him.

He trusted the guy, believed that he was offering him a chance in life. But even after having gone through the same scenario so many times, he fell through the same feigned sympathy trap again. He should've known better than to readily give his trust away like it's nothing. Once again, he felt so stupid, so naive. He had gone through the same mistake. Trusting. He did not know what prompted him to do it, but he did. He remembered the first time the rhino walked on him--Ryleigh thinking that the rhino was a customer, that he'd abuse him and fuck him senseless. He was wrong about his assumptions of the rhino at that time. He just wasn't right this time around.

He thought about Alexander's safety net: The ropes, locking him up, that same liquid that he always injects on him whenever Ryleigh runs out of control. He could've easily used his fist to contain him and beat him senseless, but he didn't. Ryleigh thought that it was because Alexander was different, unique, but that was barely the case--Alexander simply had different methods, methods that gave little concern to his well-being.

He knew he was thinking with a sense of distress about him, with only clarity coming in once in a while. But yet he was so sure of what the rhino would do to him. Deliver him. He saw the events back at the car and at the mall in a brand new light, a light that made him feel dark, like he'll fall in an endless pit of sex again. He knew that soon, he would be in the limelight again, that the hungry eyes of men would be on him, and their searching claws would dig on his naked form again. Soon.

Cynthia was right all along. Her words did not make sense before, but now, it was all the explanation he needed. The best people you thought you knew could end up being the worst people who would lead to your end.

He had been blinded by kindness, enough that he did not see the underlying motive behind the rhino's actions. The rhino fed him regularly, enough that he gained his weight up and looked healthier than he had been in so many years. Alexander gave him an emotional bond that he so lacked--an observation that Alexander must have seen between him and Godric. There was a lack of trust. But him and Alexander, they had. Even though it was fake. Now the centerpiece that was so important had been revealed. The Master and Slave roleplay. He was training him to be a slave again.

The silent hum of the elevator resounded on his ears, followed by the clattering sound as it hit it's end. Had Ryleigh been thrashing the place, he would not have heard nor had he readied himself for what or rather Who was coming. It could only be one person.

Alexander.

Though he hasn't eaten for days, the cat felt stronger than ever. His logical mind told him that he was desperate, and if an altercation occurs between him and Alexander, he would not even be able to graze the rhino, but the voice was weak, and the shouts of desperation was emanating a thunderous shrill on his head. He did not need the energy from food to sustain him, only the adrenaline that rushed through his veins like magma mixing with rivers of his blood, its power surging through him, giving him the bold sense of a hungry predator. He readied himself, picturing the rhino reaching for the keys and silently turning the door's knob, expecting the cat to be asleep or at least weakened. The rhino would enter and without warning, Ryleigh would claw at his face and rend his eyes to blind him, giving the cat enough time to fumble for his keys and rush towards the elevator and out of this goddamn cage.

He was now on all fours, all of his sharpened claws unsheathed on his paws. He crawled carefully, his tail twitching on his back. His nostrils sniffed and flared, as if searching for a scent of his prey. Inwardly he cursed. All he could smell was the rotten stench of spoiled food. He skulked towards the door, and if only he could, he would have crawled up towards the wall and on the ceiling like a spider to catch his prey completely unaware. Instead, he was prostrate at the door's side, feet and hackles raised, teeth snarled, claws excitedly scratching the carpet. The sound of heavy footsteps excited him further, and there was a heightened sense of awareness about him, like a real predator ready to lunge at his prey's neck and tear his jugular vein apart. The steps got closer and soon it stopped. The black cat's ears caught the ringing sound of the keys, and he grinned as his prey fumbled with the keys. There was a snap at the door knob and as it turned a maniacal grin flashed on Ryleigh's muzzle, his eyes glinting with a yearning for blood. The door opened, his prey stepped through. With a satisfied hiss, Ryleigh lunged and pushed his prey on his chest, bearing the whole weight of the whole cat as he fell down on the floor. Powered with the rush of adrenaline, he raised his paw and fully spread his claws. He growled, and swung his arms, his paw about to hit its mark when instead.

He saw the frightened eyes of Roland staring at him.

Ryleigh yipped and jumped back, the laying figure of Roland groaned in pain and displeasure at him. His mind snapped, and the voices of desperation that was there shut themselves up. Ryleigh muttered apologies to the old otter, feeling himself deflate. He knew he was desperate to get out of the cage, but he wasn't going to assault a defenseless old man for that.

"Sorry!" he muttered again, and he lent a paw to the otter. Roland took it and as he was about to help himself up, the sound bones cracking resounded from his back and otter further groaned in pain.

"By the gods, Master Ryleigh, what were you thinking?" He said, sounding both angry and weary at once. He reached towards above his rump and rubbed his lower back, "I could've broken my back because of that!"

"I-I'm sorry! I thought you were Alexander and--"

"Master Alexander? He won't be coming until later today." Roland said, patting dust off from his coat tails, "You should get ready. We won't like it if you were in this state--A mess."

"We?" Ryleigh said, disgusted, now not so sorry about knocking the otter down, "You're in this too aren't you Roland? I should've known. This was your hotel after all, or should I call it a cage?" The cat was unsheathing his claws again, the prospect of scratching the otter's face becoming more interesting.

"Now look here Master Ryleigh. I think that there has been a huge misunderstanding between you two."

"There is no misunderstanding Roland! Only lies." Ryleigh yelled but he was breathless. He suddenly felt tired and lightheaded, the days of only relying on adrenaline and emotions as energy were catching up to him fast. He needed rest. Turning his back to Roland, he went and crashed on the bed, uncaring whether the otter would do anything to him, though he doubted that.

Behind him, the otter rustled and clicked his tongue in disgust. He drew something black and glistening from his pocket and spread it out and started stuffing the scraps of garbage from the floor inside it.

"This place is a mess." Roland said. It was a simple statement, one that Ryleigh did not take to heart.

The cat sat up from the bed and gave the otter a tired, empathic look, "I'm sorry, if only I knew that it would be you who'd clean it up, I wouldn't have done it." Or at least try not to do it.

Roland nodded, "You were in pain, I could see you," he said, pointing a finger towards a corner beside the bed, "If you still haven't realized, there are cameras around this room, though the only reason you wouldn't have known is that Master Alex never told you."

"He didn't." Ryleigh said, feeling bitter hatred surge as bile on his throat, but he was too tired to express it.

"I have to apologize for Master Alexander's actions. He never was a person to tell secrets."

"You mean he's a liar."

Roland shot him a disapproving look and dropped the garbage bag to the floor then climbed towards the bed and sat beside Ryleigh's feet. For a moment, he winced and rubbed his lower back, and it brought forth guilt in Ryleigh's chest.

"Master Alex does not tell lies, only truths. If anything was kept from you, then it was for good reason."

Ryleigh scoffed, though he hadn't meant to. He didn't want to spite the old man, but he wasn't the subject here. Alexander was.

"Oh? And is there any reason why you keep calling him Master?"

A smile tugged at Roland's muzzle, and there was a knowing gaze on his eyes. Suddenly he looked younger and much much brighter, "It is the same reason why I call you Master as well, Master Ryleigh."

"W-wha--"

"You may leave," Roland interrupted him, the smile gone from his face.

And though a question loomed over Ryleigh's head, the prospect of being able to leave this cage was more interesting at present. Though he was unsure why the otter was letting him leave, he was not letting the opportunity past. But just to make sure, he asked, "You mean I can leave this room?"

A husky laugh emanated from Roland's throat, one that reminded Ryleigh of drunk and arrogant patrons. It gave him a feeling that Roland had been just that on his younger years. Ryleigh blushed and felt himself grow flustered. The otter's laugh was so profound and ominous that it bothered Ryleigh so much. He didn't even know what was so funny in what he said. Little by little, Roland's laughter toned down and when he finally stopped, he was rubbing his eyes where tears had formed.

"I am but an old man Master Ryleigh. I make mistakes as I am forgetful, and...," a faint laugh escaped him again, "I think that I forgot about my orders to not let you leave without me accompanying you...or was it the other way around?"

A smile formed on Ryleigh's muzzle, it felt foreign to him. "You could've let me out earlier, then I couldn't have thrashed the place."

The otter chuckled, "If I did that then you would've pounced on me and scratched me to death. I would've died because of a heart attack! You haven't really looked at yourself these past few days have you?"

"I didn't." He admitted, "Did I really look that bad?"

Roland grinned, with yellow, rotting teeth, "Like a jungle cat."

Ryleigh chortled. He decided that he liked Roland.

"Well," Roland said, "Why don't you make yourself presentable? Your room isn't the only thing that's a mess."

Ryleigh nodded shyly. The way Roland pointed it out made him conscious of himself. He was really in a mess--Naked, with only his tighty whities clinging on his lithe rump and groin. He didn't even know when he had taken his clothes off, or even poked holes on his underwear. He was glad that his fur was black, if not, then Roland would have seen him redden, but it did not make him feel any less naked.

"D-doesn't it bother you that I'm naked?"

Roland patted his feet reassuringly, "I'm already past the age of hyperactive libido. That's in your age Master Ryleigh." He said, "You should get going now. It's already past noon and you haven't eaten yet. There's food on the counter, but please do take a bath before going down."

Ryleigh nodded and obeyed. In the next hour, Ryleigh took a bath while Roland cleaned the place up. He checked his closet if there were anything that was left that he hadn't ripped. Fortunately, there was still a pair of shirt and jeans and he took it on.

He gave a reluctant smile to Roland before he left, and in the next second, he was already at the door. The walled room in between the elevator and the suite was, unlike last time, lit with yellow lights, and it made his treading that much easier. He boarded the elevator, clicked on the button, and suddenly felt the same twinge of nervousness that he first felt when he boarded the elevator. Though this time, it was more because of the thought that that this may all be just a dream, and would soon become a nightmare the moment he steps out of the door.

Now all alone, he frowned. The fake show with Roland had been agonizing at most. Admittedly, had it not been for his experience at the Dungeon, he wouldn't have pulled it off. Even he convinced himself that he had told everything like he really meant it. But it was a lie--Like everything else.

Everything could be a lie. For all he knew, the otter might have been sent by Alexander to further mess with his head, to spew more false ideas into making him believe that Alexander told nothing but the truth. He had done some elaborate thinking over the past days, as much as his feral state could've taken him, and all he could bring up was how much hatred he harbored for Alexander. He felt confused and lost, and every scratch on the room was despair taken physical form. He felt like the rhino had been punitive all along, that everything he did made more of a burden rather than a luxury. He really wanted to believe that the rhino was trustworthy, wanted to take Roland's word that he really was. But it had all been too conflicting--The rhino's words and actions. One does not care for someone by locking him up or knocking him down with sleep drugs.

Alexander tricked him. He knew.

The elevator tinged and Ryleigh snapped out from his reverie. A light dribble of drool was at the side of his muzzle, and he became conscious that he spaced out again. It seemed to him that he had been doing that a lot as of late. He walked off the elevator and wandered towards the counter, and just like Roland had said, there was food waiting for him on top of it.

It was just a simple bowl of soup and juice, yet, he felt the sight of it pull at his chest. It was Alexander's soup, or at least Roland made it the same way he did. Ryleigh felt a surge of bitterness soar through him, and he had the urge to smash the bowl and glass to smithereens. But his hunger and thirst far outweighed his emotions at the moment. He took a sniff at it, expecting some kind of sleeping powder mixed with it but there were no telltale signs that it was, nor did he really know what the chemical smelled like. Taking a sip of it, it definitely was the same soup that Alexander made for him. Chicken, he remembered, and there was salt, and pepper, and...and...

A sob escaped him and a droplet of tear fell on the bowl that he set down tremblingly. The sudden flood of emotions overtook him and made it difficult for him to stay still. Through the well of liquid on his eyes, he spotted a chair just behind the counter and collapsed on it. He felt himself shake, and became more aware that he had been torn again. He felt sad and angry at the same time. The feeling of betrayal flashed through him again, as well as the days and nights he spent locked on the cage on top of the hotel. The images of himself thrashing the room ran through him and he could not contain the truth about his actions any longer. Not to himself.

He thought that he could trust again, and he willingly gave it to Alexander because he indeed seemed trustworthy and because he granted him something nobody else had given or offered him before. Freedom. He remembered the kind way the rhino touched him, gentle, because Alexander knew that he could break as easily as any thin glass. Even Alexander's teasing tugged at him, and he missed it. There was a manner that made him feel like Alexander was like an older brother he could rely on , especially during his last day with him, even more than that. But he knew that even family could betray one another and leave you behind for good. It had happened to him before, it could happen again. Especially if its make-believe.

His mind fluttered towards the event in the washroom. Alexander, kissing him deep, his eyes filled with lust that he had never seen him possess before. Their clothed erections rubbing against each other, the rhino's paw reaching down and squeezing his buttocks. There was a feral desire in Alexander, but Ryleigh felt it inside him as well, as if all the aches and needs of the rhino had passed over him. Ryleigh loved it and he felt a yearning towards the rhino's touch that was more than just the desire for the thrills of sex. Maybe if they had not been in an emergency, maybe he and Alexander would've...

Ryleigh clamped down on the thought and used a tissue laid on the food's tray to dry his tears off. He knew he had to go, away from Roland, away from this place and away from Alexander. But he also knew that he wanted to see Alexander, ask him if all of it was a lie. He ached for the time that they watched their chickflicks and their shoulders would accidentally touch when they'd become too comfortable with their positions. The rhino's heat would radiate to him and an escape of breath from Ryleigh's muzzle would make him sniff on the minty scent of Alexander's cologne. He wanted to stay and wait for Alexander to arrive and tell him that Roland was right. That all of this was all just a huge misunderstanding. Cynthia's words nagged at him, telling him he was thinking too much, not with his mind, but something else that was entirely alien to him that he found it terrifying to think of.

He clamped harder on the thought before he cried again. He thought about going through the backdoor where they had gone through the first time he left the hotel. He remembered Alexander holding a stack of keys to open it--but he remembered that in his hurry to get away from Roland, he forgot to steal the bunch that must have been the keys to every door in the hotel--His exit.

He searched around the counter, on the messy papers scattered on top of the cracked wood. His paws moved fast, and through his searching, knocked over an opened ink bottle with the back of his paw. He hissed, and quickly put it back up, assessing the damage, and found most of the papers drenched with ink. Roland's gonna get in trouble for that, those looked important. Moving on, he pulled on the drawers and felt around for any key that he could use...Nothing. A rush of panic washed over him, and he felt himself weaken. In his dread, his eyes shot over to the end of the lobby. It gave him an idea. The secret entrance.

Almost too eagerly, he went around the counter and straight to the corner where he remembered Roland pull the door at. The wallpapers were in a more distraught state at this part, and a few claw marks trailed downwards. It was an elaborate camouflage and definitely well thought out. The claw marks coincided directly on top of the small partition between the secret door and the wall, invisible to anyone who did not know the door was there. He inserted his claw and pulled on it, and slowly, the door started to open. Soon, there was enough space to insert his paw and he did. Without looking back, he slipped in.

The door closed behind him and he was drenched in almost-darkness, the only light he could see were the ones in between the slits of the door behind him. The path was dark, the air was wet and it clung to him like rain. The ground underneath his shoed feet was hard and jagged like untiled raw stone. An earthen scent circulated and flew past his nose. He figured that he was on a stairwell, because when he looked downwards, there was a flickering blaze of light on a torch burned as it hung on what he figured was the path's walls. His breathing felt tight and he counted it to the fact that he felt that the path was narrower than it should have been, maybe just a few feet wide, only enough that three people of his lithe size would fit. He wandered down carefully, using the walls and the light a few yards downwards to guide him.

He felt his fur stand on his neck when something skittered under the darkness. Looking down, the light from the torch a illuminated a sizable white insect--the termite queen, embedded on the ground, alive and it's bulbous segmented behind pulsated as other smaller insects seemed to pull a gel like substance from an opening at it's end. He yipped and covered his muzzle when his own echo made him realize that he had been loud. With a grunt, he stepped towards the side of the path and took hold of the torch. He almost wanted to burn the thing down had he not been scared of how the smaller insects would react. He hurried off before the image of the disgusting creature fully embeds itself on his mind.

Now he knew why Alexander had been so insistent in using the back door in leaving instead of satisfying his curiosity over the secret passageway. Or, he thought, it could be something else. Suddenly, he became conscious of how little he knew of Alexander as well as Roland and all the other people they were associated with. They could've been criminals, and there could've been bodies stashed in this passageway, and...he could've been their next victim! He felt himself grow increasingly apprehensive, and this time, more than because of the skittering sound of insect legs beating against the ground, but because of the possible dangers that lay unseen.

His heart beat hard against his chest, and sweat started to trickle from his skin, suddenly feeling very hot. He waved the torch around the ground and towards the path seeing nothing but darkness ahead. Feet silently treaded the ground, gathering his wits about him as he took deep breaths to calm himself down. He noticed that the passageway's walls were of earth rather than metal. He must've been underground, and the thought made him tread with a faster gait, thinking that he could be buried alive if the ground decides to collapse on him.

A wave of a torch and his eye caught something glint in the dark along the wall the opposite side of him. Carefully, he approached, and saw a metallic door materialize under the veil of darkness. Amidst his earlier fears and thoughts, he became curious as to what was at the other side. The door was slightly ajar, and he tried pulling to open it wider but found it unyielding. Instead, he inserted his body towards the opening, torch-first and slipped inside.

The room was barely a few square meters wide, and found it bare except for a round table at the center and a few broken chairs on the floor. Tracing the torch downwards, a flicker of light glimmered against the illumination. Kneeling, he saw the faint glimmers as clusters of broken glass shards. His feline nose sniffled as he took up a different scent on the ground and he motioned his torch forward, onto the ground and found a dark spot on the rocky floor. Leaning down, he slipped his fingers against it and brought it to his nose. It had the earthen scent of the ground but upon further smelling, a rustic scent hit him and he realized what it was...Dried blood.

He didn't yip nor panic, but his apprehension only rose, mixed with a new-found curiosity as to what happened in this room or how long it was before whatever event transpired in this very spot. He noticed that there was a circular metallic object on the ground and found a few of the glass shards still connected to the groves on the object. It smelled of oil and he figured that it had been a lantern at some point in time before it broke or had been broken. He wondered whether there was a fight or any struggle that took place here, though he doubted that. Standing up, he looked around; The blood traces were few and if there really had been something of a fight then there should at least have been splatters on the wall or anywhere else other than that spot on the ground. He gulped. One thing was for sure. Either Roland or Alexander was involved. He felt sure that it was the latter.

He was about to leave when his attention caught something out of the periphery of his eye. He turned and approached the corner where it was situated. It was a small crate sitting at the far corner of the room, easy to miss had he not been attentive. Kneeling down, he hovered the torch over it and used his free paw to remove the soft cloth that had been covering the top. He found an assortment of objects inside and rummaged through them. He found it strange that such a crate was hidden in this place, seeing that it contained nothing more than a few baby bottles, a notebook with a leather cover, an album and picture books that were not so different to the ones he read. His paw glazed over the leather notebook, and he opened it.

Marlene Wellings was written on the first page in a cursive and intricate design, like whoever wrote the name took great care and pride in writing the name. He had a feeling that it was a woman, and it had been Marlene herself who was the writer, whoever she was. Her surname rung a bell though, and Ryleigh had a feeling that he had heard the name before, though he was unsure where or when. He took the notebook along with the album and set it down on the table. The surface creaked and shook under the objects' weight and Ryleigh wished that he had stepped on the damn termites earlier.

At his side, he noticed a sconce made for holding torches and placed the burning wood over to it. He then, went back to the table and found himself drawn to the objects like it was a long lost religious artifact. He started on the diary and flipped it to the next page. At the upper right corner of the page was written a date that was two decades ago. It truly was ancient. He read it quick, only skimming through the bits that were interesting which were quite limited. The bits he read told the story of a depressed woman, obvious with the morbid words she used. Although he could not specifically say why she was depressed, at some point in the passages, it did say that she had attempted suicide for a multiple times. He would've pitied the woman, nobody deserved to die--even if they did something terrible. Cedrick, he thought, deserved punishment but not death. He laid the notebook back on the table and drew his attention towards the album. It had a black cover and was several inches wide, at the center of it was written Album in the same writing he remembered to be on the leather notebook, written with a fine white marker rather than embossed. He opened it and at the first page was written Wellings as well.

Come to think of it, he did not know what Alexander's or Roland's last names were. Could Wellings be associated with one of them? To douse his burning curiosity, he turned it to the second page and lo and behold, his question had been answered. The picture had that ancient tone to it. It was not fully colored but rather was a combination of black, white and brown. The picture took up a whole of the album's page. He did not know why but a smile crept on his muzzle, and his face felt warm. At the center was a young rhino, Alexander. Ryleigh estimated that the rhino had not even hit puberty yet. He was small, not pudgy like a healthy seven or eight year old should be but rather had a wiry build. He was wearing a tuxedo complete with a bowtie on his neck. The kid Alexander was holding his arms hidden behind his back, and he looked quite self conscious as he wore a taciturn expression on his eyes. He was frowning. This was not the Alexander he knew. But then again, the Alexander he knew might have been a fake all along.

He moved on and turned the page over. The picture still contained a young Alexander. He was holding out his arm towards his side, as if his hand was holding someone. Ryleigh could not see who it was because half the picture had been torn and was hidden under Alexander's part of the picture. Annoyed, Ryleigh pinched on the sticky plastic cover and reached inside to get the hidden part and without looking first, drew them both together so they were a whole. With a satisfied smile, he stuck the cover back in and looked at the whole picture.

He froze.

Everything was suddenly clear to him. The true final piece of the puzzle linking with the other broken pieces that were too vague to read.

It's the same reason why I call you Master, Master Ryleigh.

"Ryleigh."

He recognized the booming voice behind him, though he was neither surprised nor scared. He should've heard the rhino walking through the path, but that hardly mattered now. His eyes felt a magnetic attraction towards the person holding the young Alexander's hand. The image brought forth feelings of disgust, repulsion, but most of all, hatred which surged from all around his body, the adrenaline that had come and gone from his veins reignited. His chest vibrated, the growl coming out sounding so guttural like it was not his own. In a fraction of a second, he turned and lashed out with his paw at the same time. It hit its mark, the claw scraping the fur's chest with a sizzle. His eyes burned with enough rage that could've set the rhino ablaze.

"You traitor!" he hissed and bared his fangs all at once, the tips grazing his own muzzle's furred skin.

Alexander had his own eyes on the black cat. The emerald orbs reflected the torch's light, shining like burning rotten olives, yet he was calm like snow, cool rather than cold. His pectorals were gashed on the cleft in thick stripes of four; blood flowed down like red tears on his white shirt with hues of brown like it was splashed on with wet mud.

Ryleigh screamed and lashed out at Alexander again on his chest, another gash of blood on the cleft, the claw marks criss-crossing on top of each other. Alexander barely winced, and Ryleigh screamed on the top of his lungs in frustration ending with an echoing howl that was unnatural for his feline breed. He sobbed and felt his nose fill with mucus, arms suddenly growing weak as the adrenaline slipped off and gave way to grief.

Ryleigh collapsed on the floor, legs dropping like dead weight on top of the glass shards and felt them dig into the graft of his clothing and into his skin. He winced, but the pain only made his sobs that much worse. His eyes stung and sopped wet with tears.

He had grown tired of all the surprises, of all the secrets kept from him by the people that he wanted to trust, like his life would never get better, treating him like rubbish and throwing him to the worst people in the world.

"Ryleigh." Alexander hummed, his voice trying to soothe Ryleigh's cries. He knelt in front of him and held a hand out to Ryleigh's face. The black cat evaded contact, but Alexander persisted and soon his thumbs were stroking his cheeks and drying off his tears.

"I'm sorry if I had to keep this from you..." Alexander said, "It just wasn't the right time yet."

Ryliegh held Alexander's hand with both of his and looked up with tear-stained eyes, he tried to speak but his throat tightened and what came out was a mere croak. He felt dizzy and light headed, the image of Alexander's face peering at him multiplied by three's and four's. He spun and the narrow room's darkness and light seemed to combine in a waving haze of dark brown and red.

He felt hot, bitter liquid crawl up from his stomach then up towards his inner ducts like a lurching snake fighting to get out. His arms felt like they were somehow not his, like they were cut off and were now phantom. They were light as feather and they flew towards his throat then dropped like heavy metal down on the floor, the hot bile from his throat finally breaking free and spewing out from his muzzle in a shower.

Then he passed out.

_ _

Everything was a blur at that point. He remembered the sourness of the bile on his tongue along with fragrance of mint and something else that smelled like rust. His eyes opened half-lidded at fractions of a second but he felt the seconds was stretching and growing longer or that everything was moving in a snail's pace.

He saw a shade of gray on his vision that looked like gray mist against the red-orange background. He felt like he was floating, like he were atop the sea and he would've feared that he would drown because he did not know how to swim, but he didn't. Under him felt something like stone, but it was warm, like it were bathed in sun. Though he could not think well for only as far as his half-consciousness could take him, he knew that he was being carried. The arms under him were filled with a stalwart strength yet carrying him so carefully.

His eyes closed and when he opened them again, he only saw darkness. In the next second, light sprang forth in front of him slowly, like a curtain was being dragged across a window as the glittering sun rose. It stung his eyes and he wanted to cover his face with his paws, but he could not move his paws or even his arms. They approached the light slowly. At the end of it was a figure of shimmering light. Ryleigh slept again.

His eyes were closed, but he felt himself moving, then he felt himself being laid down on something soft. He breathed and when he did, it was a sigh of relief; of happiness that he could rest after half a week of being restless. Momentarily, he opened his eyes and he saw himself in a mirror. A face with pure white fur, and aqua blue eyes glistening with tears. He reached out to touch his cheeks, expecting himself to glow with his own warmth, but he didn't. Instead, his paws gathered most of the heat, and he remembered that he was no longer white-furred or blue-eyed. This was not a mirror. This was not him.

---

1 woke up with a start from his double-decked bed. A look around and he learned that he was back in the orphanage. He felt 2's body stir from behind him and he silently dropped and climbed down from the broken ladder and once had to skip three footings at once. His heels fell down on the floor without much of a thud and he became aware of the other children around him. 3 and 4 lay hugging each other on the bottom deck, 5,6, and 7, were on the opposite top deck with 8 singlehandedly dominating the bottom deck for his size. The others, from 9 to 20 were scattered like trash on the floor and some, even under the lower decks of the bed. He is 1, and previously he was 3 then 2. But their numbers had dwindled over the months after the old owl sold the previous 1 and 2 to those pedophiliac men. He was next in line.

He hadn't really wondered why the old owl named them by numbers when they already had names but then again, they are just that to her after all. Numbers. They were nothing but objects to sell so she could live her life comfortably while him and the other orphans couldn't even fully fit in their room. He started on the hall, his little naked feet absorbed most of the cold and he hugged his oversized night gown towards his body.

This was it, he thought. This was finally the time that he could run and be free, Just a little more. He walked down the hall, and let his eyes adjust to the darkness. He didn't bother to flick the light switch to turn the non-existent light bulb on because he knew that the old owl didn't even bother to give them that. His nose picked up the stench of urine, poop and retch and he knew that he had just passed the washroom that nobody bothered to clean. He stopped, went inside, and reached to his nightgown's pocket, drawing out a box of matches.

He lit one of it, brought it to his face and trailed carefully towards the sink. Leaning down, he got the smell of rust and his paw lightly felt for the pipe. He easily found it and traced the curvature downwards ending on a patch of something rough and hard. He pulled and it snapped without much of a fight, then he moved for the other end and snapped the makeshift repair of rubber bands with his claws.

He yipped when he was not fast enough to catch the pipe as it dropped with a clang, and he blew his match out just to provide some manner of invisibility if the old owl or any of the other children would wake. They didn't, and with a sigh of relief, he lit another match stick, picked the pipe up and walked out of the bathroom.

He walked tip toed and gracefully avoided the planks that he knew would creak if he stepped on them. He had been silent, and soon, he was at the old owl's room. The bed was large, but the old owl easily occupied most of it with her flab of fat and her saggy giant boobs under her feathered body. There was a tremor in the room when she snored and a feather fell on a heap on 1's foot. He couldn't help but bare his teeth at the old owl. In his and everyone's eyes, she was a selfish, greedy, fat bastard and she was only nice when the potential buyers or the city hall inspectors would come and check on them--which isn't really even that frequent. They had tried to call for help from the inspectors, but it always seemed like they did not hear them. 1 had the feeling they were in the 'business' together.

His eyes jumped somewhere else, unable to look at the abhorrent fat lady anymore. On her bedside sat something that they were not allowed to look at--Their files. Curious, he stepped over the bunch of shed feathers and picked the folder up. The papers inside were dirty, either with ink, snot or...he looked, is that blood? He made a disgusted face and carefully turned the pages over. The pages were marked with lighter red ink, and what he thought were their names were written on top of the page. Each page showed different faces of the orphans, some he recognized that already left, and others still here. The old owl shifted from her bed and 1 instinctively ducked and inserted himself in the pocket in between the bedside table. It was a false alarm. The old owl snored again, and 1 crawled out but got up too early that he hit the underside of the table. Immediately, the picture frames and unwashed glass cups on top came crashing down and the loud tings and clanks of breaking glass woke the old owl. She got up, grunted and put her pointed-rimmed glasses at once and her eyes seemed to quickly home in on the small figure of 1 on the ground.

"You stupid--"

All in a second, 1 got up, held the pipe with an iron grip and snarled. Then he turned, let his body focus their weight on his arms and swung the pipe. The iron hit with a crash accompanied with the sound the old owl's skull cracking. She fell down.

Then there was blood.

---

Ryleigh woke from his nightmare, sweating, but did not cry nor scream. His head throbbed with pain, feeling the blood pulsing through the knotted veins on his temples. He rubbed his eyes and when he opened them, he could not see anything, only total darkness. Darkness... It hit him. He had been on the tunnels under Hotel D'Arc, and there were termites on the floor! There was a room, a diary and an album and there was...Alexander.

A squeaking sound he thought was a door knob turned followed by a flick. A candelabra overhead illuminated the room, and Ryleigh learned that he was lying on a bed. He almost gasped when he saw Alexander's figure lying beside him. But he was asleep, lying face down with only one side of his face shown to Ryleigh. His eyes were closed, and the usual smiley face he wore when he was around Ryleigh was not there, replaced by the gray and serene image of a young rhino drooling on his pillow.

There was a figure on the door, and Ryleigh felt himself choke on his breath. He knew she had been the same woman who wrote on the diary he found, the same woman holding the young Alexander's hand on the album. She was... She was--

"Good evening Ryleigh." she said.

"I am Marlene Wellings. Your mother."