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CHAPTER EIGHTTEEN

MIKEY

Joey wanted to go out that night, so Mikey had relented into going to dinner at a steakhouse called the Bunkhouse, which according to one of Joey's friends at the hospital, served decent prime rib. The place was crazy busy, customers at every table, with casually-dressed staff racing here and there with orders and pitchers of water and tabs for customers who'd had too much to drink and needed sent home. It was also a warm evening, which meant that a lot of the thicker-furred patrons were panting, and Mikey could smell the scents of a dozen plus species, all thrown together in a blend amid the sounds of chewing and of forks clinking against porcelain.

"You're quiet again, babe" Joey said.

"Just a busy day at work" Mikey replied, looking away so the dog wouldn't see his grimace. Remembering last night...

He'd picked Marvin Feeley because of the ideologue. The ideologue said that to make profit off of being gay was just as evil as being it yourself, and since Marvin Feeley had made his money off of gay nightclubs, he seemed like a prime choice for victim number four. Besides that, he was a weasel, and Mikey had never liked weasels; twitchy, nervous guys they were, with that high voice that made them popular as radio announcers or DJs or as actors in comedy flics.

He'd waited for Feeley to come out, but the guy had been later than he'd expected, so Mikey had actually dozed off as he crouched there in the shadows, and all he could do when Feeley suddenly appeared was swing the machete in the hopes he'd make contact.

He hadn't, of course, but that wasn't the issue. What was the issue was that Feeley had punched him, had knocked him, Mikey, the feared killer of gays, into a puddle, sprawled like a beaten pup. It was almost scary how he'd reacted. The anger had come bubbling up inside him, and he'd wanted Marvin Feeley to die, he had needed him to die, instantly, and painfully. He'd been carrying Conrad Fincher's pistol with him to every kill site, just as a precaution, and he'd whipped it out and shot Feeley three times in the back as the weasel was about to get into his car. Then it had been easy enough to drag him around to the front of the club, lean the corpse against the door while he put the necessary paperwork in Feeley's folded paws, and leave. Job done.

Except it didn't feel done.

"Sometime you have to introduce me to your work friends" Joey said. "Your school friends."

"I don't have many friends" Mikey replied evasively.

Joey didn't give up. "Of course you don't. You're a good looking-"

"My species has nothing to do with it" Mikey muttered. "I'm just another student getting his masters. I don't generally talk to people much." Actually that wasn't true; Mikey talked to a lot of people at work - although not about Joey; professionally, Mikey was single - and had friends there, but Joey did not know where he really worked or even what Mikey's real name was; to Joey, he was just Michael Ross, grad student.

Joey was sulking, which he did when Mikey was being disagreeable. Joey was such a stereotypical gay in some ways. Nonetheless, he really was an ideal boyfriend. Not Brett, of course - but no one else could be Brett. Joey was simply ideal in that he lived for two things; surgeries, and exercise. And by exercise, that meant tennis or volleyball or running, which Brett would not have called exercise. Brett had been a weight-lifter, and he'd actually made fun of the track guys when they came trotting by panting after a run.

But nevermind that. Joey's life consisted of work, physical activity, and boyfriend, in that order, which as far as Mikey was concerned, was perfect. No time to look into the personal life of his boyfriend, mysterious Michael Ross.

"You have another man, don't you?" Joey said suddenly, picking at his steak. If he had been Brett, he would have been wolfing it down between talking, but then - oh shut up, Mikey told himself.

"I do not" he retorted indigently. "Joey, sometimes you are such a drama queen."

Joey's ears flattened and he looked away. "I am not. Is it really too much to ask that my boyfriend be honest with me?"

Mikey sighed, pushing the mashed potatoes around his plate with a fork. Fine. "No, Joey, I do not have another man" he promised, leaning across the table to hold the collie's paw. "Promise."

Actually he did, but Brett he hadn't seen in over a decade, so in all likelihood Mikey would never see him again. And if that meant dating nerdy doctor Joey Rath instead of sexy jock Brett Gardner; well, that was life for you.

A smile had returned to his boyfriend's face. "Thank you, babe. I don't know..." he jabbed a chunk of steak into his muzzle and chewed thoughtfully. "I'm sorry I'm not being more trustful. Just introduce me to your school friends sometime, ok?"

"Fine" Mikey said, just to end the argument, as he was starting to feel sulky himself. His steak was getting cold and it was too spicy anyway, and the water glasses provided were too short for long-snouted people, made for weasels or otters or something. A two-star restaurant, maybe three.

Joey grinned again and squeezed Mikey's paw. "I love you, Mike. I wish I wasn't so damn stuck to the hospital so I could tell you that more often."

If I was normal, I'd be feeling something from hearing that, Mikey thought, even as outwardly he smiled and said something affirmative. It was always a struggle for him to feel, even if everyone else seemed to be able to do that so easily. Mikey vaguely remembered what it was like to love; to feel, but try though he might, he could not feel anymore. And oh how he tried. He'd asked his parents why he couldn't feel, but his mom only said that he needed to figure that out himself.

It had to do with Brett, he was certain. Because the lingering memory of how he'd felt around the husky had yet to fade entirely, even if dulled by time and space. Yet even when he thought of Brett, he still couldn't quite remember why he was dead inside, why nothing ever felt...anything.

Which brought him to the root of the problem from last night. When I pulled the trigger and killed Marvin Feeley, watched his body jerk and the blood run away in rivers, I felt something, he thought. Elation, joy, power. And in realising that, he remembered feeling the same way when he'd killed his other victims.

He could only feel when he took a life.

And that was sobering.

After they'd finished eating, Joey drove them down to a beach he frequented due to its length, which made it an ideal place for running. Mikey did not particularly like running for long distances, but Joey was always so full of energy, even after 24 hour stints at the hospital, so he relented into a short, five mile sprint. Jogging along, passing children with their sandcastles and a group of hyenas playing kickball and a meercat couple making out shamelessly, Mikey's thoughts couldn't help straying back to the horrifying detail he'd discovered; he had to kill to feel, and like oftentimes when he was mentally struggling over something, his family appeared.

He could never remember any of them being into running, and not surprisingly, none of them were dressed for it, his dad in his work suit, his mom in her day dress, Bradley in his basketball jersey. They seemed so out of place on the beach, and as Mikey trotted along, tongue hanging out of his muzzle, he regarded them imploringly. "What should I do?"

"Try not to lose sight of your goals, bro" Bradley suggested. "This just means you're being tested; you're struggling with doubt that you can go through with it."

Mikey shook his head furiously. "No, no; I'm not losing sight. I WILL complete the task. I just want to feel something."

"When did you last feel something?" This came from Amy.

"When I was with Brett" Mikey said confidently. "He's my true love."

"What about Joey?" His mom prompted. "Don't you love him?"

"Yes," Mikey agreed, although he wasn't sure if that was truly the truth. Honestly, he wasn't certain he felt love for anyone anymore, it was another of the emotions he'd somehow lost. "But Brett is my first love, and always will be."

Francesca smiled sadly. "But Mikey, that was fifteen years ago! Brett has changed, yes?"

"None of you have" Mikey said sullenly.

"But honey, that's because of what happened Before" his mom explained gently.

"Well I don't remember" Mikey muttered.

"Don't fret dear, it will come back eventually" his mother said.

Mikey grimaced, focusing on Joey's stringy black and white tail, a flash ahead of him. "You're not helping."

"Helping you feel?"

"Yes..."

"No one can do that for you, son" His dad told him. "Emotion comes from within."

"Not for me" Mikey said wistfully, but his family had already vanished.