Chapter 3: With Friends Like
These…

It was unnaturally chilly for a day in May. The sun still
sat in the sky, but David still had to pull his jacket closed to block out the
cold breeze.  He glanced up at the cloudy
sky. The sun had moved past its highest point. Even without looking at his
watch he could tell it must be at least close to four if not later. It would be
dark in a few hours. He couldn't believe how much time had passed. He had to be
walking for hours in an attempt to clear his head.

Several hours of walking, and every time he thought he'd
finally calmed down, he heard or saw something that brought it all back. He was
grateful to his friend for caring about him, but getting special treatment just
twisted the knife in his gut deeper.

He hated the feeling. It reminded him of when he lost his
parents. Simply because he didn't turn into a sobbing mess every ten seconds, everyone
in the whole school walked on eggshells as if they were afraid he was going to
literally explode. The teachers let him get away with late assignments, people
offered to do favors for him, more than half the girls were showing him more
attention than he knew what to do with, and people even let him cut in front of
them in line and get away with snide remarks. At first he enjoyed the
privileges; getting away with doing almost anything had its perks. But it
didn't take long before he realized what they were really thinking behind those
reassuring smiles. Whenever he disappeared from view, he heard what they really
thought. The constant stares and whispers behind his back suggesting he was
suicidal or homicidal. How they had to be careful to avoid causing an emotional
outburst. On the outside, everyone wanted to be his friend. But he knew they
really thought of him as the poor little orphan mutt. Graduating high school
meant he didn't need to deal with those assholes anymore and he had never been
happier.

Losing Lori had started it all up again. The ones who hadn't
shunned him or made threats on a daily basis, once again started with the
whispers, the fake kindness, and the annoying attempts to “cheer him up." Even
if he hadn't heard them, he knew they're whispering things about him when he was
not around.

Rob was one of the few people who didn't treat him
differently. Now he was doing the same thing everyone else was doing.

David shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and shook his
head so hard, he felt dizzy. The whole point of walking around was to get rid
of the negative thoughts, not focus on them. Taking his mind off things brought
to surface the pain in his legs from walking around so much.

“Hey, David!" called a voice.

He froze and his hackles rose at sound of the voice behind
him. He knew that voice. He hated that
voice. He glanced over his shoulder, silently praying that he was imagining
things and the voice didn't belong to the person he thought it did.

A portly human jogged up to David, wearing a large grin on
his boyish face which David didn't return. “Hey, what's up, man?"—the man glanced
over his shoulder—“It sure has been a while. I haven't seen you since—"

“Is there any reason why you're bothering me, Oliver?" David
asked crossly, “Cause last I checked, you and I have nothing to say to each
other."

Oliver's smile faltered at David's remark. “I know, but
that's part of the reason why I want to talk to you. I want to apologize—"

 “I don't care. After
the way you lied about me on TV, 'sorry' isn't going to cut it," David said,
walking around the human.

 A terse growl to
escaped David's throat as Oliver quickly cut in front of him again. Oliver
appeared unbothered by the obvious display of aggression. “Yes, I had no right
to go in front of those cameras and say the things I did. Which is why I want
to make it up to you," he reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a small,
black box. “I figure this should show how sorry I truly am for being such an
awful, awful friend to you."

David snatched the box from Oliver. It was nothing more than
a small jewelry box. Turning it over, David didn't find any logos or writing on
it. His first instinct was to simply toss it over his shoulder and walk away,
but his curiosity won him over. It couldn't be a trick; Oliver knew he didn't
like him. It was not as if he was going to fuck with him just for kicks.
Besides what harm could he do with a jewelry box?

 He opened the box
with slightly shaking fingers, revealing a gold locket. David removed the
locket and held it up in the light. Judging by the design, it must cost a lot
of money. He turned the locket over in his hands and opened it. There was a
place for a picture to be inserted, but it was empty.

For a minute, David stared at the locket confused then
remembered that he was examining expensive jewelry while standing in the middle
of the sidewalk. He placed the locket back in the box and snapped it shut.

“What's this for?"

Oliver chuckled, “That's the locket you gave Lori. I figured
you'd want it back. I know it might bring up some bad memories, but I know you
have nothing remember her by."

Once again, David's brow rose in confusion, “What are you
talking about? I never gave this to Lori. She didn't like gold, she preferred silver."
David's hackles rose again. Oliver was one of Lori's closest friends. He should
know she wasn't into gold jewelry.

Oliver's smile melted. His eyes darted to David's right
shoulder. “Are you sure? …Wait a minute—I think I got it confused. That must be
the locket Luther gave Lori."

For a moment, David stood there, dumbfounded. He couldn't
have heard what he thought he heard. Oliver wasn't that much of an asshole; there was no way he would track him down
to throw Luther up in his face.

“Wait…What did you—?" David stopped mid-sentence when he
noticed a smile appearing at the corners of Oliver's mouth. His tail curled. He
threw the locket box at Oliver who flinched as if he'd thrown a rock. “I
haven't done a damn thing to you. What is your problem?" He started towards
Oliver, fists stiff at his sides.

Oliver backed away, stammering like a child who broke
something expensive but still believed there was an excuse that will get him
out of trouble. He glanced over David's shoulder before throwing his arms in
front of him like a shield. “Please, just not the face," he begged, voice
breaking as if on the verge of tears.

David stopped his advance. Oliver had been diverting his
gaze in the same direction for a while now making the fur on the back of his
neck stand on end. It could only mean someone was behind him. He whirled
around, fists raised, half-expecting to see someone waiting to ambush him.

But there was no one there.

David looked around in confusion. Something in this
direction had been catching Oliver's attention. His eyes eventually settled on
a dark grey sedan parked near the corner several yards away. He couldn't really
tell, but he was certain he saw someone sitting in the driver's seat.

The person in the car noticed him staring and ducked down
out of sight.

David took several deep, shuddering breaths. He wanted
nothing more than to jump on the miserable excuse for a person standing before
him and tear the sick bastard to pieces. He couldn't believe that not very long
ago, he gave him the benefit of the doubt. He actually trusted him! His chest
swelled in excitement at the thought of beating Oliver within an inch of life…

…And then taking that last inch.

He halted his advance to glance back at the sedan one last
time. Whoever was in the car was making no effort to get out and help. It was
just him and Oliver. The thought put a smile on David's face.

Oliver must have read the expression because fear registered
in his face again—not the acting he was doing a moment ago, but the real,
unrehearsed fear. The kind of fear when someone realized there is nothing they
could do to prevent the horrible event that was to take place—only plan for the
aftermath. Assuming they survived the event to begin with. Sweat popped out on
his forehead. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out but frightened squeaks.
He turned his body as if preparing to run, but his lower-half didn't move.

David started toward his prey again. Knowing whoever was in
the car was only going to watch had padded his rage with glee. No one was going
to save this pathetic excuse for a human being.

The image of Lori suddenly appeared in his mind. The warning
he received on his answering machine, advising him to stay out of trouble, rang
in his ears along with the pulsing of blood.

David closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, feeling
his fur relax against his body. As much as he wanted to, going after Oliver now
was only going to make things more difficult. For a moment, he almost gave in
to Oliver's game. He didn't have the slightest idea why, but he knew playing
the bastard's game was only going to make things more difficult.

 He opened his eyes,
giving Oliver the nastiest glare he could muster. “You are a sick, miserable
fat fuck," he said, voice dripping with venom. “If you ever try to pull some shit like this again, I'll kill you and I
don't care if the whole world watches."

He stormed past the human, heading home by the fastest route
possible. The entire walk back, he glanced over his shoulder, checking to see
if the sedan or its driver is trying to follow him home.

He never saw either one.

****

David stormed into his apartment and slammed the door behind
him hard enough to make the walls shake. He went to the kitchen sink and
splashed cold water on his face and neck, but the icy water did nothing to
alleviate his rage. He tried to focus his thoughts on something else but he
couldn't get what Oliver did out of his mind.

Oliver knew Lori longer than he did—if anything, her death
should have hit him just as hard. Instead the bastard tried to use his dead
friend to draw her boyfriend into some type of conflict. Suppose he did decide
to beat the living shit out Oliver right there in the middle of the sidewalk.
What was the person in the car going to do, video tape it so they could sell it
to a news station?  Call the cops and
have him arrested? Was Oliver really willing to put his safety on the line just
to set him up? Either way it didn't matter; he wasn't going to play Oliver's
game, whatever it is.

David left the kitchen and went to the living room, his mind
still swarming with theories about Oliver's motives earlier.

He'd never liked Oliver, and he was pretty sure the feeling
is mutual. Even before he was stabbed in the back, the two of them always
bumped heads and Lori often had to play peacemaker. But it still didn't explain
what Oliver's problem was with him. Okay, they didn't like each other, but
there was no doubt Oliver had planned to contact him at some point to give him
that locket. It was only by chance Oliver found him wandering the streets.

But what motivated Oliver in the first place?

He took the remote off the table and turned on the TV. Hopefully
a few minutes of TV would calm his nerves.

The screen showed Oliver wearing a stripped, grey suit and
sitting in an armchair directly across from a red vixen wearing a similarly
colored blazer and black khakis.

The fox handed Oliver a tissue and looks at him
sympathetically. “I'm so sorry for your loss. This must be very hard on you."
The vixen brushed away the strands red hair hiding her saddened expression from
the camera. She gingerly placed a hand on Oliver's knee while giving him a
slight smile. “But I want to thank you for having the courage to come here
today and tell your story. It is never easy when our closest friends are the ones
involved."

David growled at the TV. He recognized the fox: her name was
Alex Fields. Alex was host of the show Criminal
Lives. The show claimed to document the lives of criminals and solve cases
long forgotten or abandoned by the police. In truth, Alex pried into people's
lives and revealed their darkest secrets on television. In the recent months,
David was her new victim of choice. For months, Alex picked apart David's life,
finding some way to explain how everything from his childhood to his taste in
music had turned him into a sociopath.

Oliver sniffed and nodded, cutting a quick glance at the
cameras as a single tear rolled down his chubby cheek. “When Lori came to me
saying she feared for her life, I told her she was over exaggerating. I said: 'Don't
worry; he just needs time to cool off'. If I had just looked at the signs—"
Oliver put his face in his hands and began sobbing.

With a loud snarl, David leapt to his feet and hurled the
remote at the TV with all the strength he could muster. The remote struck the
screen with a loud crack and split into pieces. A web of cracks spread across
the now distorted screen. The sound of Oliver's fake sobs distorted and faded,
dropping a curtain of silence over the room.

He stood there, rooted to the floor, breathing heavily, blood
pounding in his ears and his fists pinned to his sides. He wanted to yell and
let out all of the rage and frustration boiling inside. But doing so would
annoy the neighbors and right now he was not
in the mood to deal with them. He instead spun around and gripped the back
of the sofa. He took several deep, slow breaths. But the blood didn't stop
pounding in his ears, and his fur didn't relax.

He should have jumped on Oliver when he had the chance.

He gave up trying to calm down and snatched the TV's plug
from the wall before storming into the bedroom. After throwing himself onto the
bed, he pressed his face into a pillow and yelled as loud as he could. He
screamed over and over again until his throat hurt and his screams sounded like
dry croaks.

“What the hell did I do you?" he mumbled into the pillow,
“Did you really hate me that much?"

The feel of his phone vibrating distracted him from his
questions. He flipped onto his side and took the phone out of his pocket. Without
reading the name at the top of the screen, he answered the call in a listless
voice, “Hello?"

“Damn, you sound depressing," Rob answered, “You okay? Figured
I'd give you a chance to cool off after the way you stormed out 'fore I called
to apologize."

“How thoughtful of you," David replied just as listlessly as
before.

“Okay, seriously—what the hell happened? Back at Kitty's you
sounded pissed, but now I feel like you're two steps from jumping."

David rolled onto his back as the events at the bar re-enter
his mind. Ironically, as much as he wanted his friend to leave him alone and
stop trying to get him to talk about his problems…

“…Rob you were right: I need to talk to someone." He sat up
and recalled the events that took place after he left Kitty's. The extended walk, the meeting with Oliver, and the way he
reacted when he turned on the TV. The entire time, Rob was silent, not once did
he make a comment, ask a question, or react to what David said. After he finished
his story, Rob still didn't respond. David worried he didn't hear a word that
was said or he figured his friend had finally cracked and hung up.

Finally, Rob sighed into the phone before saying, “Okay, let
me get this straight. You broke your TV?"

“Is that all you heard, Rob?" David replied.

“Well, come on, man, you just told me that you lost your job
today, so you decided to break up your shit."

“I didn't do it because I lost my job," said David
irritably, “I did it because the damn thing was taunting me. First I get
ambushed by that backstabbing son-of-a-bitch, then that particular show with
that particular episode just happens
to be on TV. I thought that shit only happened in sitcoms."

“Your TV was tau—okay, D we need to talk. Look man, you need
a release that won't add more years to your sentence or leave you goin' to a
drug rehab."

“Yeah like what?"

“Ever hear of a site called Chatline?"

David looked at his phone confused. This had to be Rob's
idea of a joke. The name alone suggested it's some kind of dating site or one
of those numbers people call for phone sex. Was his friend actually suggesting
that he try online dating while he's being accused murdering his last
girlfriend?

“Look I know it sounds stupid," Rob explained, “But trust me
it can do you some serious good to talk to somebody. And you need a site where
no one knows your profile."

David's tail began to curl, “Wait, wait. You practically drag
me out of the house and spout that crap about talking and opening up, then I
decide to open up to you and you pass me off to a fucking website? Also do you really
think dating is a good idea given my current situation?"

“Who said anything about dating? I mean…yeah, people use the
site to hook up, but that's not all it's good for. Some people go there to talk.
They have all kinds of different groups for supporting people with different
problems. You might find someone who understands you. 'Sides, I startin' to
worry that I'm the only person you talk to anymore."

David rolled his eyes. He talked to plenty of people,
although many of them stopped contacting him as the months went by, the last of
them being Stephanie. Honestly, Rob was most likely the only person he had left
to talk to, but he wasn't going to let his friend know that. “What is
complaining to some stranger on the internet supposed to for me?"

“Look I'm being serious here, D. I know there're some things
you're not telling me. Don't worry about it—I get it. Sometimes it feels weird
to talk about certain things. But you need to talk with other people. And since
most of the people who recognize you are assholes, this is all you got left. I'm
tellin' you, D, a lot of people claim talkin' on this site helped them with
their problems. If you won't talk to me, then talk to someone online before all
this stress gives you a tumor or somethin'."

“Fine, whatever." David dragged himself over to the computer
and powers it on. The moment the desktop appeared on-screen, he opened his web
browser and typed the website's URL in the address bar.

The website was just as David imagined it: a large banner
draped across the top of the screen with the word 'Chatline' in large bold
print. The rest of the page was cluttered with pictures of humans and anthros smiling
and posing as if they were having a good time, reminding him of those fake
family photos that were always inside picture frames at the store. Captions
such as 'Chatline helped me find my soul mate!' and 'I love talking on
Chatline—Someone is always there to listen' accompany each picture.

He groaned at the site. “Come on, Rob. This has to be your
twisted idea of a joke. This is the cheesiest site I've ever seen."

“Just try it. I told you, it's not just for hooking up. People
use it to vent about what's wrong in their lives or to simply get some advice.
Trust me, I use it."

“Now I know I should stay away from this site."

 “Ha, ha," Rob replies
sarcastically. “I'm telling you. It's worth it."

“Alright, I'll do it and let you know how it goes in the
morning."

David hung up the phone and tossed it onto the bed. He ran
his hand through his fur while mentally preparing himself for the horror that
awaited him

He spent the next several hours setting up his online
profile. He chose the name CyberHusky27, a nickname he was given by Rob back in
high school and 27 because it was the 27^th of April when he met
Lori. Since no one else knew him by that name it should be safe to use. He then
began reviewing various profiles made by other users. Just as Rob said, many of
the users appeared to be quite tame although, he did come across a few that were
a bit…extreme. The worst of them was a woman(or at least David assumed it was a
woman) who, even in the short time he'd been on the site, repeatedly sent him
several messages, often going from friendly to desperate to angry in a single
sentence. David quickly blocked her and moved on. He sent a few messages to
people who seemed normal enough, but no one answered.

After reading a few of the user-made discussions, David
finally tired of trying someone who may even remotely want to talk to him. He
moved the mouse to sign out.

“Well, at least I tried," he said to no one. This was
exactly why he tried to steer clear of these sites; there was nothing on this
site convincing him to stay. If anything, this had reinforced his reasons for
staying away from these types of sites. There was no one to talk to and the few
people who did contact him were weirdoes.

 Just before he clicked
the logout button he received a new chat request.

David reads the username, Eric. The name struck him as odd. No
one ever used their actual name online, and especially not for a public chat-room.
Even if it wasn't their real name, this username was simple. Most usernames were
followed by numbers or include some kind of nickname.

He shrugged off his theories; it was most likely some
weirdo. After all, no one on this site knew who he was, and no one had answered
any of his chat requests. He froze just before clicking the 'logout' button in
the top corner of the screen.

For some reason he could tell—just a strange feeling in his
gut—this one was different. It wasn't someone he was going to regret talking
to. Before he realized, he accepted the chat request and began typing.

Eric: Hey. Welcome to Chatline.

CyberHusky27: Hi, thanks. How's it going?

Eric:
okay I guess. So you're new huh?

CH27:
Yeah. But how do you know that?

Eric: psychic powers.

David stared at screen confused. Whenever he asked Lori a
similar question, she always responded with: 'I have psychic powers.' She was
the only one who used that line; it had become a private joke between the two
of them. But Lori was dead. She couldn't be the one contacting him now. The
thought of someone trying to set him up again crept into his mind, but no one else
knew about that joke, not even Rob. Even if they did know, how could they know
he was on this particular site at this exact moment and know his username?

Eric: I'm screwin with ya. It's 'cause I've
never seen your name before.

CH27:
Yeah its cool isn't it?

Eric: Yeah it is. It's not half bad. You
wouldn't believe some of the names people use on this site.

CH27: Tell me about it. You wouldn't believe
what I had to deal with already.

David lost track of time as he traded messages back and
forth with 'Eric'. They talked about various things; food, sports, movies. Eric
shared many of David's tastes in many things, although they did have a few
disagreements from time to time.

They were in the middle of debating which rock band was the
greatest when David leaned back in his chair to give his fingers a quick rest
from all of the typing. He hadn't felt this relaxed in months. For once, he hadn't
thought about all of the horrible things that had been happening.  

“Looks like this was actually a good idea, Rob," he said to
the screen.

Another message from Eric appeared.

Eric:
Have you ever had your friends turn on you?

David cocked his head in confusion. What brought on this
sudden change in conversation topics? To be honest, he was too familiar with
that experience, but for the last few hours, he had other things to think and
he didn't want to start now. He decided against asking about it and followed
Rob's advice to talk about his problems.

CH27:
Actually, after…a certain incident, everyone I know started treating me
differently. Someone died and they blamed me for it. Now none of my friends
will talk to me and those who do, it's usually an insult or a threat.

Eric:
I'm sure if you give them time, they'll come around and see you're innocent.
They're just in pain and lashing out. But it doesn't really excuse treating you
that way.

CH27:
I guess. It's just aggravating that I have to deal with this over something I
didn't do.  I'm grieving just like them,
but somehow everything is my fault. They never even gave me a chance to explain
myself—they just decided I was guilty and threw me under the bus. I'm sorry,
but I don't care if they're in pain—I'm in pain too. But that hasn't stopped
those bastards from stabbing me in the back and twisting the knife.

David took his hands off the keyboard and re-read the
message he just posted. He realized his fur was on end, and his heart beat had
quickened. He didn't know what happened, the words just started pouring out of
him as if someone else took his hands and began typing for him. It didn't
really matter why he did it. He felt lighter after typing the message. It
seemed Rob was right again: he really needed to get some things off his chest.

Eric didn't respond. He worried his sudden rant may chased
Eric away. The message obviously showed how personal this was for him and that
he'd held it in for a while—showing that kind of emotion to someone he just met
was surefire way to set off a few warning bells.

Eric responded with:

Eric:
Yeah I hear you man. People who turn on their friends are the worse. The
traitorous bastards should have their tongues cut out. Maybe after they feel a
little pain, they'll understand what they put you through.

David looked at the screen in disbelief. He re-read the
message several times to prove he hadn't read it wrong. Reading the dark
response sent a strange chill through him. A minute ago, he was worried he said something awkward. It they were
having a contest, Eric won hands down.

CH27: I don't know, that seems a bit extreme.

Eric:
I'm sorry. I'm just saying. I really hate traitors. People who betray their
friends should be dealt with. Maybe they should have their dirty laundry laid
out for everyone to see since they like doing it to other people. Those
bastards need to learn the hard way that karma can be a real bitch.

Suddenly David felt that this topic was more personal than
Eric was letting on.

Eric:
Anyway, I wouldn't worry too much about your 'friends'. They will eventually
see how wrong they are and beg you
for forgiveness. I promise everything will turn around soon enough. Anyway I
hate to cut this conversation short, but I got to get some sleep. We can talk
more tomorrow.

David chuckled softly to himself. Reading the last line of
Eric's message filled him with a sense of calm. Even the disturbing message
from before had already faded into a distant memory. Sure the message was a
little extreme, but he couldn't deny he'd felt the same way on many occasions,
including this afternoon. It was relieving to hear someone else felt the same
way he did.

Maybe that's all he needed to hear.  Talking to Rob was fine, but his mind didn't
always keep up with his heart like dragging him to a place that brought up
painful memories. Thankfully, this hadn't turned out to be one of those cases.

David logged off the site, shut down his computer, and
climbed into bed. The moment his head hit the pillow, his eyelids drooped and
he was out cold.