Part Fifteen
Mikhael’s phone rang, and he sighed, putting down the fluffy foal he’d been holding and answering. Immediately he was almost deafened by a panicked shout.
“Mik, I think something’s wrong. Rebecca and I were going to spend some time at her house, but she’s not answering the door or her phone and her fluffies are screaming!”
Mikhael’s blood instantly ran cold. He rocketed to hit feet and took off at a run towards the shelter’s back door.
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Have you called the police?”
“Not yet, Rebecca’s doing that now.”
“Good. Stay on the line, tell me when you have an ETA for the police.”
He got into his car and drove off at significantly above the legal limit.
…
He arrived before emergency services, exiting his car and running to Sam’s front door at a dead sprint. Without even pausing to catch his breath, he fumbled with his key ring, finding the spare key. Sam had given him one during the renovations of the house, and both had forgotten about it until now. They were practically family, anyway.
After a few minutes fumbling with the lock as best his hands, shaking from both stress and the flashbacks he was trying frantically to ignore, he managed to get the door open. Knight stood there, clearly frenzied with fear and worry.
“Knight, do you know where Sam is?” Mikhael asked, almost choking on the words in his haste.
“In da basemen’. Bu’ mummah awways say nebah tu gu down dewe.”
With barely a grunt in response, Mikhael thundered to the basement door, wrenched it open, and dashed down the stairs. The sight before him chilled his blood. A bloodied workbench adorned with shackles, blood on the floor, and Sam sitting unmoving on the floor, covered in blood herself.
“SAM!” he roared, rushing to her side. “Are you alright?”
Sam merely stared blankly ahead, unresponsive. Mikhael shook her gently, startling her and causing her to turn her head, seeming to just now notice his presence.
“Mik!” she wailed. “I’m so sorry. I…it’s all my fault!”
“Sam, just relax. Help will be here soon. Don’t move.”
“Mik…I killed him. I don’t know why, I just felt so angry. I-” her words were interrupted by retches, although she’d long since emptied her stomach on the basement floor.
…
“Well, she gave me permission to tell you, so I can give you some details.” the doctor told Mikhael as he waited impatiently. “But right now it’s best if she doesn’t have visitors. Particularly someone…associated with the trauma. I don’t know how to describe it, it’s almost like a flashback to a traumatic incident, but there were some discrepancies. We’ll tell you if she improves enough to have visitors. In the meantime, you should probably go home, it looks like-” glancing at Mikhael’s shaking hands “-you need to take care of yourself.”
Discrepencies… Mikhael thought to himself. Sudden, horrible suspicion crystallized, and his mind went white with rage.
…
James Kendricks sat in his office. He was a thin, almost fragile man, completely bald and clean-shaven. Now, he was waiting, an ever-so-slight condescending smile on his face. Right on cue, his office door slammed open, one hinge giving away, and an enrage Mikhael stormed in, closing the distance to James’ chair in an instant and lifting the small man bodily, slamming him against the wall.
“YOU FUCKER! WHAT DID YOU DO?”
“Well, since you weren’t willing to do what was necessary, I…facilitated matters.”
“WHAT. DID. YOU. DO?”
“Our…new sponsor has some less-than-savory associates, and that’s coming from me!” James half-laughed, half wheezed as Mikhael’s bulk crushed the air from his lungs. “I merely used their services to get a task finished.”
Mikhael relaxed the pressure slightly, allowing James to slump to the floor. “Explain.”
“Well, I’m sure you know how the pharmaceutical industry likes the current status quo.”
“Get to the fucking point before I break more of your ribs.”
“Medication development is much easier now, so there are a lot of medications that…don’t make the cut. One of those medications is an Alzheimer’s treatment that was discontinued due to side effects including violent outbursts…and you’ll never guess what else.”
Mikhael simply slammed James’ head against the wall, drawing a short burst of laughter from the man. “Stop fucking around.”
“Incredibly vivid flashbacks in patients known to have PTSD. Now, while it was discontinued, it’s still possible to get lab samples…”
“You fucking DRUGGED her?”
“Hehe…you know, your friend Sam likes to make her breakfast the day before…I wonder what someone could do with that information.”
“I’m going to kill you.” Mikhael’s voice was suddenly icy.
“If you do that everything we’re working towards goes to Hell with me. Are you willing to let that happen?”
“I…I…”
“I fucking thought not. Now get the Hell out of my office before I call the police.”
“I swear after this I’m going to kill you.”
“Good luck with that. Now, if you’d be so kind as to leave, I have a project to finish.”
Seething with impotent rage, Mikhael stormed out of the office. For the first time he truly regretting working with James. He knew that James was a piece of shit from the start, but he’d thought it was worth it for his goal. He was wrong, but now it was too late to fix things.
His eyes drifted back and forth, noticing an alleyway that was perfect for fluffies. If he went there, he could vent his rage. Yes, that would be perfect. Just for one day, he could fall back into his old habits…
…
William, or Bwuddy Wiww as the local fluffies had begun calling him in their own urban legends, stalked the narrow alleyway. Unaware of his presence, a woolifluff mummah and her foals were chattering happily to one another. Willy reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of duct tape. This was going to be fun.
A sudden heavy kick to his back knocked him down and winded him. Rolling over, he saw an enormous figure wearing a ski mask standing over him. A sharp stomp on his wrist broke bones and ripped tendons free, causing him to howl with pain.
“You fuckers really never learn. Oh well, I really needed this…”
[A certain smarty picked the exact worst time to show up, luckily for Sam’s fluffies…]
Part Seventeen
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Oh. Damn. Don’t tell me Mik uses abusers as stress relief since that day. That’s so wrong and so right at the same time. Damn. You got me hook line and sinker now.
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He went through various phases. When he was younger, he blamed fluffies and abused them since he wasn’t strong enough to do anything against people. As he grew older he moved on to hunting abusers for fun, but eventually gave that up in favor of running shelters.
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That’s dark. And sad. Y u maek me sad. U meen.
That James is an asshole seeing how he is using Sam for his shitty experiment hope that smiling fucker kicks the bucket.
Seems everything is showing up the reality of it.
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Noooooo. Don’t say that, we don’t want any human to be hurt here.
Clearly not the bad guys…
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I’m all about proportional, justified punishment…for both fluffies and humans alike.
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Preach it bossman.
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Bitch do or do not. He drugged your friend and could have done massive damage and if you believe the method is justified by the means gues what so did most dictators.
Only had this feeling twice in my life