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I decided to try and sleep in my own bedroom, since I didn't know Sylvia well enough yet to share a bed with her. I barely slept, though, fitfully turning in my bed as the images of my accident kept replaying in my mind. I was afraid, for the most part, to fall asleep; I didn't want the same thing that happened to me in the restaurant to happen again.

Yet part of me wanted to fall asleep. I stared at the decorative crown molding that lined my bedroom's ceiling, listening to the quiet and subtle noises of the old villa, and considered how I could make myself fall asleep. I tried reading a business magazine I found on the nightstand--not really as boring as I though it might have been. I tried counting sheep--nothing. So at about three in the morning, I got up and decided to get myself a glass of water, having nothing better to do.

Walking down the portrait-lined corridor, I noticed Sylvia's bedroom door to be open a crack. I fancied I'd just peek in to see how she looked asleep, but as it turned out, she wasn't asleep--she wasn't even in her bedroom. The bed lay empty, the covers in slight disarray and obviously slept in.

Going downstairs, I quickly got myself a glass of water from the kitchen and began to search the huge house for her. She wasn't in any of the downstairs rooms, nor was she in any of the bedrooms. I could only find William asleep in his own room further down the hall from where I was rooming, but as panicked as I was becoming, I didn't feel like waking him at this hour.

Instead, I found my way to the small lounge on the second floor and decided to step out onto the balcony to have a breath of fresh air. A gentle breeze hit my face immediately as I stepped outside, the salty air tingling my nose. I leaned over the balcony some, looking into the distance of the sea before me. Looking down, I saw the jagged rocky shore at the base of the cliff on which the house stood. Part of me expected to see her down there, for some odd reason, but she wasn't. Only the small waves were visible there as they crashed softly into the rocks, making little sloshing sounds. I sat down in a stretched-out lawn chair on the balcony, set my now-empty glass on a nearby table, and closed my eyes, allowing the sounds of the sea to drift me gently into slumber.

I awoke to a low-lying sun just over the horizon of the sea, warming my face, and to the sounds of a television inside the great house. Getting up slowly with a stretch and a scratch, I made my way downstairs to the living room, where William sat on the couch, his arms stretched out across its back. The sizzles and smells from the kitchen close by told me that breakfast was on its way.

"Hey!" William greeted me, turning his head away from the morning news as I came in. "Rest well, buddy?"

"I suppose so," I answered, still a bit groggy. "Where's Sylvia?"

"In the kitchen fixing eggs. I saw you asleep on the balcony this morning. Have a difficult time sleeping?"

"Yeah, pretty much," I said honestly. "Where did Sylvia go last night?"

"What do you mean?" the zebra asked.

"Well, I didn't see her in her room last night when I got up to get a glass of water."

"I was in the basement," Sylvia called from the kitchen, obviously having overheard our conversation.

"But I thought I checked the basement..." I started, a bit confused.

"Well, you were probably half asleep," William replied. "I'm sure you either didn't check and thought you did, or you checked and weren't very observant."

"Alright," I said, still trying to work it out in my waking mind. "Why were you in the basement, Sylvia?" I called, walking around more towards the kitchen.

Sylvia came out of the kitchen and into the living room with a metal spatula in her hand to meet me. "If you must know, I was having difficulty sleeping as well. I thought I'd go admire some of William's work some more down there and I ended up falling asleep on the old couch."

"You're right," I said, turning to William. "I must have not checked the basement--I don't remember ever seeing it now, from the description she gives me."

William simply nodded and turned back to the news. The reporter on the television was standing in front of a large pile of rubble, where EMS personnel, police officers, firemen, and a host of onlookers were milling about.

"Hey turn that up!" Sylvia said eagerly, to which William complied.

"...As you can see behind me," the reporter was saying, "there seems to be little remaining of the mansion where J. R. Rynatt, the famous corporate millionaire and head of Rynatt Industries, once called home. The deceased bodies of Rynatt and his immediate family have been pulled out of the rubble, where they were found, as one police officer reported, 'grotesquely misshapen and beyond belief,' early this morning. Experts are unsure as to who or what could have caused this, but it is believed to be the work of middle and lower class union employees, who have been recently gathering into violent mobs and demanding increased freedoms by attacking those in charge. So far, however, these attacks had not escalated to anything so physically brutal until now..."

"That was John's home," Sylvia began, shaking rather violently. Sitting down on the sofa, she hunched over, appearing to be on the edge of breaking. "He lives--lived--not seven miles from here." She buried her face in her paws, dropping the spatula, and sobbed.

Instinctively, I sat down beside her and began to caress her. She latched on to me and sobbed heavily on my shoulder. "I knew him well," she cried out through the sobs, her voice muffled by my shoulder. After a few minutes, she came back up again and kissed my cheek. "Thank you," she said to me softly. I licked her muzzle gently in return, tasting her salty tears.

"It's just not right," William said fairly dryly. "These people have gotten out of hand," he went on, gesturing to the television. "It's not like they have bad lives! Why do they have to continuously attack their bosses? If they don't like the conditions where they work--which, I'll have you know, are legal and sanitary and not hazardous in any way--then why don't they just leave? I mean, where do these people think they get off, demanding more freedoms? Don't they have enough freedom? This isn't an anarchy you know."

"I know," I lied to reassure him, not really knowing too much about the system in general.

"I'm sorry, Midnight," William sighed. "I didn't mean to go off like that. It's just...John Rynatt was my friend, too. I just can't believe he's gone...did they really say that he was dead?"

"I believe so," I answered, frowning. I sniffed the air and said suddenly, "What's burning?"

"Oh, god, the eggs!" Sylvia cried out and tore off into the kitchen, and William and I followed her. A couple of smoke-filled minutes later, the burnt breakfast had been thrown away and the pan was soaking in the sink.

"Sandwiches, then?" William offered. "It's more like brunch time now."

"Sounds good to me," Sylvia replied, blushing a bit. Just as we finished brunch, I heard a loud and ancient doorbell reverberate throughout the large house. We all went to the door to see who it was, and were greeted by the diminutive figure of an older-looking goat on our doorstep. He was wearing a fine suit and was supporting himself by a cane in one hand, the other hand holding out an envelope.

"Dr. Dorall," William greeted the goat. "What brings you here?"

"I came to deliver this," the goat replied feebly, his scratchy voice shaking with his loose jowls as he held out the envelope, which William took. "I trust you saw the news this morning." We nodded. "Sad, sad thing. He was a good and decent creature. We need to pay our respects--that's what the letter's for."

William opened it and read the contents. "The 14th, then?" he asked, making sure the date was correct.

"That's what it says," Dorall replied.

"They're rather quick." William said.

"They have their...resources," the old goat said, peering over the rim of his gold-rimmed bifocals at us. "Anyway, I must be going."

"You don't care to stay for some tea or anything?" William proposed.

"No," he said a bit firmly. "I really must be going, unfortunately. Death is an gloomy news to deliver." He turned and headed for his shiny black Oldsmobile, and William closed the door.

****

The funeral took place at a large Catholic cathedral on the other side of town. Sylvia's snow-white fur stuck out like a sore thumb underneath the black dress and veiled hat she was wearing, and I looked at her concernedly, giving an audible sigh towards her. She looked up at me quizzically.

"I guess this whole business of death just made me realize how much I cherish you," I told her. "I wish I could remember more of you--you've been an excellent and a dear friend to me during the short time I've known you."

"It's because I love you," she replied, her voice sounding more firmly earnest than I had ever heard her speak.

"I love you, too," I revealed to her. "I find myself being absolutely content just to be with you."

"Thank you." Even through the veil, I could see how wet her eyes were becoming, and she wrapped her arms around me once again, holding me...simply holding me. I would have given anything to remain in her embrace, even there in the back bench of the car, for an eternity. "But I mean that I'm IN love with you. Even after 28 years, I still am."

My heart skipped a beat, and I thought silently about how to respond. Did I really feel the same way about her as she did about me? It's a confusing feeling, I must say. "So do I," I finally responded, and she looked up at me with deep, hopeful eyes. Without much warning, I was suddenly lost in a long, passionate kiss with her. She was so warm, and so full of love, her soul felt nearly palpable.

Pulling away was a certain hell, but we had to, as William silently pulled up to the towering cathedral where the service was taking place. I got out of the car to find scores of people--friends, family, employees, press--all here to pay tribute. They were all making their way inside; the service was about to begin.

The service was long and tear-filled, with long eulogies praising the Rynatts given by a select few that knew them well. In addition to the solemness I would expect to sense at a funeral, the air seemed to be tense and foreboding, as if someone expected something dreadful to happen at any moment during the service.

Nothing did happen, however--at least, not until the reception afterwards, which took place outside. Sylvia, William, and I decided to wander for a bit to socialize with people Sylvia and William knew. Not knowing anyone myself, I simply remained silent for the most part.

It wasn't long before we heard rumors of some rather alarming news. There had been another attack just last night--the same kind that killed Rynatt--only this time, the victim was some other member of high society: a vice president of some big oil company. Violent union groups were to blame again, even though neither the news nor the police had been able to prove that the alleged suspects were the perpetrators.

The three of us were headed towards a good and reliable friend of William's to verify this claim, when we heard a cry just to our right. "How dare you!" a shrill voice attempted to say quietly, and we all turned to see what had happened.

"How dare you show yourself here!" a tall, elder, and pompous-looking Afghan Wolfhound continued. She was berating a shorter mutt wearing a dark suit and a stunned look across his muzzle.

"Mark Ralks," William said heavily and in disgust, addressing the mutt. "What are you doing here? I thought the police had you in for questioning."

"They let me go," the mutt replied gruffly. "Because they--and none of you--have any evidence that shows that any of us had anything to do with this. I never wanted Rynatt dead, and neither does anyone else in the union. We don't work like that. But if you really want me gone, then fine--I'll leave."

With that, he turned to leave. As William and Sylvia wandered on, I decided to go pay Ralks a short visit, running to catch up with him. I caught up with him halfway across the courtyard, and called his name.

"What do you want?" he said dejectedly, turning around to me. "Didn't finish insulting me? Who do you think you are, anyway?"

"Look, I'm not with them," I nodded back to the crowd. "Well, I am, but not exactly--at least, not on this..."

"So what do you want?"

"I just wanted to ask you--if you and your union didn't do it, who do you think did?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know?! Rynatt was a decent man, for the most part. He had his problems, which we were trying to work with, but none of us ever wanted him dead."

"What exactly was your beef with him, anyway? My friend tells me that the working conditions offer many freedoms and that you guys really don't need any more."

"It was never about working conditions," he sighed. "That was just a marketing ploy the media grossly exaggerated--as they often do with most things--and used to make us look like the bad guy."

"Then what ARE you fighting for?"

"For a new world. A world that doesn't rely on money or materialism for a society to function well."

"I don't get it...are you some type of Communist?"

"No," he said quite firmly. "We're more like Transcendentalists. Everyone thinks that we're Communists or Anarchists or something, but we're not. We just want to do away with the system of trade and form a society where everyone helps each other out, and no one takes more than a fair share."

"I still don't think I understand," I said, frowning.

"It's okay," the mutt sighed. "Most people don't. Look, I gotta go. Sorry." He turned around and started for the parking lot, leaving me standing in the courtyard feeling more confused than before.

"He try his propaganda on you?" I heard William's voice call to me from behind.

"I think so," I said, still watching the mutt leave.

"C'mon," William said. "I think it's best that we leave." I looked at him a bit peculiarly, and he continued, "This place is just getting me down, and I want to go home, if you don't mind."

"No, I don't mind," I said. Sylvia came up to me and took my arm, and I led her to the car. Tears were streaming down her face silently, and I could tell that she was fighting back heavy sobs.

Hugging her close, she whispered into my ear, "I have something to tell you." She sounded afraid and remorseful, and I looked at her with great concern. "Later, once we're back at home. I don't want William to hear. Either of you would think this is crazy, but you'd believe me more than he would."

Trying to speak carefully, all I uttered back to her was, "I'm here for you." With that, we got into the car and headed home.