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"I think I'm a murderer," Sylvia said shakily, gulping hard. We were sitting in her bedroom on her queen-sized bed. William had gone to take a nap for the afternoon, so Sylvia and I felt safe talking for now. I was here for her, of course--I loved her. But this was something that just took me aback.

"How do you mean?" my shocked voice asked her.

"Those reports about Rynatt and that other vice president dying...you think I'm crazy for this, I know you do...but I think I'm the one that killed them and destroyed their homes." I must have looked at her the wrong way, because she continued as she stared at me, "You DO think I'm crazy, don't you?"

"No," I said immediately and without thinking. After pausing for a moment, the stillness of the room and house quickly becoming unnerving, I spoke carefully, "I don't think you're crazy. You might be confused and emotional right now because of the funeral. But I don't think you're crazy."

"But you still don't believe me, do you?"

I paused again, not sure exactly what to say. "I'm not sure what to believe," I said finally. "I'm still supposed to believe that I was asleep for three decades, that I lived a lifetime before that which I barely remember at all..." I came to my senses just then--what was I doing? What was I saying? "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be doing this to you."

"No, it's okay," she responded, wiping a tear gently from her eye. "Would you do me a favor, though?"

"Anything," I pledged.

"Stay with me in this room when I sleep. I can't exactly remember well those nights that each of the murders happened--all I truly remember was that I slept fitfully."

"But you told me you went down into the basement that one night," I said, remembering.

"I thought I did. I figured I must have, since that's where I woke up the next morning."

I nodded and agreed. "Alright," I said. "I'll stay in here with you. I must say, it's not exactly something I wouldn't look forward to." I winked at her, which made her smile and kiss my cheek.

"Thank you," she whispered earnestly. "If something does happen, I have a small video camera in my closet which I want you to use to show me what happens, if anything."

I nodded and said, "Just one thing." My mind went back 28 years again.

"Yes?"

"Did I really love to skydive? Remembering that...episode I had in the restaurant, it all seemed rather frightening to me."

Her look then was rather indiscernible. "Yes," she said with a bit of a strain, as if trying to remember herself. "You told me once that it was more like flying than falling to you. You let yourself truly go when you flew. It made you happy." She smiled reassuringly at me.

"There seems to be better ways of becoming happy...ways that last longer..." I gazed into her eyes, feeling as if I was falling into their vast, unfathomable depths. "I love you," I told her, and kissed her passionately.

****

That evening, we got into bed together and snuggled close, my large arms wrapped around her smaller frame. I watched her fall asleep quickly and easily, then fell asleep myself with my arms still around her, as if to protect her. Nothing happened, however--not that night, nor the following week, and no reports were ever on the news about any more murders. I remembered some nights were a hell in their own right to me, as I did my best to not take advantage of her in this situation. Then one evening, I awoke abruptly in the middle of the night to find Sylvia out of bed. I caught her just in time, it seemed, as I saw her small, white body drifting slowly out into the hall just beyond the open doorway.

She looked frighteningly ethereal, almost ghastly, and I hopped up quickly and ran to her, shaking her gently to try and snap her out of it. She didn't wake, though, not even when I called her name. I remembered the camera, and rushed into her room to get it. I followed her down the stairs and out the front door. Her eyes were open, but they were gazing distantly, as if she were seeing some other world.

The air was particularly cool that night with a moderate breeze blowing through. Sylvia passed by the convertible and merely walked down the road, her pace quickening some. I jogged to keep up with her, watching her intently through the LCD screen of the recording camera. The roads were empty and quiet, so at least I knew she seemed safe to continue her travel on the roads.

We traveled for a while, and all the while my mind was wondering how exactly she would murder these people--if she murdered at all--and how she could bring a mansion down to rubble all by her lonesome. When we reached a large estate sitting ominously dark in the night a couple hours later, however, my question was answered.

To my horror and disbelief, I saw an impossibility happen in front of my eyes. I rubbed them, and checked again--yep, it was still happening. Sylvia was growing. And, my, was she growing! I have no idea how she was doing it, and I could only watch in shock as she zoomed up from the five-foot-tall vixen I knew into a towering beast almost a hundred feet tall (by my guess).

"A beast," I wondered aloud, whispering to myself, "or a goddess? She seems both lovely and terrible to be either." For a moment, nothing happened--she just stood there, towering over the grand house in chilling quiet of the night. Then, without warning, she raised an arm high over the house, her paw balled into a fist, and brought it down fast and with full force. The sight was incredible, and I ran backwards to avoid the flying debris. Now hiding behind the safety of a large tree, I peeked out to continue filming her, wondering how such a creature I knew to be benign could be truly wreaking the havoc I was witnessing.

She smashed the house again, and it quickly caved in. She stomped it, and I bewilderedly thought how no one could hear the loud grinding and crunching that was being made. Why was no one else coming up to stop her?

After a few minutes, however, she seemed to finish her job. Were there people in there? I suspected there was, though I didn't feel like searching for any corpses. She shrank back down to her normal height as quickly as she had grown, and we made our way back to our home. I tried to shake her awake again, but to no avail. She simply continued to walk on as mildly as if nothing had happened. When we got back, she simply slipped quietly downstairs into the basement and fell back asleep.

Still shocked beyond belief, I stood there dumbfounded another half an hour, watching and filming her sleep. I finally decided to rest myself, and turning off the camera, I slumped into a nearby chair and drifted back into an uneasy sleep.

****

The next day was difficult. I decided it was best not to let William see the tape I had made last night, so I dragged Sylvia up to her room and let her watch the tape. I fast forwarded through the hours of walking and came finally to the part of interest. Her eyes opened in wide-eyed horror as she realized that her worst nightmare was true. She wasn't crazy to believe that she was a murderer, and she started to panic.

"Oh, god, Midnight! What have I done?! What am I going to do?!" She sobbed heavily, clutching me tightly. "Please tell me that the tape isn't real. Please, please tell me it isn't so."

"I wish I could," I cried back to her, my chin resting on top of her head as we embraced. "We've got to find a way to get you to stop this, though."

"But how?" she cried. "It's hopeless. What could stop me from becoming such a monster?"

"I don't know. But I do know that we at least need to get a way to calm you down." She looked up at me with frightened eyes. "Maybe you should just find some way to relax right now. Listen to some soft music, take a bath--whatever you need to do."

"A bath sounds good right about now," she sniffed.

"Alright," I said, and let go of her. She headed for her bathroom, and I went downstairs to talk to William. I figured it was best he know that something is up.

William was watching the morning news again, and as I had expected, they were doing a story on the mansion Sylvia had just wrecked last night.

"People are starting to get scared," William told me as I entered. "Many of us well-to-do are getting killed off, and it's frightening people. I honestly hope they catch whoever it is doing it."

"William, there's something I need to tell you--" I began, but was interrupted by a loud and long shriek coming from upstairs. The zebra and I exchanged glances, and then dashed upstairs with me in the lead to Sylvia's bathroom.

The door was open, and I looked in total horror as I witnessed the sight before me. Sylvia was sitting in the half-full bathtub, the water turning a murky red. A razorblade lay loosely in Sylvia's unmoving paw, and I cried out loud when I saw her wrists. Her empty, hollow eyes were pointed upwards, and she wasn't moving.

I did nothing but let loose a long, hurtful howl. Sylvia was gone. She couldn't take the guilt of being a murderer, so she ended her life. William and I stood in silence for a minute in the bathroom until something I never expected happened.

The now-lifeless body of the vixen whom I had loved more dearly than anything disappeared. Not just suddenly, though--it turned off, like a television. Sylvia went fuzzy like the salt and pepper of a bad TV channel, then just...turned off.

"Oh, shit," I heard William say, and I turned and looked at him. He had a guilty look on his face, and turned to me to say, "Midnight, there's something I need to tell you."

"What?" I said curiously, fuming, but I was already guessing what he would tell me.

"Sylvia...was...well...do you remember the fish in the restaurant?"

"I don't believe it...no...I refuse to believe it..." I didn't want to believe it. Sylvia...a program?! Just like those damn fish?!

"Whether or not you believe it, it's the truth," he said heavily.

"No!" I shouted defiantly. "You said you hated those fish! You said you didn't want anything to do with that art!"

"What did I say?" he argued back angrily. "I said those fish were created not as art, and that the technology was cheap. I perfected that technology!" he said proudly.

"Why?" I asked him, feeling as if I had just been betrayed.

"Because I'm an artist. It's what I do. Sylvia was the ultimate piece of artwork I had ever created. She was my masterpiece!"

"She was a tool for you to murder people!"

"That was the message!" he shouted, defending himself. "These damn Communists that wanted to do away with money--people like that Mark Ralks--if they had been successful, then people like Rynatt and those others were as good as dead. We all would have been! I was simply delivering an ultimatum."

"You don't think a world without money would have been good?"

"I don't see the problem with money. It makes you happy, and it's not hurting anyone. Didn't I say that happiness was what mattered?"

"I thought there was more to life than that... When did you create her?" I asked him angrily and shaking, my paws balled into fists.

"Shortly after you woke up," he admitted. "While you were still in the hospital learning to walk again."

"Then she was never my girlfriend before the accident?" I asked with a shaky voice.

"No," he admitted, bowing his head sadly. "I'm sorry..." He looked up at me, and I saw in his eyes true remorse, but I didn't care.

"You USED me!" I shouted at him, tears welling up in my eyes. "You--you exploited me and my being in a coma and having no memory! You lied to me!"

"I just wanted to be close to you," he admitted, bowing his head again, his eyes cast to the floor and his tail hanging limp. "I know I shouldn't have, but I've always loved you..."

"She wasn't even real," I continued, not really hearing him. "I was in love with her, and she wasn't even real. And now she's gone. I don't know what to say or think anymore. I need to go. Goodbye." I started to leave, not sure exactly where I was heading.

"I can create her again if you want," he offered eagerly, and I stopped and turned around.

"You don't understand," I told him. "I loved something without a soul. How can any being so fabricated have a soul?" I turned away from him, preparing to leave again, but he stopped me once more.

"I was the soul behind her," he said, approaching me. "It was my soul in her creation, and it was my soul in her as long as she was alive." He placed a hand on my shoulder and said sadly, "Can't you love me the same way you loved her?"

I turned my head back around to him, gazing into his deep, hopeful eyes. I felt sickened looking at him, even though my vision was blurred by the tears now streaming down the contours of my face. I tried to think of something aptly vulgar to say in return to him, my hatred for him building every second, but all that managed to escape my muzzle was, "You're twisted." I turned back and started to leave.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

I broke into a run, heading for the balcony overlooking the sea. "I should have never survived that fall 28 years ago," I cried out. I heard him running after me, calling for me, but it was too late, and my mind was made up. Without looking at the jagged rocks far below, without even thinking, I leapt over the railing of the balcony...

They were right, you know, my friends were. I love the feeling of falling...of flying. I didn't hear my comrade's cries far above me, nor did I see the ground rushing up beneath me. No... All I knew was that moment, the air whipping around my sleek body. It was liberating; and, oh, how I loved it! After all, that's the point, isn't it? Personal desire...happiness...

(end)