FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Pitch Black is the second arc of The Underground series

Chapter 1 of 22

the

UndergrounD

pitch black

There was a reason I chose you, did I ever tell you that?

Like so many before, I casually looked the other way and went about my business. But there was something different about you. Something that took me time to figure out what exactly it was. I saw something inside of you that somehow put the breath of life back into me.

Because of it, like a magnetic force I was drawn to you, even though I was use to making my own way in this world. I thought walking alone was the best route for me. I thought that I wouldn't ever need you.

I was wrong about both.

A Necessary Action

It was hard to enjoy his brandy. This usually could have been caused by a number of different things. It could have been a cheep brand. His taste was refined enough that his sense could pick out the lesser variety. If that was the case, he wouldn't have bought the bottle, which he had. Then if it wasn't cheep, maybe it was the way was it had been fermented. He usually preferred the fruit variety to the kind made from pomace. If this had been the case, and he simply misread the bottle, then he would have saved it for when he had company and pawned it off on them. Then if it was made the way he liked, then it had to be the age. Perhaps it had not sat in its cask long enough before it was bottled. But this couldn't be the case either, for he had made this brandy, and he had let it sit for the correct amount of time. The reason he couldn't enjoy his brandy was because it would be the last glass he drank in the short remainder of his life.

Setting his glass back down, the middle aged otter leaned back in his comfortable easy chair, looking into the flames he had made in his study's fireplace. The logs crackled and spluttered as the flames engulfed them and shadows danced across the floor. Letting out a sigh, the otter realized his life was much like the logs of the fire; nearing their end without hope in sight. Wouldn't a normal person try and escape such fate? Perhaps. But the otter knew all too well that he had no place to go after this. For he could run, he had the money, he had the means, but he had friends who had tried to do the same, and had gotten nowhere.

Well, unless you count six feet under as somewhere. The otter simply understood it was his time. And if he couldn't even enjoy his brandy anymore, there was no point in delaying any further.

"You can come out now." He announced in his aged voice. "There's no one here anymore."

His focus still on the fire, the otter didn't have to turn around to see the moving shadow behind him come to life and step out of the dark corner of the room. The figure moved across the floor to the couch that adjacent to the chair the otter occupied. He looked around his lavish study. In his prime, he had paraded most of his accomplishments around his villa. He remembered in great detail showing guests around his marvelous home, bought on his own blood sweat and tears. Now, many years later, the doctor sat alone in a single room that somehow was the only place that still seemed to belong to him. Pulling his smoking jacket a little tighter around him for warmth he spoke to his guest; if that's what you would call him.

"I saw you," he began, "this morning when I looked in the bathroom mirror." The fire reflected off his tired old eyes. "I saw you when I closed my eyes as I napped in the sun today. I can even see you in the darkness of my own home... that's how I knew you'd come for me tonight. I could have set the security alarm, or even brought my own personal army... but what difference would that have made?"

"You know what I'm here for?" His deep, dark voice asked from the couch. It had a placid quality to it. It didn't strike terror into the aged otter's heart. Although he was sure it could, if the intention were so.

"I do." He replied nodding. Struggling to rise to his feet, he was reminded by his body that he was not young anymore. His joints creaked with arthritis from the cold as he stood up. Walking slowly to a wall, the otter took down a beautiful painting of a mountain range and set it to the floor. His company stood up as well, following him to the hidden safe that was built into the wall.

The otter's fingers pressed the numbered buttons in the appropriate order, getting a click at the end of the sequence. Pulling the vault door open, the otter grabbed the only thing that was in the safe: a manila folder with multiple papers in its folds.

He turned to his company, offering the folder. "I don't expect anything less than what you gave the others, I just figured I'd save you the trouble." He shut the safe door, and returned the picture to its proper spot. His aged body moved back to his chair and sat back down, looking into his fire once more. "I always knew my sins would come back to visit me. I just didn't think it would be so literal."

His company didn't say anything for a moment, keeping quiet. Walking around behind the old otter he looked into the fire as well. After a moment or two, his deep voice reverberated through the night air once again. "I did get what I came here for..." He offered.

But the otter shook his head. "Do you have any idea how much worse off I'd be? I don't think I have to tell you what they do to squealers, which is what I'd be dubbed." He shook his head, then picked up his brandy glass and finished off what was left. "They won't be as..." he paused for a second thinking of the right word, "courteous as you have been tonight."

"So you want this?" His guest asked, pulling a black glossy object from his overcoat.

The otter shook his head. "No." He replied, the age showing in his voice. "Just necessary." He turned around in his chair to his company. "Can I make one request?" He asked looking over his glasses.

His guest nodded.

Turning back around his eyes went back to his fire. "Be quick about it."

From the outside of the villa, none would ever be the wiser as to what had just transpired in the small study of the otter. There was no noise, no struggle, no cries for help. The night continued as it would have any other night; dark and without care. The only clues as to what happened was the two flashes of light that illuminated the window blinds.