May The Truth Without
Author's Note: Because I'm new to SoFurry and am not entirely used to what goes on here on this site, I'll upload this story from my FA account. It's an older one but one the people on that site seemed to enjoy. So, please, enjoy, comment, favorite, spread the love around and keep on keeping on.
Synopsis: When a letter from a figure from John's past threatens to ruin his life by using information from the past, John is forced to make a decision: try to hide what he is or take the liberty of revealing his true form slowly and to those he trusts?
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Dear John,
I know. That's all I need to tell you is that I know. But the worst part is that most of the world doesn't know. You're a freak, a monster, a creature that doesn't belong in our city. Now you've got two choices that I'm going to run by you. The first choice is that you pack up your things, you get in your car and you drive west until the vehicle breaks down. The second choice is that you stay here and let me blow the lid off of this whole thing. Now just imagine how terrified a slave must have felt when he was caught before escaping to freedom. He was surrounded by slavers, barking dogs and fires that were ready to burn him alive. He knew that he was so close and yet . . . he knew he is now going to die. That will be very, very tame compared to how the world, especially your place of work, will react to you now. Think about that. I suggest that you make the right choice and get out.
- Eyes
The piece of paper trembles in my hands as I hold it up. My eyes scan over the running ink that has begun to streak down the crinkled paper because of the heat trapped in my car. Unable to make out half of the letter, I lower it to my lap and then roll my head back onto the headrest. I throw my hands up over my sweaty face and sigh. I don't need to read the letter anymore; I've read it five times over.
I cannot comprehend why somebody would be doing this to me, or moreover how they found out. But, I don't think that matters at this point. Whoever they are and whatever they want, they know how to get it. And it's pretty obvious that they want me to leave, but the reason why is terribly unclear.
Sighing, I open my eyes and then look towards the roof of the car. The soft gray material that lines the frame and hides the electrical wiring provides me no answers and simply makes my heart begin to sink. I roll my head to the side and look out of the window and across the street on which I've parked.
There I look to a familiar colonial house with white paint and a red door and shutters. In the driveway sits a familiar pickup truck with familiar markings and a familiar Vermont license plate. All of it is familiar because all of it is mine. In the bay window that looks in onto the living room sits a woman that stares at a large television beyond her.
She has no idea that her own husband is too afraid to enter his own house. She has no clue that he sits across the street in his Oldsmobile Ninety-Eight, terrified to open up the door, let out the terrible heat and come inside where the air is cool. But, thankfully, she has no idea why. But that is why I am afraid. I'm afraid that what she doesn't know is more frightening than what she does and how she'll react to learning it all.
The letter is clear. If I don't tell her, how can I possibly trust my own town to treat me normally? I can see her face already, disgusted and horrified. I can hear her screaming and throwing glassware, commanding me to leave and never return. Her eyes are full of fear, near to tears. But it's either witness that or abandon her for the rest of eternity and to give up the life I've so painstakingly pieced together.
I sigh again and then push open the door to the huge sedan. I can't hide in the car for ever and I've decided just to go and get it over with. Swinging my leg out, I step out of the car and then stand up. In the cool of the fall evening, the chilled air bites at my exposed neck and hands. But it doesn't make me cold. My burning internal fear keeps me near the point of broiling.
Licking my lips over, I lift my arms up and pull at my tie, straighten my suit. As I shake my head, I look up and down the street for but a second. In either direction I see nothing but open street, manicured lawns and brand new cars parked along the curb. Taking a cleaning breath, I look back towards my own dwelling and begin forward.
I cross the street with little problem but begin to sweat again once I step up onto the curb. But, determined enough, I push forward and begin to step across the lawn in my expensive, leather wingtips. As I completely ignore the use of the stepping stones, I crush the grass and approach the old red front door.
Through the walls of the house I can hear the laughter of a TV audience. Andrea's watching some stupid sitcom, again. When she isn't doing editing work for the newspaper, she watches these dumb, low-budget sitcoms that play on the local channels. I don't know what she sees in them.
Mounting the stoop, I cross the red brick and then reach out for the doorknob. But I suddenly stop and let my hand hover inches from the iron knob. There are two choices. This is where I have to make it. If I go through, I could be making a horrible mistake. But, if I turn, go back to my car and head for California, I could be making an even bigger mistake.
I blink as I stare at the doorknob. Such a stupid choice, something a small child could do, is keeping me standing still upon my own front porch like a marble statue. I swallow hard and then take another cleansing breath. It doesn't seem to help me, but, somehow forces me to make the right decision.
I clamp my fingers around the knob, twist it and then push it forward. The door creaks and crackles as it moves into the house, no doubt alerting my loving wife to my arrival. Sighing, the sounds almost painful to my ears, stoking my pounding heart, I step up and into the foyer.
"Oh, Henry, is that you?" I hear Andrea call.
Silent at first, I enter the house and then shut the door behind me without even turning in its direction.
"Y-yes, it's me." I reply sheepishly.
"I was expecting you to be home a half an hour ago." Andrea says.
Loud knocks come from the living room and then footsteps begin in my direction. Standing still, I try to think of how to break this to her, or at least how to begin. My eyes dart about the fancy foyer, demanding answers from glass bowls, metal hooks, the chandelier, the staircase and an area rug. My heart pounds in my chest, ready to jump from behind the bones and run away like a chicken.
"Did you get stuck in traffic?" Andrea asks as she steps into the doorway.
My head swings towards her, feeling beyond my doing, and I look to her, smiling like an idiot. She crosses her arms and looks up at me, smiling gently. I'm sure that she has no idea why I'm acting like this. Usually when I come home, I just go straight into the living room and sit down after taking off my jacket.
"Is there something wrong?" She asks me.
"I . . ." I try to begin, searching for words that elude me, "I've got . . . I've got something that I need to t-tell you."
"What?" She asks, her arms unfolding, possibly expecting a gift or a good announcement like a promotion. "What are you doing?"
"This isn't . . . isn't a good thing, Andrea." I say, still trying to figure out how to explain something that is absolutely unexplainable. "I'm . . . I'm not what . . ."
"What's wrong, Henry?" She asks me and steps forward. "Did your boss have a meltdown in your office again today?"
She coos me and steps forward, throwing her arms up and around my shoulders. Embracing my head and body, she presses herself to me, but, I do not react at all. My arms hang limp at my sides and I simply and blankly stare over her shoulder at the doorway leading into the living room. After a few seconds, she loosens her embrace and steps back to look up at me with her green eyes.
"It's much more than that isn't it?" She asks me. "What . . . what happened? Did somebody hurt you?"
I shake my head and look down.
"You have no idea." That was the first thing I've said coherently all night. "Andrea, I . . . I've been keeping something from you."
Andrea pushes away from me gently, but holds onto my suit and tie with gentle hands. She looks up to me, her lips ajar and her eyes moving back and forth. Behind her eyes, I can see sadness and distrust rising, but, the trust she has endowed me with pushes it back down into her stomach once more.
"I don't know how to say this to you." I continue. "It's not something like money or cars or gambling . . . nothing as simply explained as some vice or sin."
"Are you cheating on me?" She asks me, her voice snapping a bit but inside trying to convince herself that she must be wrong.
I shake my head.
"No." I say, plainly, flatly. "What it is . . . is beyond being explained as simple as that. No, I'm not cheating. It's much more painful to me than that."
Her one eyebrow goes up. She knows that I'm not cheating, that I could never cheat on her. But, I'm sure, that she has no way to explain what it is I'm trying to explain to her. The truth is that there is no way to just easily spurt out what it is that I am actually trying to tell her.
Those stupid sitcoms could never have come up with something as strange and shocking as what I'm going through. It's something that's so strange, so farfetched that only the mind of a cartoonist could possibly fathom such oddities. But, yet, it's true. And the worst part is . . . I have to tell my wife.
"What are you talking about? What's going on?" She asks.
She pushes herself cleanly away from me and retreats back into the doorway leading into the living room. I lift my arms up and reach towards her, looking at her between my outstretched hands. Her beautiful form and soft face hang between my hard, calloused hands. Two rings cover them.
Suddenly I realize a way to tell her, but, a way that is no more painful than simply telling her. On my right hand is a ring with a large gem set into it. It's a very special ring presented to me by a trusted friend. It keeps me in my current condition and allows me to hide. Hide everything away from the world that would wish to destroy me.
"May the truth without." I say to myself and look to her. "Do you remember that I used to tell you stories; stories about a man who worked on special assignments, making science-fiction weapons for the government?"
"Yeah, we made those stories into a book . . . 'Cold Fear'." Andrea explains. "Yeah, I loved those stories. What about them?"
My hands are trembling again and soon I am breathing hard and wheezing. I lower my left hand and hold my right up and show her the ring. She looks to it and then back at me. Her eyebrows indicate that she's beginning to put two and two together, but, I don't want to force her to guess.
"I'm afraid they were more than just stories. In fact, they all happened." I say. "I was the man in the story, the scientist who was used as a guinea pig for the government. It was during Vietnam."
"What are you talking about?"
"All those stories, they happened. They were real. I witnessed them all and I turned them into stories to tantalize people too stupid and blind to realize the truth." I say, not realizing exactly what I'm saying. "Somebody found out. They want me dead. They know . . . they know you won't love me anymore."
Suddenly Andrea is hit with the truth, about what this is all about. She steps forward and lifts her left hand towards my lifted arm. Her eyes stay pinned on mine as I feel them begin to water and my face begin to redden. Tears stream down my face and drop off of my chin. I hear them bang to the ground.
She watches my pathetic sorrow with a blank face and closed lips. As she nears my hand, I jerk it back and away from her. Holding it to my chest, I look to her and shake my head. Andrea smiles gently and comes towards me. Her eyes continue to lock with mine and soon she is pressing against my body.
Wrapping arm around the small of my back, she reaches to my recoiled hand whilst looking straight into my eyes. Her finger and thumb hold the ring, but don't move while she looks to me. She smiles and then nears my face.
"I took a vow that I would trust you and help you when you were at your weakest. You've never done anything to make me doubt that vow." Andrea whispers to me. "You work while I stay home and pursue my writing career, you maintain the house, and you pay the bills. And you've done it all without cigarettes, without alcohol, without drugs and without mistresses. And now when you're sobbing in your own home, obviously at your weakest and need me most, I am going to fulfill my side of the vow. No matter what you are, no matter what happens, no matter what you look like, Henry, you are still my husband."
As her words enter my ear, she yanks the ring off of my finger and I suddenly feel a cool breeze rush over my body, extinguishing the flaming furnace that burns at the bottom of my heart. A strange tingling begins to rise from within my stomach. Soon the tingling turns to pain and then the pain begins to spread to my extremities like vines covering a still statue.
My skin, especially on my stomach and back, begins to feel as if something prickly were sprouting from it. The pain that stretches towards my rear, legs and, worst of all, my head, forces me to close my eyes and begin to pant, gasping for breath, believing I were dying. That prickly feeling spreads out from my stomach and soon, I begin to feel it everywhere.
Something grabs my fingers and begins to pull. A terrible pain rips at the fingernails and bloats on my palms and fingers. The prickly feeling is overcome by pure and unadulterated pain. A pulling, tugging at each finger and then at my toes. Andrea grabs my arms and then presses her body against me further, holding me steady.
"What's going on, Henry?" She asks me through the darkness. "What's happening?"
A ripping sensation rushes my mind from behind me and I cry out in pain, rolling my head back and howling like a monster. The pain stretches up from my body and attacks my head itself. Like chains pulling at the front of a truck, I feel my nose and mouth pulled away from my body.
With Andrea holding my body steady, I whip forward and throw my head over her shoulder. The prickly sensation surrounds my head, but, my mind focuses on the pain at hand. My jaw falls open and I feel slobber run down over my lips. Andrea wraps her arms around my back and holds me steady.
"It's alright." She says. "Everything will be alright."
I howl again when I hear bone crack and cartilage pull and stretch. The sound is horrifying but what is worse is the sensation. My eyes begin to burn while my nose burns like hot coals are being dumped into them. The nasal chamber behind them is shifting, reforming itself. Both are hurt by it.
Meanwhile, down below, a new set of bone begins to push out from my spine, forming a column that forces its way through my Versace suit. I hear the pants and underwear rip because of their efforts. Skin burns and then the prickles pop up from the still-forming material holding in the new pieces of my body.
Finally I drop to my knees, sliding through my wife's embrace. Cracking to the wooden floor, I roll about on my sides as I try to put out the fire that has engulfed me. But I can't stop it. I can't stop the bones from shifting, the skin from moving, the organs from repositioning themselves on my form. I just have to persevere.
My fingers flex and twist as they finally begin to set. The tail behind me sways and swishes around with newly found fur brushing against the wood. My jaw opens and closes as teeth form and my tongue stretches to fit the new chamber. Air rushes up and through my nose and I begin to sense smells I haven't noticed in a long time, still lingering in my house.
But it is not over yet. Despite the formation of my new appendages, reformed senses and new fur, there is more to come. On the top of my head, my fur spreads and my hair falls out as if it were never even there. The fur, rushing forward like a wave to engulf a sinking ship, seems to push my ears towards the top of my head.
At the same time, the same fur creeps along the last pieces of me that are still me: my feet. As my heels are covered, I feel bones begin to crack. Two loud cracks tell me that my heels are no longer my heels. And a bulging feeling on the toes and bottom of my feet indicate a change. But, strangely, they don't last long.
Andrea yells out in fear and then I feel her comforting hands upon my body. Still howling and screaming like an idiot, I cringe when she touches me. My bones move again and I feel skin changing position. But, before long, it is truly over. Gasping and lying still on the ground, held down by my frightened wife, I begin to recollect my wits.
Opening my eyes, light beams in on my mind and I whimper and whine. Throwing my hands up, I cover them and then rub at the new eyes that I've been given. Sniffing and swinging my ears around, I hear and smell my wife moving around. After rubbing my eyes for long enough, I drop my hands to the floor and open them to see the jeans that cover Andrea's legs.
As she leans over, putting a hand on the ground before me, I smile gently and hear my tail thump up and down against the hardwood floor. My toes and strange, new paws open and close and then my legs pull in towards my torso. The strange feelings that I've just endured disappear finally into the small of my back and I am left feeling revitalized, awake and hungry.
Suddenly I realize that I am a monster, the same monster that I was back in 1975. Frowning hard, my tail presses between my legs and I slowly, unknowingly, curl into a ball. Lifting my muzzle, so familiar and yet so not so, from the floor, I look up to Andrea and see her smiling gently at me.
She pushes her hair out of her eyes and then chuckles without opening her lips. I am not sold with her reaction and continue to frown. Putting my hands up in front of my face, I look to the black pads and the white and blue fur that now covers most of my body. Clenching the fingers, digging my new claws into the new pads, I sigh.
"See?" I say. "I couldn't explain this to you. I'm sorry. I'm a monster."
"No, you're more normal that most people." Andrea suddenly replies.
I look past my hands and see her smiling, accepting this whole thing.
"You don't think I'm a freak?" I ask her.
She shakes her head and smiles wider.
"No, I think that people who hate others for how they look are freaks." She says, with a voice that is soft and comforting. "You may look different on the outside, but, that's not why I married you. You're eight years older than me, from a different background and a different world entirely and now this . . . but I love you for the mind. For the kind words, the gentle actions, even some of the angry outbursts at rude people . . . that is why I put on this ring."
"Some people aren't as genuine." I say, sadly.
"People are petty, crude and stupid. But there is somebody out there for everybody. And no matter what you look like, you'll still be there for me." She says. "Whether you're a dog, human, or something in between, I'll still be there."
She leans forward and then places her hands around my head. Helping me get up into a sitting position, she puts her legs over mine and then puts her lips to the end of my muzzle. Doing my best, I pucker up the new, black, Husky lips and return the affection. She holds my head tight with her arms and I draw her into me with my arms.
When she stops kissing me and looks to my eyes, I no longer care about the world. If they want to live in hatred, let them. I'll still show up every day and do my job, whether or not they want to deal with me. I'm not the monster here, they are. It's all so I can come home to somebody who sees me for what I am, not for what I appear.