Chapter 32: Escapee

"Run!" cried Greg. No one seemed to hear him. No one seemed to car. He ran anyway. He kept running. He couldn’t stop. It was behind him. He wasn’t quite sure what "it" was, but "it" was there all the same. Fear was his only thought. He really didn’t need this. He leapt over the chasm and landed on the other side. But he missed. He began to fall…

Greg woke with a start, sweating so much that his fur was damp. He looked about. His clock loudly declared that it was time to wake up anyway. Greg pulled himself from the bed and shook his head. What a miserable way to wake up. Greg walked down the stairs to see that no one else was awake, or had any intentions of waking up anytime soon. He went to the kitchen and poured himself some cereal.

"Greg?" asked Angie.

"Oh," said Greg. "Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

"No…" said Angie. "You kept screaming during the night. Tammy got scared and came and slept with me."

"I did what?" asked Greg. "That doesn’t sound right…"

"Well it is," yawned Angie. "What’s wrong?"

"I don’t know," said Greg. "I’ll make an appointment to see the doctor."

"You might be interested to know that you kept ME up all night," said Julie, walking into the kitchen.

"You’re an insomniac anyway," said Greg. "That’s not my fault."

"But what is your fault is the three alarm clocks in your spare room," said Julie.

"That’s so they can get up at whatever time they want," said Greg.

"But the fact that you have them spaced out at half hour intervals throughout the night is just a tad bit sadistic," said Julie.

"That must have been Geno," said Greg. "He was the last one to use it."

"You don’t have very many people over, do you?" asked Angie.

"Apparently not," said Greg. "Though I suspect that I’ll be having a few more over in a bit..." Greg clapped a paw over his muzzle and shook his head.

"What?" asked Angie.

""Nothing," said Greg. "Anyway, who’s up for a walk?"

"Greg, it’s the middle of winter," said Angie. "It’s way to cold for a walk."

"How about a movie then?" asked Greg.

"I’d like to go for a walk," said Tammy.

"See? It’s never to cold to go out," said Greg.

"How about breakfast first?" asked Angie.

#

"Where ever did you learn to cook?" asked Julie. "Mom certainly never taught you. She wouldn’t even tell me her secret recipe for thanksgiving stuffing."

"It’s in her will," said Greg. "Apparently it’s a national secret."

"Mr. Greg," said Tammy, "may I have another waffle?" Greg dropped another waffle on her plate. Tammy immediately emptied the remaining syrup onto it, congealing the waffle to the plate.

"Anyone else?" asked Greg.

"I’ll lose my girlish figure if I take another," said Julie.

"That’s a girlish figure?" said Greg. Julie punched Greg in the arm and glared at him. Greg rubbed his arm.

"You hit surprisingly hard," said Greg.

"Its called boxing lessons," said Julie.

"Ah, my sister the street fighter," said Greg. "Don’t you ever do anything constructive?"

"Define constructive, doofus."

"Doofus?" asked Greg. Julie rolled her eyes got up to wash off her plate. Greg rubbed his muzzle. "I kind of like that. Good name. Hmm."

#

"Hello, Dr. Kit’s office," said a chipper voice across the phone lines.

"Hello, this is Greg Procyon. I need to make an appointment."

"Certainly," said the mouse, typing away. "What time is good? We have an opening for next week on the 14^th."

"That’ll be fine," said Greg. He gave them the information and hung up the phone. The mouse turned around and looked at the name.

"Yo, Doug!" yelled the mouse. A fox poked his head out of an office and looked at her.

"Yes?"

"Pencil in a 3:30 on the 14^th for a Greg Procyon," she yelled down the hall. The fox sighed.

"Angel, you’re my secretary," said Dr. Fox. "That’s your job, remember?" The mouse shook her head, wrote the message on a Post-It note, and stuck it to the inside of the date book, knocking three others out of the book in the process. She then tossed the book over her shoulder and sifted through the mail. She looked over the pile of mail and picked out the ones that came from private addresses. She carefully worked open the seals and glanced inside. More resumes. She put them through the shredder and continued with her game of solitaire.

"Why do you keep her on staff?" asked the minx sitting across from Dr. Kit.

"Because, Laura..." began Dr. Kit. He stopped, thought for a minute, and shook his head. "You know I’m not really sure."

"She really is a bad secretary," said Laura. "Really, how many appointments has she lost this year? 15?"

"Well, maybe she is a bad secretary, but I keep posting job notices, and I never get any applicants.

"Ever think she may just no be giving them to you?" asked Laura.

"Of course not," said Dr. Kit. "She’s a good secretary, she wouldn’t do that."

"Right," said Laura. "And she’s also up for sainthood."

"Is that sarcasm?" asked Dr. Kit. "I never can tell with you."

#

"Tammy, Julie, and I are going out to the mall," said Angie. "We’re off to spend copious amounts of money on this cute kid of yours."

"Thanks," said Greg. "Stay out of the lingerie store, Julie."

"Oh, me?" she said innocently. "I’d never do anything like that."

"Right," said Greg, checking his watch. They left in Angie’s car, leaving Greg to his devices. He shook his hand and took off his watch. It had stopped running again.

"You’d think that a Swiss watch would actually run," he said to no one in particular. He took it off and pitched it into the in box on his desk. Greg sat down and began punching keys on his computer. His email popped up and it noted that he had 5 Spam messages, a letter of praise, and an unknown address. He opened the unknown address first.

Greg was immediately on the phone.

"Hello?" asked a small voice on the other end.

"Hello, Sam," said Greg. "What’s wrong?"

#

"Ah, good afternoon, Mr. Procyon," said Dr. Kit. "Please have a seat." Greg sat down and looked at the fox. He wore glasses and his orange fur was so dark, it was almost red. He obviously took very good care of it.

"What seems to be bothering you?" asked the fox.

"Well, apparently, I’ve been screaming in my sleep," said Greg.

"You don’t know this for sure?" asked the fox.

"Well, I’ve never slept with anyone in my house before to notice it," said Greg.

"I see," said Dr Kit, scribbling something down. "So you’re not married." Greg started to explain, but decided against it.

"I’m a widower, actually," said Greg.

"Ah, my regrets," said Dr. Kit. "Did you ever seek counseling after her death?"

"Yes, briefly," said Greg. "It didn’t seem to help very much."

"Well, these things take time," said Dr Kit. "But you know that."

"I suppose I do," said Greg. "But that’s not why I’m here. I need to find out what’s causing these nightmares."

"Well, have a seat." Greg sat down on the couch across from the doctor. Dr Kit looked Greg in the eyes and backed away slightly. "Your eyes are very frightening," said Dr Kit. "Have they always been black?"

"What?" asked Greg. "My eyes are grey."

"I’m afraid they are not," said Dr. Kit. He pulled a mirror from his desk and handed it to Greg. He looked into the mirror and saw a pair black glowing eyes staring back at him.

"I’m sure that’s not normal," said Greg. "That’s never happened befo..." He stopped in mid thought and the fur on the back of his neck stood on end. His pager chimed. Greg took one look at it and sprang for the door.

"Mr. Procyon?" asked Dr. Kit.

"I have to go Doctor," said Greg. "Something is wrong with Samantha."

"Who’s Samantha?" asked Dr Kit.

"No time to explain," said Greg running out of the office. He charged out past the secretary and burst through the door into the street. He took a minute to get his bearings and started running west.

"I hope I can make it time," he said, breaking into a run. He bolted round a corner and ran into a police officer.

"Hey!" yelled the shepherd. Greg ignored him and kept running. He didn’t have time to stop for simple things like the law. His friend was in trouble. He turned another corner and ran over the railroad tracks. The industrial section loomed ahead as he ran on.

"Dispatch, this is Officer Shepherd in pursuit of a suspicious person, request back up on Steel Mill Avenue," radioed the officer.

"Copy, back up is in transit," replied the radio. The officer pulled the car down the road, pursing Greg. However, the raccoon did not notice him. He was too busy thinking about if he would make it in time. He jumped a culvert and continued running. There was no time to think about his aching legs; Greg had to get there before He did.

#

"Greg, you still think we’ll be as good a friends as we are in a few years?" asked Samantha. The little rabbit flashed her best smile at Greg, and twirled about, spinning her skirt behind her.

"I don’t know, Sam," said Greg. "The future is kind of hard to predict. Who knows? Seven years from now I could be a washed up, alcoholic writer."

"Oh, you’re so cute," said Sam. "Why won’t you be MY boyfriend?"

"Because, Sam," said Greg. "Your parents are so set against you dating and I’m determined to be single."

"Don’t remind me," said Sam. "You’re just so great though. You know every girl in the senior class wants to be your prom date."

"I never noticed," said Greg. "Besides, I have my eye on someone."

"Oh ho!" she said jumping across the bed. "Our little raccoon is growing up!"

"Oh, hush," said Greg. "It’s not like I can work up the guts to ask her anyway."

"So who is it?" she said. "Huh? You can tell me. I know! It’s Suzy, that tigress. Isn’t it?"

"No."

"It’s Candy," she said with a wink. "You always did have an eye for the vixens."

"No," said Greg, plopping down in the bean bag chair. "The cheerleader types are not really my style." Sam crossed her legs and stared at him from across the bed.

"Hmm, then who could it be?" she asked. "Is it me?"

"Good guess, but no," replied Greg.

"Darn," she said, snapping her claws. "I hoped I would be the lucky one."

"I’ll tell you, but you can’t say anything," said Greg. "Promise?"

"I promise," she said. Sam secretly crossed her fingers behind her back. She knew Greg would never work up enough courage to ask whoever the lucky girl was. She’d have to "encourage" the situation a bit more than Greg wanted, all, of course, without him knowing.

"So who’s the lucky girl?" asked Sam.

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