Chapter 1

I'm glad you're here. Thanks, for showing up; I don't get many visitors. Anyway, while we're both here, would you like to hear my story?

Oh, yes, you may think. He's just going to tell me how cool all of his friends are and how he was a 4.0 student and all of that, but I won't.

My story is actually a very interesting one, so go ahead and hear me out. You'll be glad you did.

I guess I'm supposed to start with my childhood and how I grew up, and all of that, but I don't think I could manage to keep you awake if I did. My childhood was relatively uneventful, so I'll skip to about five years ago, to 1997.

When I was fourteen, I lived in this city called Vinewood, which was a mainly urban/suburban city, with a large, condensed downtown area. There were quite a few skyscrapers and stores and such there, and the one thing I noticed about downtown was that the lights never turned off. The cars and people would all disappear, the streets would grow silent, but the lights stayed on 24/7. Now, I lived about a mile away from the downtown area in the east side of the city.

I lived in this nice little quarter-acre property, one of those that was squeezed into a row of about fifty just like it. Each house was very small, so my friends and I had trouble just living in the things. That was my neighborhood. Some of my friends lived in Vinewood West, It was a rough, sad looking neighborhood. Graffiti was drawn everywhere like poorly placed wallpaper, raccoons hung out in dark alleyways, and every once and a while, a gang of wolves would pop out of nowhere and pull you out of your car at a stoplight. It was a really rotten place.

Anyway, outside of Vinewood, there was a tiny suburban area called Grey Cliffs. The rich and extravagant people lived here. It was a magnificent place with huge mansions and palaces lining the street. Some people would come from the West Side to Grey Cliffs in order to steal expensive property, and others would just come to admire the architecture and superb gardening.

I went to a public school, so it wasn't exactly top-notch education. The school itself was a huge place that looked like it should have been a fire station or a warehouse instead of a school.

The place was crammed with one thousand students, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing; there were always plenty of new faces.

And now the important part of Vinewood:

I had just moved there.

I thought the neighborhood was okay, and the school was decent, if a little bit disorienting at first. I can remember the first day in that particular school very well. The hallways had this white tile, so shiny that you could count your eyelashes in the reflection. It was a huge place, with large, wide open rooms, and seemingly infinitely stretching halls. It actually looked more like a firearms production facility than a warehouse, now that I think about it.

As I walked down the hall to my first class, I noticed that there was somebody next to me. I looked over to see another fox, smiling at me.

I had to tilt my head downwards just a little, because he was about four inches shorter than I was. "Hi." The words slipped out of his mouth smoothly and fluidly. This was the only friendly person who was willing to talk that I had seen since I first set foot into Vinewood. So- I was stunned. "Uh... hi."

The hallway was nearly empty. A group of talkers that went about chatting in a quiet, low-key whisper, and a few people walking around were the only other people visible.

"Are you new here?"

"Yeah." I responded shakily, not knowing what to say completely. I was moving to Vinewood from the Midwest, so the culture was significantly different up there, and I didn't want to make myself out as a hick or anything like that.

"Where are you going?"

"Room..." I glanced at the horribly inaccurate map of the building. "Room 472."

"I'm going there too." I walked with him for awhile, and I couldn't help but notice that his presence was a pleasant, comforting feeling, sort of like a warm blanket. Some people like that just subconsciously make you feel good when they are around, and most of the time it is completely unintentional. I had only spent five minutes with this fellow, and already I was feeling a little bit more cheery. "What's your name?" I paused and took time to think about whether everyone in Vinewood could possibly be that friendly, or if it was just his personality. "Sal." A puzzled look appeared on my new friend's face. "Sal?"

"It's short for Salvatore." He nodded and held out a paw for me to shake.

"My name's Jerry Chandler." I shook his paw and then stopped walking. Room 472. Jerry, upon seeing the room, held back. "Can you go in first?" I nodded and opened the door. No sooner had I opened it a small crack, when I was greeted with about twenty faces staring at me. A tall feline woman, who I guessed was the teacher, spoke to me. "You two need to get here on time. Sit down." She went back on lecturing and Jerry and I found two adjacent seats at the back of the room. We sat down and listened to the instructor, who we later learned, was Mrs.Slava. She was going over the 'rules' of her classroom, and other nonsense like that, and my mind wandered about the room. Jerry sat to the left of me, and he was drawing in his notebook. He was very good at it, and while watching him, it occurred to me that Jerry had a gift for drawing.

He would draw slowly, carefully at first, and then his strokes would increase in size and pressure, and his pencil would vigorously dance across the paper.

The wolf on my right was a real character. He was wearing a green and red ski jacket that was apparently oversized, and it hung down to his thighs.

He had a wild gleam in his eyes, a sort of characteristic that could tell any number of things. People with expressive eyes are always easy to judge. You can determine their personality, intelligence, even mood by staring deeply into their eyes.

The wolf appeared to be gazing at the girl in front of him with a hint of a smile on his face. Every time she would toss up her hair, (which was quite often) or move around a bit, his eyes would widen and he would shift uncomfortably.

It was obvious that he liked her a lot. She wasn't too bad to look at, kind of pretty in a different sort of way. She looked messy and disorganized which gave her a certain attractiveness that was very difficult to define. I had been looking at her for some time, when I felt a pair of eyes watching me. I turned and saw that the classmate to my right, the one in the red and green ski jacket, was staring into my eyes intently, with that same crazy gleam that I had witnessed as a third person before. I looked away and listened to Mrs. Slava, and the classmate did the same.

I glanced back at Jerry and noticed that he just finished a highly detailed sketch of a skunk across the room. I looked at the skunk, and then back at the picture and I was amazed. It was if Jerry had copied EVERYTHING, even the mood of the student. The posture was perfect, and the shading was done expertly in perspective to Jerry's point of view. As Jerry held the portrait up to the light and examined it thoroughly, a paw abruptly snatched it away. "This kind of thing belongs in art class, Mr..." Jerry swallowed, and I saw his face blush red. "Um...

Chandler."

"Let's try and focus on chemistry, shall we, Mr. Chandler?" Jerry was about to respond, but a loud bell rang, cutting him off. The entire room jumped up in a burst of kinetic energy and bolted for the door as the next period began.

Jerry and I went through the rest of the school day until our lunch period came, and we both grabbed something to eat. We were looking for a place to sit when I saw the red and green ski jacket rolled up on the floor next to an empty table. Empty, except for one lonely wolf sitting there. Jerry and I decided to sit with this classmate, because he seemed like nice enough of a guy. He had also taken a liking to us for some reason.

Jerry and I talked for a little while, and we got to know each other a lot better. Jerry told me a real success story. His family had started out poverty-stricken and on welfare, but his dad came to Vinewood and found a decent job that allowed Jerry, an only child, to be a member of the middle-low class of Vinewood. Jerry also lived in the crime-ridden West Side of Vinewood because his family couldn't afford to live in any other part of the town. I told Jerry all about how my dad was an engineer working at a BMW factory about twenty miles out of town, and that he made enough to live in Vinewood East.

"What's your name?" I asked the wolf because he had not said a word. His eyes sort of floated from Jerry to me. "Sam Wullop."

"Hi, I'm Sal Dalsengno." I held out a paw for him to shake, but he held still, staring at me with that wacky gleam in his eyes that made me feel... embarrassed. When somebody stares at you like that, you have an uncontrollable urge to look away. "So, Sal. Tell me what you think of this." Jerry held out another one of his pictures, but I saw what looked like to me an adult version of Jerry. The figure on the paper was short and powerfully built, like Jerry, but the face looked... older, more worn in. The fur was also a dull shade of Jerry's vibrant beige. "That's great. Is that a self-portrait?"

"No, it's my dad." That explained it all. Jerry looked exactly like his dad, except for the fact that his face was young and fresh and full of life. In the drawing, Jerry's dad looked like he was recovering from a bad headache. Sam joined in on our conversation.

"How do you pick the people you draw, Jerry? I mean, what makes you want to draw certain people?" Jerry shrugged and ripped off a new piece of sketch paper. "I just draw anybody I think would look nice on paper. A drawing is better than a photo, that's what I say.

With a photo, you just point and shoot, but a drawing you remember distinctly because it took you time and effort to draw it. I just draw anybody I want to remember." Jerry took his pencil in his left paw and started to draw, while looking at Sam. "No, Jerry.

No picture for me." Jerry continued drawing, ignoring Sam's request.

When I got home, my parents were still directing the movers about the house.

My room was now just a TV and a sleeping bag, but the rest would get unpacked eventually.

A loud crash of glass and my dad's angry voice cursing at the movers shook me off of my train of thought. There was really nothing else to do, so I called Jerry up.

"Hello?"

"Hi, is Jerry home?"

"Who wants to know?" I didn't know what to say. It sounded like if I gave a wrong answer, I would be 'eliminated' or something like that. The voice on the other end was a cold snarl, almost a croak. I pictured the drawing Jerry had made of his dad in the cafeteria, and I could feature the voice belonging to Mr. Chandler.

"Uhhh... Salvatore Dalsegno."

"Hold on." Phew.

"Hello?" Jerry's warm, friendly voice, garbled with static came on the phone. "Hi Jerry, this is Sal. Do you want to go hang around or something?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Maybe you could show me around town or something. I just moved here."

"Oh, you did? Sure thing. I'll be over in half an hour."

"See you then."

"Bye."

I hung up the phone and I became aware that my mother was standing in the middle of the doorway idly. "Who was that, Salvatore?"

"That was Jerry. I met him at school." My mom nodded and walked off. She had a nasty habit of prying into my life, trying to get all the details she could.

"Which part of town would you like to see first, Salvatore?"

"I don't know, just show me around."

We walked through the East Side, in and out of all the avenues that circled in and out of town. There were a few streets that were gloomier and unruly looking. One particular street fascinated me with a vast array of empty houses, abandoned warehouses, and a bustling group of small stores. The place looked like a ghost town. "This is Corbin street. You can always find something to do here if you're bored.

Eventually we wandered into the West Side, where Jerry lived, and I immediately noticed why most people avoided the place. The street was dirty with bits of litter, shifty-looking characters loitered about, and totaled cars filled any sort of parking lot that was there. When I saw a group of three cougars drag a kicking screaming vixen into a dark alleyway, something clicked inside of my head.

"Jerry, maybe we shouldn't be around here." Jerry waved his paw and smiled. "Don't worry, Sal. It's a good place, and don't let anything you see convince you otherwise."

Jerry's voice started to fade into a soft decrescendo. "Good, solid, people..." Jerry trailed off and started walking again. Jerry pretty much showed me the West Side in the same manner he had showed me the rest of Vinewood. Soon we ended up in an old restaurant called 'Joey's', and we ordered up some food. "You want-a sit down or head out?" The skunk at the counter, who I guessed was Joey, spoke with a strong Calabrese accent. Nearly as strong as his rancid body odor. He stank of sweat and raw meat, his skuzzy-looking features somehow matching the smell. Jerry smiled pleasantly. "We'll eat in." Joey nodded quickly and then disappeared into what appeared to be the kitchen. So Jerry and I sat down. Jerry was tilting his chair back dangerously, making it creak. "So, what do you think of our town so far, Salvatore?" I looked out of the window and saw three young foxes sprinting down the sidewalk at breakneck speed. One had a large box labeled DANGER: CONTENTS FLAMMABLE in his paws, and they were closely followed by a shouting, gun-toting police officer. "Urmm... It's really nice. A real eye opener."

So that's how it all started. I moved into a nice town, with two nice friends and no real problems. That's how I started out, but that all changed shortly after I moved there.

Jerry eventually became one of my best friends, the other one being Sam.

In about a month's time, I was hanging out with Sam and Jerry regularly in and out of school, although I never got to meet Sam or Jerry's parents. I wasn't crazy about the idea of meeting Mr. Chandler, because he seemed a little bit off to me, but I wanted to meet Mr. Wullop very much. Sam's dad was a police Captain, and was in charge of the Vinewood East precinct, which gave him much power and authority. He seemed like a nice old man when I talked with him briefly on the phone, but I never got to know much more about him. I made a habit of hanging out with Sam and Jerry as frequently as possible. When I was around Jerry, I became happy and light-headed because of his contagious friendliness, and something about Sam's magnetic personality made me feel carefree whenever I was around him.

When I was with Jerry and Sam, I felt stronger, more cheerful, more secure and just a whole lot better in general.

For about a month, everything had gone normally, with nothing big happening, until Jerry came to class late. As he sat down next to me, I noticed something about him. The aura of happiness that he usually gave off was gone, replaced with a sad, listless look on his face. I studied his face more thoroughly and I noticed a large bruise on his muzzle, which was serious-looking, but partially concealed by his brown fur.

"What happened to your muzzle?"

Jerry didn't so much as look at me. "Nothing. I just fell in the garage yesterday, that's all."

Something that I detected in Jerry's faltering voice made me doubt the integrity of his explanation. That combined with the fact that Jerry was usually a happy, easy-going fellow and at that point, he looked defeated; broken.

"What happened, Jerry? You can tell me."

Jerry looked back at me and his eyes started to moisten as he started to explain. "It's my dad." I shrank back in my seat, shocked by the disturbing news.

I had always thought Jerry's dad to be a little bit odd, but never violent. Jerry went on. "He's started drinking."

At that point I was speechless, but I managed to say something after a half minute. "I'm sorry to hear that Jerry." Jerry wiped at his eyes and smiled back at me. "Thanks Sal. I can always count on you to cheer me up."

"And vice versa." We both laughed and Jerry eventually returned to his former happy, light-hearted self.

"Hi, is Sam home?" The greying she-wolf at the door smiled and opened it fully. "Yes, he's here. Make yourself at home, and he'll be down in a minute. Sam!"

She called up the stairs and then walked up them. As soon as she was gone, I came in and closed the heavy wooden door behind me. As I sat down on the couch, I noticed that Sam's home was not much to look at on the exterior, but contained a beautiful array of knick-knacks, fine china, and other décor inside. The wallpaper was a cheery mix of red, white and yellow roses, and the antique hardwood furniture of the dining room made me feel like I was back in the 19th century. Nice Place.

A squeaky floorboard on the stairwell alerted me to Sam's presence and I glanced away from the living room and towards the stairs. Sam was wearing a baggy navy-blue t-shirt and a pair of athletic shorts that also appeared to be too big for him. The clothes, in addition to Sam's ruffled fur made me guess that he had either been trying to sleep, or he was exercising in his room. Sam, without saying anything, or even acknowledging my presence, slowly padded over across the living room and sat down next to me on the couch. His gaze was focused forward on the wall opposite from us. Sam sighed and folded his paws behind his head, stretching out as he did so. "There's two reasons why you could be here, Salvatore. Either you have something you can't tell me over the phone, or you're just bored. Which is it, Salvatore?" Sam was right. I had never been over to his house before, and every time I met with him and Jerry, it had been in the streets of the West Side.