Chapter 1 A Brand New Start
"That's right boy. Confess your sins," Father Davian grunted, slapping his girthy member across my muzzle. The confessional was hot and cramped, and the smell of the father was becoming overwhelming in my straining loins.
"I'm a sinner, father," I say, looking up at him as he smears his leaking pre onto my lips.
"Leviticus 18:22. What does our God tell us in that chapter, Samuel?" He huffs, licking his muzzle.
"Thou shall not lay with man as with woman. It is an abomination," I reply, not breaking eye contact in the dimly lit closet as he begins parting my lips for him to enter.
"You've been studying. That's a good boy. Your father would be proud. Too bad his boy is a filthy sodomite."
In one fluid motion he sinks into my throat, his prickly pubes tickling my nose as I gag from the sudden thrust.
"You're gonna burn in hell boy. The devils gonna have his way with you for all eternity. Is that what you want, faggot?"
One thing I like about Father Davian is despite his belittling and humiliating talk, he cums quick. Just as soon as it feels like we've started I feel him give one good thrust and his dick starts to pulse in my throat.
"Fuckin', take that seed faggot," he grunts.
It's hot and bitter on my tongue, but it's not a taste I hate.
As he begins to soften in my mouth, and his heavy breathing slows, he slides out and looks down at me. The Feline whiskers drooping a bit. As I watch his face, it shifts into that of another familiar feline figure. He turns from a Lynx into a mountain lion, though not albino like me.
My Father.
The look of disgust and hatred in his face is etched into my psyche. I feel the embarrassment creep across my cheeks, the fur bristling on my neck as I move to cover my indecency.
"Get out of my sight, you abomination," he says, raising a hand behind his head, and bringing it down hard on my face. Before the strike lands, I catch a glimpse of a very frightened weasel in the corner of my room. He's crying, and I want to go over and comfort him. But I can't. Never again.
The steam whistle rings out loudly from the front of the train, waking me instantly. That must mean we're coming up to the station.
If I wasn't going to hell before, I sure am now, I think, adjusting the tent in my army green pants so no one else in the car sees the darkened wet spot.
I still clutch the folded letter in my hand. I smooth it out and read it over once more trying to find any clues as to who sent it, or why. There's only three simple lines:
For your own safety please leave the city.
You can reinvent yourself in Echo.
A brand new life awaits you, Sam.
Enclosed in the letter was a train ticket. Destination: Echo. So, I packed my bags and hit the road. Perhaps it was foolish, but a chance to escape is what it is, and I don't care what stranger gave it to me.
The train screeches and slows into the station of the tiny desert town. So many miles away from home, and the demons that reside there.
A gathering of a few folk on the platform shows the stark difference between Echo and the big city of Devner. The people here are all dressed in the drabiest clothing, with the exception of a few.
The train lurches and comes to a complete stop. I gather the few belongings I managed to snag before I made my escape: a brown leather briefcase with my fathers initials etched into the metal, a few extra trousers and undergarments, and a fancy metal case with four hand rolled cigarettes inside, as well as a handful of nickels, which is all the money I have to my name.
Looking out the window, I notice a commotion on the platform. A opossum woman is screaming something fierce, and a well dressed fox, with a strange looking box around his neck, is running like he just saw the devil himself.
I slide the door of the train car open, and step out into the blistering afternoon sun. My stark white albino fur shines in the light, and I feel good about how shiny and silky it looks.
"I swear we was just a'talkin' not two hours ago, Mr. Bronson. I don't know what possessed him to do such a thing," the fox with the box, which I can now see is a camera, says to an otter wearing a tight white button-down and vest, with a Smith and Wesson revolver hanging off his belt.
"Did you see what happened, Murdoch?"
"Nah, I just heard screaming and came runnin'. Got here and found him like this," the man with the camera, whose name is apparently Murdoch, says.
"Goddamn it, that's the third one this year. I'll stay here with the body, you go find William."
Murdoch turns on his heels and sprints off the platform and down onto the dirt road leading into Echo a good quarter mile away.
"Sorry folks, trains gonna be delayed for a good long while. Go on and head back into town," the otter with the gun shouts over the gathering crowd.
I manage a peek at what all the commotion is and I feel my stomach clench at the sight. A man with his head wedges up underneath one of the wheels of the train. The dirt is stained red with blood and viscera. I stumble back at the sight and bump into someone standing behind me.
"Oh I am so sorry, mister," I say, turning to face a tall ram with piercing emerald green eyes, staring down at me. He has to be at least a foot and a half taller than me, and he's dressed in a way to make the other fellas fancy dress look like rags. He's wearing a perfectly fitted three piece suit with a red tie and silver monocle. Hell, even the handle of his cane is gold.
"Easy there, son," he says with a hearty chuckle.
"I didn't see you. My apologies," I say, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
"No worries, my boy. I was just coming to see what all the fuss was over here."
"You lot, I said scram," the gun-wielding man screams over at us. I turn to see him stomping his way over to us but he stops a few feet away, a new fearful expression on his face replacing the angry one.
"Oh, I-uh I'm sorry Mr. Hendricks. I didn't realize it was you."
"It's quite alright, Mr. Bronson. We were just leaving," the man says, placing a firm hand onto my shoulder and pulling me away.
"Probably best to make ourselves scarce around here. Bad business," this Mr, Hendricks says to me, "say I don't remember seeing you around town. You just roll in?"
"Uh, yeah. Just arrived on the train when-"
"Like I said, nasty business, that. I don't envy our poor sheriff. All these folk keep offin' themselves he's got his hands full with the paperwork alone. Not to mention that poor boy dragged out and beat bloody right in front of town hall."
"That's… horrible," I say, feeling the fur on my neck rise as memories flash behind my eyes. I quickly bury them away.
"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name mister," he says to me as we step down the wooden steps of the platform.
"Oh.. it's Samuel. Samuel Ayers," I reply, offering a hand. His grip is firm and dominating.
"Nice to meet you Mr. Ayers. I'm James Henderson. Would you like a ride into town?" He gestures to a shiny black automobile sitting just off the dirt road..
"That's yours?" I ask him.
"Well yes, Mr. Ayers. Top of the line. Brand new model," he says with a wink. As we approach, a greying fennec fox steps out of the front seat and opens the back door for Mr. Henderson.
"I suppose it couldn't hurt. Sides, I ain't never been in a automobile before," I say, stepping up into the sleek black leather interior.
The driver closes the door after James slides in beside me and takes the driver's seat. The engine flares to life with a sputtering sound and the car lurches forward a bit.
"So, Mr. Ayers. What brings you out to Echo?"
I think on the lie I've rehearsed a few hundred times in my head on the train ride.
"Lookin' for work mostly. Maybe a bit'a quiet away from the city."
"A city boy, eh?" James says, flashing a smile.
"Yeah, Chicago. The hustle and bustle was too much for me."
"Well if it's quiet what you're after you've picked an odd spot. The west is a dangerous place, Mr. Ayers."
"Samuel, please. Mr. Ayers is my father."
"Samuel. I don't mean to offend but what line of work you lookin' for out here. You don't look like a miner, and that's abouts all we got."
"I'll take whatever I can get. Money is money, Mr. Henderson," I say, but definitely resolving that I will never work in a mine. No way.
He seems to think on that for a second, bringing his hand up to scratch the little patch of dark brown hair on his chin, "hmm, well I'll tell you what. Stop by my office up there on the hill," he says pointing over to a small building at the edge of town that's just barely visible from the road, "I might be able to arrange something for ya."
"Oh," I say, a startled expression flashing on my face, "I didn't mean it like that, Mr."
"Nonsense! I've always got my eyes peeled for prospective new talent in the area. it's getting a little hard to come by nowadays," he laughs, slapping his knee.
"What kind of work do you do here then?" I ask. His expression turns bewildered for a moment before he finally speaks.
"You mean you don't know?"
I shake my head, feeling slightly embarrassed. Should I know who he is?
"I'm James Henderson the third. I'm the owner of Dannicka mine, and grandson of the founder of this very town."
My eyes widen. Owner of the mines and founders grandson? No wonder he's rolling in cash. I suddenly start to feel a little bit intimidated in this man's presence.
"Oh well in that case yeah, I'll stop by then."
As I say this, I notice the camera man, Murdoch, walking back down the dirt road, with another taller coyote man in tow. As the car sputters by they both watch, but my eyes meet the taller man's. His hazel gaze sends a pleasant chill up my spine as I watch him pass. He's tall, with a built upper body that fills out the slightly unbuttoned white shirt with suspenders. I see a peek of burly brown chest hair and my manhood stirs.
"So Samuel, do you have a place to stay arranged in town?" Mr. Hendricks asks, snapping me out of my momentary stupor.
"Oh uh-not quite. I'm assuming' there's a hotel or saloon with a room or something I can rent for a bit till I can get on my feet."
"Excellent, I'll see if I can have a word with Madam Dora and see if I can't work something out for you," he responds.
"That's very kind of you sir, but why are you doin all this for me?" I ask.
"I'm just a man looking to make others happy Mr. Ayers. And a new face around here could liven this town up for a little while so I want you to feel right at home and comfortable in my.. in our little town."
The next few minutes pass in silence as we enter the tiny town center. The driver pulls up to a three story building with a few men gathered around the front door.
I move to exit the vehicle, assuming this is the place he was talking about and before I can he catches my hand and squeezes it.
"Mr. Ayers, I'd like to thank you for your company today. Not many folk round here too keen on talking to me much anymore."
"Oh, you're welcome," I say stiffly. He squeezes my hand once again and the silence starts to get awkward.
"I'll be off then," I say.
"Oh, give this to the Madam won't you. Should cover a few nights. Inquire about a night in the smoke room if that's your sort of thing," he says with a wink, placing a metal coin into my hand. What the hell is happening?
"Thank you," I say, closing the door and watching the town car sputter down the dirt road. I see in the distance at the end Main Street a large stone house farther up the mountain looms over the town and I assume that must be where Mr. Hendricks lives.
I turn and head into the swinging front doors of the saloon, which according to the sign out front is called the Saguaro's hip.
The place is not busy. A few people sit scattered at some tables drinking beer, and there's one man at the bar sipping at his whiskey alone. I approach the bar where an older hare gentleman with a wiry mustache and glasses is polishing a glass.
"Can I do ya for, stranger," the bartender asks as I take a stool by the lone man.
"Whiskey, please," I reply. Pulling out the coin Mr. Hendricks handed me. A double eagle? Holy hell.
He pours my drink and sits it in front of me.
"Mr. Hendricks told me to speak to the madam. About staying in the smoke room?" I ask.
The man sitting next to me suddenly spits out his drink and looks around like somebody just smacked him.
"Pardon me mister, but it's the middle of the day. Keep your voice down," the bartender says, eyeing the other man.
"Did I say something wrong?" I ask.
"Head on upstairs, speak to madam Dora about that business," he huffs.
I down the drink in one swallow and walk across the room and up the wooden staircase that leads to a hallway with several closed doors, and a set of double doors that sit open with what looks like a lounge room full of ornate furniture and paintings. Three women gather around one of the sofas chatting.
"Um, hello," I squeak awkwardly, stepping gently into the room.
"Oh, what do we have here ladies," one of the bigger girls (a salamander I think) says, causing the rest to turn and stare him down.
"I'm here to see a- um, madam Dora."
A smaller Kit fox girl walks over and that's when I notice that she's wearing nothing but a silky black lingerie piece.
"She's in her office with a prospective client right now. Maybe we can… give you a hand," she winks and places a hand on my shoulder, whispering into my ear, "or maybe something more."
"No!" I almost scream, piecing together what's happening, "I'm here about a smoke room!"
All the girls look at me shocked, but not the same kind of shock as the men downstairs. Finally they all start giggling.
"Well, well Cynthia looks like this one ain't swinging for our team."
"What?" I ask, confused as the girl slinks away looking defeated.
"A handsome fella like you, it ain't right fair is it Cynthia?" one of the other girls says through a laugh.
"I'm confused," I pipe up.
"You're here for the smoke room, right?" Cynthia turns and addresses me.
"Well that's what Mr. Hendricks told me to ask the madam about. I don't know what it means," I confess.
"What's your name, sir?" she asks me.
"Samuel Ayers."
"Well Samuel, the smoke room is a code," Cynthia says back.
"A code for what exactly?"
"It means you want a night here with our very secret male prostitute."
I feel my face and ears immediately turn red, and I can feel the sweat dripping down my back.
"Too bad, we ain't got one no more. He up and ran off with some fella a few months back. I'm sure you can imagine a replacement ain't easy to come by," she chuckles, "unless you wanna fill the position."
"I bet he could really fill something, if you know what I mean girls," one of the taller girls speaks up, giggling.
At that moment, the ornate wooden door at the back of the room swings open, and a very large burly badger with a kind expression on his face walks out, as he passes me he offers a smile and says in a very eastern european accent, "good morning."
"Uh huh," I reply, staring at the brute of a man for perhaps a bit too long.
"Can I help you sir?" a tall doe in a long black dress stands in the doorway, waving a lacy black fan in her face.
I bring my attention away from the man, now descending the stairs, and bring it back to the room.
"He's here for a night in the Smoke Room, Madam Dora," Cynthia says to her, the insides of her ears turning red and hiding a smile.
"Is that so," the madam says, eyeing me up and down in a way I'm not sure I like.
"Well, no I mean, I didn't know what that was. Mr. Hendricks, he-"
"Come into my office," the old woman says, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, before turning back and walking into the small broom closet of a room. I follow, avoiding eye contact with the giggling gaggle of girls.
"Close the door," Madam Dora says, waving her cigarette over her shoulder as I enter the room. I do as I'm told.
"Madam, I wasn't looking for any trouble, I just wanted a room to stay in, is all. I don't want no prostitute or nothin'," I pipe up immediately.
"You have a name?" she asks me, sitting at the large oak desk.
"Um, Samuel Ayers. I only mentioned the Smoke room because Mr. Hendricks said to ask you about it. Now I'm left wonderin' why he'd tell me such a thing."
"Mr. Hendricks you say? That is curious. I'll ask you a question, Mr. Ayers. Do you prefer the company of men?" she asks with a completely straight face.
"That's an awful blunt question to ask somebody you just met madam," I reply, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks again. My hands balled in fists.
"It's a simple question, and there's no shame in it. Despite the illegality of the matter, you have nothin' to fear in these walls, Mr. Ayers."
"Well, I've no reason to tell you such things," I snap back.
"I do not mean to offend. I'm simply in a bind at the moment and the look on your face as Mr. Krol left my office and the fact that James Hendricks the third thought you'd make a nice fill in for a position he's been trying to get filled since my last occupant vacated with no notice, tells me that perhaps we can help each other out."
"I'm sorry, I'm not followin'."
"I'm offering you a job, Mr. Ayers."
"Samuel is just fine."
"Alright then. Now before you go getting offended again, I'll just say it's not an answer I need right this second. Take a day or two, think it over, and then get back to me," she says, nonchalantly.
"Are you tryin to make a whore outta me?" I ask, giving a slight unbelieving laugh.
"You're a good looking man, Samuel. And not many albino like you fall into my lap often. Our previous clientele for the smoke room is not too keen on their identity coming out so even asking them if they're interested in the position is hard. All have turned me down so far."
"I can imagine," I laugh, rubbing the back of my neck.
"Like I said, think it over."
"If I can be a little vulnerable, for a moment. I left home because of my reputation. I came her for a brand new start. I'm not tryin' to get caught up in some kind of scandal here that's gonna get me strung up in the middle of town and made an example of."
"A valid concern. I can only offer you a semblance of safety here within these walls. Your discretion with your clients is between you and them, but I will always do what I can to protect you."
Hell no. I got out of this life once before. I'm definitely not diving back in as soon as I get here.
"I'll set you up in a room for the week. Think it over, and if you decide it's not for you, then you'll always be welcome as a patron."
"How much?" I ask, my mouth moving faster than my brain. That damn whiskey is getting the better of me.
"For the week, 10. No meals or drinks included."
"Not for the room. For the job," I say, feeling my inhibitions fly right out my ass.
"Oh. Well that comes with a free room and a hot meal every day, as long as you're bringing in paying clients. 1 an hour. Twenty percent goes to the Hip for covering your living expenses leaving you with eighty cents an hour."
I take a deep breath, letting the information wash over me. I need the money. I'll check out Mr. Hendricks's offer and if it holds up then I won't have to worry about it but this would be an easy fall back. Hell, I know my way around cock well enough. Especially after everything with Cliff. God I don't wanna think about him right now.
"Alright, I'll think about it. I received another job offerin' from Mr. Hendricks. With all due respect I'd rather check that out first, before I make my decision."
"By all means, Samuel," she responds with a curt smile.
I give her the double eagle and settle into one of the smaller back rooms. It's tight and cramped, but it's cozy. The vanity has a nice big wall mirror and a wash basin next to it. The bed creaks somethin' awful, but it's better than the dirt I been sleepin' in for the last few weeks.
I unpack my sparse belongings into the chest of drawers, taking extra care to hide the photos I managed to sneak away with me, underneath my undergarments. As I stuff them away, I catch a glimpse of a shy smile looking up at me. I keep trying to pry him out of my thoughts, but there he is, looking up at me.
"Goddamnit, Clifford. Why couldn't you just keep your fuckin' mouth shut. Then I wouldn't be in all this mess," I whisper, holding the creased photo up. It's from when we were younger. We went to the county fair and had a blast. Daddy never did like Clifford. I'm sure if he could see us now he'd be laughin' in my face. Good thing you're dead you old bastard, I tell him in my thoughts.
I quickly tuck the picture away with the others and lay down on the mattress for a bit to rest my eyes. I must have dozed off quick cause next thing I know the sun is down and I'm bein' startled awake by a ruckus outside my door.
"...As I was sayin' I just wanna ask the boy a few questions is all," A gruff voice is saying, through the banging on my door.
"He is a guest here, he ain't done nothin' all day. Can't you just leave him be for the day?" The voice is familiar. It's the native girl, Cynthia I think her name was.
"It's an important matter, otherwise I'd wait. Mr. Ayers, I'd like a word with you for a moment."
"Uh, I'm decent, you can come in," I hollar back at the door.
It swings open to reveal the coyote I'd seen walking with Murdock down the road towards the railyard earlier. He's tall, and muscular. Thick patches of brown fur stick out on his elbows. He has three thin perpendicular scars on the left side of his muzzle, clearly the result of some past attack of some kind. I'm curious about them, but I'll keep it to myself, as this is a stranger and all.
"Good evenin'. Sorry to be botherin' you so late. I just was wondered if you had a moment to talk about what happened at the platform today," he asks me, pulling up the chair from the vanity and sitting on it. Clearly this wasn't a question.
"I guess. What do you wanna know?" I swing my legs off the side of the bed and scoot closer to where he sits.
"Mainly, did you see what happened or not?"
"No, I was on the train when it happened. I assume he just jumped underneath when the train came into the station."
"That's what a lot of people would assume. Some folks say they thought they saw him talkin' to someone on the platform a few minutes before he supposedly slung himself underneath," Sheriff Adler sighs, bringing a hand up to his chin.
"Wait, you're sayin' you think someone might have pushed him or somethin'?"
"Well, I don't wanna go insinuating' nothin'. I'm just doing my job and investigating all the possible scenarios."
"Well I was sat on the other side, unfortunately. All I could see when the train stopped was the tops of peoples heads runnin' round and shoutin'. I did see that well dressed fox fella with a camera and the otter I assume is a deputy of yours, hoverin' over the body,'' I say, trying to be as helpful as possible.
"You mean Todd and the Byrnes boy?" he asks me.
"Yeah, uh- Murdoch I think his name was."
"He was at the platform takin' pictures for the paper so he said. Ain't many other photographers round these parts so his skills get utilized by lot's of folks. As for Todd, He was only there under my instruction."
"What instruction was that?" I ask.
"I can't reveal that sensitive information. You understand," he says, waving a hand dismissively.
"Oh right. Of course."
"Where were you headin' in from?"
"Oh... Chicago. The Windy City," I lied.
"No shit? Grew up there myself. I miss the baseball more than anything else. Well if that's all you know then I guess I'll leave you to your evenin'," he says, standing and stretching a little, "thank you for your cooperation."
I catch a whiff of cigar smoke coming off him. It's mixed with a musky, manly smell that I know and love. I can see the dried sweat on his back as he crosses the room to the door.
My downstairs is stirring again. I'm feeling quite pent up. Maybe once everyone is gone I should take care of myself.
"Happy to help, Sheriff," I say, waving a hand at him as he leaves. My eyes can't help but wander over his incredibly muscular frame. He could crush my head with his thighs and fuck I would let him.
With a final wave, he closes the door and I hear him heading down the wooden stairs. I quickly relieve myself all over my stomach. Sleep comes easy after that.