Chapter 2: The Visit

The entire contents of Nick's mouth splatter onto the fading blue wall. He stares at the text that he received from Judy, jaw hung open. He doesn't care about the disgusting mess he had made. He focuses more on the subject, his friend. Why does she want to come over? Don't we have work tomorrow? These and other thoughts rage through his head, and he responds to the text with a simple, "why?"

Judy replies, "Because I want to come see you."

"We have work tomorrow, don't we?" he keys, mustering up the courage to hit the "send" button after a couple seconds.

"Tomorrow's Saturday," Judy replies.

He smiles and replies, "Ok. Come to 384 Jaen Street in Savannah Central. It's on a hill."

"Ok. Is 8:00 tomorrow morning okay?"

"Is 9:00 okay? I don't want to wake up too early on a Saturday." Nick keys up the question, retyping a few of the words before sending it off.

After conversing with a few additional messages, he places his phone on the table and takes the last bite of the soup, placing the bowl on the nightstand, and then sags onto his bed. He closes his eyes. Soon, he detects the very scent of the day so long ago.

The strong scent of coffee and donuts, and a very distinct odor of sweat. Anger seemed to blanket the room and tug at everyone's senses. Shadows leaned to the right, and the warmth of the sun sunk slowly into the skin of everyone attending. The cool atmosphere of the air conditioner penetrated and neutralized the sun's warmth through the window.

Her voice seemed so vivid; so lucid. The words flowing out of her mouth rolled off her tongue like water on leaves. "So, Nick, have you moved since I saw you at the bridge?"

His reply, unlike his usual responses, is chopped and shredded, like cheese through a rusty shredder. "Moved? Uh, yeah, that. Yeah, I moved to an apartment."

Leaving the stuffy room that day, he'd regretted lying to her. Apartments were and still are too expensive for his taste and his wallet.

Now, his mind lifts from the flashback. He opens his eyes, and in an instant, stares at the white ceiling. His peripheral vision detects the spat material still on the wall. The scent of his flashback now is anything but distinct.

"Tomorrow's gonna be great," the words flow slowly from his mouth, sarcastically. Reluctant to stand from the bed, he cranes his body toward the floor, searching for his night clothing. There, lying haphazardly on the wooden floor is a small pile of clothes. He stretches his arm as far as possible toward the clothes but stops when unexpected pain runs up his arm. He retreats, then slowly makes his way toward the clothes by way of walking.

Once reaching his clothes, he hesitates to celebrate, instead reluctantly dressing into his pajamas. He flops on the bed once again and ponders the day.

The frigidity of the hospital, and passing out on the bed. The ginormous gang member beating him, prompting the hospital visit. His thoughts dissipate as he closes his eyes, breathing deeply as his consciousness fades into sleep.

Time seems to shorten. Within minutes, it seems, he has a view of his planet. A spherical wonder, stuck in the middle of a black abyss. One side of the planet is bright, sky laced with clouds, entwined within one another to appear like cotton balls spread apart and connecting in an uncoordinated mass. The other side is dark, only illuminated by the cluster of illumination from hundreds of light sources. Some light is darker than others, as clouds on this section of his planet cover the various sections of the sky. Now, his view changes, twenty thousand feet above a large mass of land, separated into four sections. One section of the land strikes him the most, a mass of tall skyscrapers clustered at the thinnest portion of the city, and buildings lowering as the land widens.

His view changes once again: two thousand feet above the city. A distinct portion of the location he looks at appears peculiar. An equilateral piece of land, spread with stone pieces in uniform rows.

His view changes once again, fifty feet above a stone piece upon that site. One mammal stands alone. Having a green tropical shirt, a blue tie tucked into the collar. Tan straight pants hang from the mammal's waist.

Himself.

Abnormally still. The direction of his gaze – in the third person – is at the stone piece. A name carved into the stone piece stuns him.

June Wilde.

His grandmother.

Words remain on this stone piece: "I always loved this life. I always adored it. But when it ends, I want my children and grandchildren to know this: I love them with all my heart, no matter how angry I appear."

Staring at himself, he cannot comprehend it. He has no ability to speak. He, himself as a floating being ten feet from himself, has no ability to speak. No thoughts run through his mind.

Still, in this odd reality, he ponders himself again, and notices some odd changes in himself – lightened fur, graying in some parts. His stance is a lot less confident. He notices the third person version of himself glance slowly at another grave beside his grandma's. The grave, approximately five feet to the right of his grandmother's, has writing engraved in it. As for himself in the aerial view, he attempts to comprehend the writing engraved in the stone. Before any comprehension can overtake him, his aerial vision of himself standing in the gravesite disappears. His awareness snaps into a person. Heaviness overtakes his cranium, supported by the lightness of a pillow.

It takes a moment to realize that he had awakened.

A dream. His grandmother's death was a dream. And the existence of someone else's grave site. His grandfather? Who was it in the dream?

"Nick," his brother yells from the doorway of Nick's bedroom, frowning. He remains standing with a stiff, erect posture, impatiently waiting for his brother to arise from his bed.

"What?" Nick says, sitting up and stretching, shivering as the feeling of the cold, damp morning air touches his fur. The fur atop his head stands upward, the fur on the back of his head doing the same. His tail fur, shown as he uncovers himself from the bed, also has the ludicrous tendency to stand erect upon his tail.

"Someone's at the door for you," Jack replies simply.

"It's 9 already?" he says, rubbing his eyes, and standing. The red, furry canine shuffles downstairs and opens the front door, finding Judy standing, wearing a pink top and a blue skirt. The cool air from outside quickly rushes in, cooling the fur on his arms. It arouses good, pleasurable feeling to stand in the direction of the cool air, accepting the cool gust for a minute, the sun beating on his awoken shoulders, creating the perfect combination of warmth and cold. He remains standing there for a moment, his friend standing in the doorway, looking at him as if he is taking a shower outside in broad daylight in the middle of a carnival, of which Gazelle hosts.

"Hi, Nick," she says, a forced smile plastered on her face, attempting to disregard her friend's dorkiness, completely obvious as he stands in the doorway.

Nick looks at her, unaware of how idiotic he looks, as he shows her. "Hi," he mutters, yawning.

Nick's grandma walks up to Judy. "I'm Nick's grandma, but you can call me June. What's your name, hon?"

"Judy," she replies, shaking the old fox's hand. Her hand felt like Nick's - fluffy and comfortable - except the fur feels older.

June smiles. "Nick's told me all about you. Anyway, I made some waffles. Do you both want some?"

Nick's eyes widen. "Uh, maybe-" he says quickly, attempting to wave Judy off.

Just before he can finish his sentence, Judy cuts him off. "Seeing as I skipped breakfast for this, I'd be delighted! Thank you!"

"Delightful," June says with a cheery grin. "Y'both sit, and I'll serve you," she says, rushing off to the kitchen. Nick and Judy both walk to their seats and sit on them just as June returns two plates of steaming waffles, setting them in front of them. Each waffle looks as if she created each one individually, so perfect to savor every bite. "So," June says after returning with a plate of her own, "Are you both in a relationship?" she eyes Nick quickly, hoping for an acceptable answer, and quickly returns her eyes to her guest.

"If you mean a friendship," Judy says, "Then yes. If you're talking about the other type, then... no. But, how we both relate in the future is inevitable. For all I know, we could end up with thirteen pups and a million-dollar mansion."

Nick scoffs and smiles at her. "Doubt that's gonna happen, Carrots. I don't really think you understand the reality of that situation."

June manages a chuckle and looks at her grandson, amused. "C'mon, Nicky, my boy. You should at least give Judy her ability to daydream. I know you've done it."

His face warming, Nick covers his snout with his paw. "Grandma, I know that. And could you at please stop calling me Nicky?"

Both June and Judy ignoring Nick's obnoxious comment, Judy returns to the subject, June's eyes again cast on the rabbit. "Anyway, our relationship is inevitable, as I said – but we'll just have to see what happens," Nick eyes her again, and she returns to June's gaze with an uncomfortable feeling beginning to spark in the deepest pits of her abdomen.

June nods. "Yes, that would make sense," she pauses, pondering another question. She then looks back at Judy. "Where do you live, Judy?"

Nick looks at his grandma as if she asked if she could go to Judy's house and kill her. With nothing to say, his mind begins to wonder what is happening to his grandmother – what is she thinking? he ponders, is she okay? Did she take one too many of her crazy pills this morning?

Judy takes a bite of the waffle and grins. It tastes fluffy and sweet, a texture of air, and as she swallows, the perfect aftertaste creeps up her throat. "I live in an apartment in downtown."

After three more half-hearted conversations, the two friends finish and head upstairs to Nick's room. As Nick pushes open the faded brown door, a waft of chocolate hits her nose. Candy wrappers, socks, and pizza boxes clutter the floor, and the smells emitting from them clutter the floor.

Judy skillfully strolls through the room, avoiding the garbage scattered all over, until she plops onto the bed. The mattress is like a solid block of compressed leftover pieces of hardwood from a builder's merchant stuffed inside a mattress cover and left outside for a week.

After recovering from her incredulousness from the state of her friend's room, she returns to the original intention she created as soon as she entered just a few minutes earlier. "Let me ask you one question," Judy says, her lips flat and eyes wide, raising her eyebrows. "Why would you lie to me? You told me you lived in an apartment!" she yells, pointing at the window.

Nick clenches his teeth, eyes darting around the room. "First of all, Carrots, I wasn't lying. I was simply stretching the truth–" his voice begins to rise. "And why do you care that I live in an apartment or a house?" looming over Judy, his voice begins to express true anger. "I'm lucky to be living somewhere in the first place!"

Her ears tucked behind her head and her nose quickly shivering on the end of her snout, Judy's mouth begins to flatten, and she stares at him, holding back tears of resentment and sadness.

Avoiding causing any harm, Nick begins to walk out of the room, when Judy silently touches his arm. Stopping for a moment, he looks back with bloodshot eyes and exits the room.

After a moment, he returns with an identical gaze, except a small smile on his face. "Judy, I... I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" she replies, her back turned to him. "It was my fault I asked the question. I should've known you would get mad."

Slowly stepping to her and finally reaching the bed, Nick places himself upon it and looks down at the floor. Looking back up to Judy, she now faces him, and he looks down again. Managing a smile, he tries to brighten the mood. "Hey, Judy, what do you call a diabetic bee?"

Snorting humorously, Judy looks up from between her legs to the fox and manages a grin. "What?"

To attempt to hold back his laughter, he bites his tongue. "Useless."

Grinning, she quickly reaches her paw up to his ear and slowly massages it. Thinking he will pull away, she massages him slowly. Surprisingly, he does not pull back, but instead leans forward and sits up straighter. She grins bigger, reaches under his arms, and paws his abdomen. He begins to chuckle rapidly, soon succumbing to her pawing and lays horizontally on the bed. "Stop... stop..." he starts to say between laughs and deep gulps of air, and soon he begins to say the same words more frequently. "Judy... stop! stop... stop..." and after the tenth time of saying "stop", she lets go and he takes a few deep breaths to satisfy his desire for air.

Now, Judy moves her hand over Nick's back. "I didn't know you were ticklish. And it the most obvious location, too."

Again, Nick does not pull away but moves his knees up to his chest. "How's my grandma? She's not too mean, is she?"

Judy shakes her head. "No, she's fine. In fact, I really admire her. She's an amazing cook, too."

He nods. "That's one of few positive traits she has. She can cook for a 95-year-old."

Judy gasps. "She's 95?" she quickly retreats from her excitement as Nick gives her the evil eye. "Sorry."

"You're fine. She can cook, and she's tough," he holds up his left three fingers, each representing every action she does. He touches each finger with his index finger from his right hand, counting each action. "Every day she wakes up at 6 o'clock sharp, works out for 1½ hours, and then eats a bowl of cracked wheat."

She smiles humorously. "That's pretty tough for a grandma," she pauses, trying to think of a question to ask him. "How long have you lived here, anyway?"

He smirks, rubbing his chin with his right index finger. "I've been waiting for you to ask that. When I started training in the police force, I asked my grandma if I could stay here."

Her eyes widen, interested in the story. "And what else?"

"And she bet I wouldn't make it into the police force, and if I made it, I would get to stay here," he says, pointing at the floor. "If not, I would have to live somewhere else."

Judy smiles. "And we both know what happened."

He laughs. "You should've seen the look on her face when I got here with my suitcase. She wondered what I was doing, and then I showed her the graduation certificate," he chuckles lightly, then pauses for a moment. "I had a weird dream last night."

"What?"

"I can't really explain it. It was so vivid. I saw the earth, and then Zootopia. Then, I saw a gravesite. Standing in front of a tombstone was me. And my grandma's name was on the tombstone."

"What?" she asks, incredulous. "You're telling me your grandma's going to die?"

"I didn't say that, Carrots," he tries to recollect the dream. "I couldn't feel anything when I saw myself staring at the tombstone. I looked so depressed. Like I couldn't do anything else but stare at that tombstone. Then I saw myself look at another tombstone, but I couldn't read it."

"Do you mean yourself in the dream or yourself looking at yourself?"

"If I could read it or not?"

"Yeah. That."

"I couldn't read it. Me as I looked at myself."

"Okay. Could you make anything out?" Judy asks.

"No. Nothing."

She shrugs. "I can't interpret it for you, but maybe it's supposed to mean something. Maybe it has a hidden meaning."

"I don't know, Carrots. But I'm afraid that might be a reality."

"Nick. I–"

Footsteps stop her amidst her sentence. Gentle, casual footsteps, but a firm build to them. Unrecognizable footsteps. Jack appears in the doorway, mouth flat. His eyes communicate danger.

He moves further into the doorway. A masked figure wearing a black mask, a black shirt, and black pants points a pistol at him.

Nick stands. "Don't point a gun at my brother," he yells. "Get on the ground, now," he demands, reaching for his own pistol.

The perpetrator places the barrel of the pistol against Jack's head. "I'll shoot unless you come with me," the perpetrator says, right index finger pointing at Nick as his left hand is holding the gun.

Nick exchanges glances with Judy for a moment as they both consider his choice. Nick nods at her, then at the perpetrator. "Judy. Stay here. I'll be back, I promise," he says, walking forward, and the perpetrator shoves Jack into the room. The perpetrator points the gun at Nick. "Downstairs, now," he yells, shoving Nick out into the hall.

Nick walks downstairs to the front door. The perpetrator motions out, still pointing the gun at Nick. "Get in my car and stay there," he mutters.

Nick begins to walk away but whips around at a blunt, painful sound. A sound of pain, suffering. There, his grandma stands, exhausted, next to a heap of perpetrator on the ground. The gun, now on the ground, fires.

The bullet races through the air, and in milliseconds, lodges into Nick's shoulder. He screams in pain and collapses. His grandma rushing to his aid.

Nick struggles to stand at the sound of a gun cocking. The pistol. The perpetrator now stands, conscious, with the pistol in his paw.

On the last resort to save his grandma, the desperate grandson releases his claws and attempts to slash the perpetrator in the throat, but misses and instead cuts through the perpetrator's cheek. The perpetrator yells in pain and clutches the laceration with his right hand, screaming out profanities to the young grandson. Yelling even worse profanity, he aims the gun at the grandmother.

The loud, enormous explosion of the gun echoes the air, causing both the perpetrator, very inexperienced with a gun, and Nick, with minimal exposure to a gunshot with unprotected ears, to both cover their ears for a moment, an ear-splitting ringing fills Nick's head. Running desperately over to his grandmother, Nick shoves the perpetrator away, whose head knocks heavily against the pavement, knocking him out cold.

His grandma, already fallen peacefully in the green grass of the beautiful backyard, is subconscious and has her paws covering a section of her chest. Nick rushes to her, tears running down his cheeks, screaming in agony over his incapacitated grandmother. She looks at her as her eyelids start to droop, and she manages a very weak smile. "Nick, my boy," she whispers, lifting one paw from the other, revealing a keychain with four keys hanging on it. "Here," she places them in Nick's right hand and wraps his fingers around them. "Have the house, and the car's yours. Don't call the ambulance ... Grandpa..." she says, eyes slowly closing. Nick shuts his eyes, clenching his fists, and laying his head on his comatose grandmother.

A feeling of metal, firmly placed at the posterior of his head, starts to fill his body as his skin receptors sense it. Knowing a feeling of a barrel, he does nothing to fight back. Nothing to defend himself. He simply folds his arms across his grandma's abdomen.

Not being a very spiritual person, Nick lets his muscles relax over his grandma's firm stomach. For the first time in his life, he speaks to someone. Maybe in his conscience, or maybe other. Someone Judy had mentioned vaguely at least two times during their friendship.

If there is anyone there, and I don't know if there is, but I need something to help me. Please help me. My grandma's dead, and I need help to get rid of the source. Please.

The wetness from his own tears soaks into his fur, and being almost oblivious to it, he steadies himself and prepares for his fate, his thoughts wandering back to his spiritual message.

I need something... grandma's dead ... I need help ... rid... the source...

It's come true, his internal monologue states. My grandma's dead. I can already imagine myself standing in front of the gravestone.

A feeling of peace encompasses him, and the first time in his life, he waits patiently to again meet his grandmother.