A Fraudulent Death, Draft 02, CH 15 (Patreon)

Marlot smiled at the aardvark behind the reception desk as he entered the office. Scents filled the waiting room, stress, fear, worry, but he dismissed them easily, still riding the high of the previous evening. Even the severe gaze of the receptionist didn’t phase him.

It hadn’t been perfect; Trembor hadn’t told him everything that was troubling him. More than once, Marlot wanted to ask—demand—he tell him everything, but he’d put his need to have things his way aside and enjoyed the delicious meal. Afterward, they moved to the living room, where they caught the last part of the latest Survivor experiment episode.

He hardly remembered any of it. His focus had been on his lion, his lips, his neck, hands over each other’s bodies. Clothing thrown off. What started on the couch climaxed on the floor, accompanied by explosions from the screen. Without even looking at what was going on there, they’d caught their breath, moved to the bedroom where another climax was achieved, a slower one, where ardent passion gave way to tenderness. They fell asleep tangled, and Marlot woke in the morning to his lion bringing him to another high.

He’d almost stayed in bed with his lion, but he had an appointment. Still, leaving the bed, then the shower had been tough. Trembor had been melancholy, and Marlot had difficulty not prying. A last kiss had sent him on his way.

The door to the inner office open as he was about to sit and a jaguar looked in the room. “You made it.” She smiled as she motioned for him to enter. “I wasn’t sure you would when you asked for it first thing in the morning.”

“Barely,” he answered.

She sniffed him as he passed, and Marlot tilted an ear.

“You seem to be in a good mood.” She crossed the room to sit behind the desk.

His ears folded back, burning with embarrassment. Or course she’d smell what he and Trembor had been up to despite the shampoo. She was a professional. Judging people’s moods was how she did her work.

She chuckled. “That’s what’s embarrassing you? And not the near-naked dancing on that club’s table?”

He groaned at the memory he’d rather never revisit. “I was drunk.” He sat opposite her. “And as embarrassing as it was, I could comfort myself with the idea anyone drunk enough has done something that stupid, if not more.”

“And you really think you’re the only one who engages in what you did this morning?”

“Can we not talk about that, Dohrma?”

“Or is it that you didn’t hide it as well as you thought?”

He groaned. “It’s more that.” She wouldn’t drop it until he opened up.

“I thought you were getting comfortable letting others know you are in a relationship with another male.”

“Getting comfortable doesn’t mean wanting to advertise it.”

She smiled. “You aren’t. I have decades of experience teasing apart scents.”

He nodded and felt better. “Thanks for taking me as a client. I wasn’t sure you’d be allowed, when I asked, with us being friends.”

“This isn’t a mandated session. Those are the only ones where our friendship might be seen as a problem. So long as you understand that for the next hour, I’m not your friend, but your counselor, this will still work.”

“I think I can do that. How do you want to start?”

“Start by telling me why you feel you need a counselor.”

“You aren’t asking for anything small, are you?” He thought back, working out the order of importance, and told her about the argument in Low Valley where he hacked Trembor’s pad. Him walking away because of it. He had to backtrack to explain why they were there, that it was his hometown, how the community worked. Then he told her about Nikal arranging for him and Trembor to run into each other, how badly those meetings went. He kept the details to what mattered to him and the lion. She couldn’t tell anyone what he told her, but he didn’t want to burden her with how many crimes he’d committed trying to get things his way while hunting the Hunter.

“Then I met Gorrek,” he said, and recounted his meetings with that lion. The vulnerable state he’d been in, how easily Gorrek had talked himself into a position where Marlot would have given himself over to him no matter the consequences. Of learning what the lion had done to Trembor. Making connections between that and his own behavior.

He told her about their decision to try again, moments before Trembor was arrested. The discomfort when they were together. The lion holding things back. The previous evening. He was grinning again by the time he was done, but quickly sobered as the reason he was telling her all of it came back to him.

He caught his breath and looked at her. “Did you know I have this need to be obeyed?” he did his best not to let the accusation he felt sound in his voice.

She took her time replying, her expression not changing. Even her scent remained the mix of concern and control she’d maintained the entire time. “I work hard not to analyze my friends unless they ask for it.” She motioned to the office. “You’re driven. When you want something you go after it with everything you have, but in the times we hung out, you never exhibited traits that led me to think you’d overdo it. Why do you think you feel this need to get your way?”

Marlot snorted. “I wouldn’t be here if I knew that.” He rubbed the side of his muzzle and sighed. “Maybe it’s because of how controlling my father is. Isn’t there some joke about every problem we have being traced back to our parents?”

“They play an important part of our formative years, so it’s understandable they leave their marks. You say your father is controlling. How is he so?”

“You never met him, or my mother. They always get their way.” He thought about it, realizing he’d never stopped to think how his parents differed in it. “My father’s sneaky about it. It’s the best way I can think to describe it. He won’t raise his voice unless he gets really angry, but he’ll stare you down until you break.”

“I find it interesting that you describe someone staring your down as sneaky.”

He had to look at this parents’ behavior again. He knew his description right, but she was asking for the why. “It’s because my mother will tell you what you’re going to do, make demands, act like you’ve already given in. She’s very loud in getting her way. He’s quiet about it.”

“Do you feel you picked up the habit by watching them?”

He shook his head vehemently, needing to refuse anything that linked him to them. He’d fought so hard to escape that town and them. Now he had to confront he still had so many habits he could trace to that place almost anytime he was asked about it.

He sighed. “I don’t know. I was nothing like them when I lived there. Looking back, I can’t even understand how either of them grew up to have the confidence they have. That town is built on turning you into a cog in their machine. After what happened to Margelo, I wanted nothing to do with that place. My lack of interest in running the family commune marked me as different, even without them knowing I like males. I don’t remember my father ever berating me about it, but there was always this sense they were indulging me until I saw the error of my ways. I studied to become an RI so I could bring Margelo’s killer to justice, but I also thought that as someone who played a vital part in how the community functioned, I’d be allowed to be my own male, but being an RI put me under the control of the council.” He sighed.

“I have to admit it’s difficult for me to accept the farming communities can act in such ways and I haven’t heard about it.”

Marlot shrugged. “So long as they don’t disrupt either the food chain going to the cities or do something so big the newsies can’t miss it, the world doesn’t care. There’s too many herbivores to feed in the cities for them to be able to afford making demands on the communes. And those towns know the kind of power that gives them.”

“Like getting City Leader Sharphorns to pressure you into taking their case.”

“Yeah,” he replied bitterly, then smiled. “At least, now I think that meat turned rancid enough they aren’t going to try that again.”

“Does knowing that makeup for what happened between you and Trembor?”

Marlot shook his head. “If I’d known what winning would cost me, I’d have left the first time Trembor suggested it. I just—” anger surged, disrupting his ability to speak. “I wanted them to choke on their pride. I needed them to pay for how they treated me, for the hypocrisy of clawing down anyone who dares to be different when they kept breaking the rules they forced on everyone else. If I’d stayed and dug deeper, that tiger wouldn’t have been the only one with crimes. If I’d thought to document them, just on the times the council forced me to do my job in a way that fit their interests, I could have them in courts until the end of times.”

“Why don’t you do it now?” she asked, but didn’t show any curiosity. “You mentioned once you kept all your files, so you could sue them for all that interference.”

“What’s the point?” he asked. “The council isn’t the problem, it’s the system. Even if each of them is removed, the person who takes their place will think the same way because those who think differently are gone.” He sighed. “Maybe this marks me as someone who isn’t that good of a person, but I’m out of there, twice now. I know, on an intellectual level, that if the council was changed, there’s a chance the cubs there would have it better, but emotionally, I just don’t care enough about that place to want to change it.”

There was a soft ding from the pad on the desk.

“I guess the session’s over?” he asked as she glanced at it.

“There’s still ten minutes, but yes, as much as I’d like for you to continue talking about this, I have other clients who need help. We can continue with this if you decide to have another session.”

He nodded. “Okay. Until then, what do I do? About me, how I treated Trembor?”

“What do you think you should do?” she asked.

He stared at her, then chuckled. “Isn’t it your job to tell me?”

“Ignoring the fact you grew up with people always doing that, and where that led you. My job as a counselor is more to guide you than to tell you what to do. So tell me what you think you should work on now, after telling me all this. If I feel you need guidance, I’ll give it.”

“I need to stop putting my needs before everyone else,” Marlot said without hesitation, and was proud of the conviction in his voice.

“And what does that look like? What actions are you going to take?”

His confidence cracked as he thought about it. “I guess the first thing I should do is consider the consequences of my actions before I take them.”

“As you did during your meal with Trembor; when you made a conscious decision not to press him about his mood?”

Marlot nodded. He hadn’t really thought about it that way. All he’d been interested in was not ruining the mood. “I should ask him for advice—well, more like listen to the advice he gives me when I ask. It’s not like he ever approved of me barging through people’s feelings.”

“Are there other people you can ask? I expect he can do with a rest once in a while.”

“There’s you, Bahamel…” he tried to come up with a third name. He didn’t include his tech-friends. Unless the problem was technical, they weren’t the best at problem-solving. “That’s it.” He chuckled bitterly. “Pretty pitiful, isn’t it?”

She shook her head. “Most people only have a few friends who are close enough they’re comfortable unburdening themselves on. It becomes smaller if you need them to have the perspective to offer relevant advice.”

Marlot was surprised that her opinion mirrors his. He nodded to the pad. “How much time?”

“Under five minutes.”

He nodded. “When do you want to schedule the next session?”

“Do you feel a need to have another session?”

He sighed. “Are you really going to answer all my questions with one of your own?”

“Does that bother you?” He glared at her and she chuckled. “But my question is serious. Do you feel you need more sessions?”

He was at a loss on how to answer her. His gut reaction was to say no. He’d already unloaded everything. There couldn’t be anything else, and if there was, he wasn’t sure he wanted to dig any deeper. But the fact he didn’t want to, felt like an indication he should.

“Isn’t multiple sessions how this works? How are you going to chart my progress otherwise?”

She shook her head. “This isn’t mandated counseling. You are doing the charting. I’m here to assist. Not every client I see needs constant supervision. Some simply call me when they encounter difficulty and I listen.”

“I was really hoping you’d tell me what to do,” he grumbled and realized what he’d said as she canted an ear. “Which is exactly what I grew up with. Is this something like me reverting?”

“More like falling back on habits.”

“Still, my track record with making my own decisions isn’t impressive.”

“Don’t let this crack you’ve identify cause you to question everything you do. You’ve seen there’s a crack there, it doesn’t mean the whole of you is broken. Just identifying it put you ahead of many of the people who enter my office for the first time. I know it feels like all you’ve made are bad decisions, but they are just overshadowing the good ones because they are what you’re paying attention to right now. If you want to schedule another session, we can do so.” She glanced at the pad. “This early in the morning is rarely busy, so anytime you want.”

“But you don’t think I have to?”

“Make this the first decision you make knowing the baggage you live with. I can tell you that I know you as someone who is self-motivated. Once you’ve identified a problem, you tackle it.” She raised a hand and Marlot closed his muzzle on the protest he was about to voice. That technique had dubious results at best. “Even before we talked, you’d already started working the problem, taking steps toward adjusting your behavior. You’ve demonstrated that you can make your own decisions.”

“But I had this meeting to look forward to, I knew you’d ask me about what I’ve done.” He paused. “I’m afraid that without someone to hold me accountable, I’m going to find ways to justify not making changes.”

She nodded. “Then let’s meet again next week at this time. You can tell me what you did, what worked, and what didn’t.” The pad dinged. “I’m afraid this is all the time we have for today.” She stood.

“Can I call you? If I need advice or someone to talk me out of someone’s maw?”

She hugged him. “Of course you can. That’s what friends are for.”

He hugged her back. “This switch from professional to friend is going to take getting used to.”

“It’s only once a week if you decide you need it. The rest of the time I’m just Dohrma friend.” She opened the door and a massive bull stood in the waiting room. He exited, catching the nervous scents from him as they walked by.

He tried to figure out how he felt about the meeting ending with what amounted to ‘keep doing the best you can’ as he walked down the hall to the elevator. He always thought he’d done the best he could. And maybe he had. Now he just had new data to work with.

Which reminded him of something he needed for his case; if the information was even still in the system. He called the Revenue department as he entered the elevator, gave his ID number. “I need the name of the person who paid for a tax. The body is Hardir Mixcoat.” He gave the ID he’d obtained and did not mention how long ago it had been paid. He figured it was best if he didn’t prejudice them before the search even began.

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