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[18+] “Victor Tremblay in: Saving Wendell Olsen” by Pascal Farful (part 1 of 2, read by Carrizo)
20th June 2024 • The Voice of Dog • Rob MacWolf and guests
00:00:00 00:26:50

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[18+] Julia Burton fears for her husband-to-be Wendell Olsen. As Victor discovers, the Burton family can afford anything. Anything but the truth.

Today’s story is the first of two parts of “Victor Tremblay in: Saving Wendell Olsen” by Pascal Farful, who has been featured in two anthologies by the Furry Historical Fiction Society, and you can find more of his stories on his SoFurry page.

Read by Carrizo, your Coyote in the Court..

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https://thevoice.dog/episode/18-victor-tremblay-in-saving-wendell-olsen-by-pascal-farful-part-1-of-2

Transcripts

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Today's story concerns adult subject matter for mature listeners.

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If that's not your cup of tea,

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or there are youngsters listening,

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please skip this one

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and come back for another story another time.

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You’re listening to Pride Month on The Voice of Dog.

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This is Rob MacWolf, your fellow traveler,

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and Today’s story is the first of two parts of

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“Victor Tremblay in: Saving Wendell Olsen”

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by Pascal Farful,

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who has been featured in two anthologies

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by the Furry Historical Fiction Society,

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and you can find more of his stories on his SoFurry page.

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The closet metaphor is not always best applicable.

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It might be better to speak of a mask:

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for much of the harm of it comes not in the true self remaining unseen,

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but in the necessity

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of performing a false self,

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created and imposed by others

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of who they imagine us to be.

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Read by Carrizo, your Coyote in the Court.

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Please enjoy“Victor Tremblay in:

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Saving Wendell Olsen”

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by Pascal Farful,

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Part 1 of 2 3rd of August, 1972

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For the private detective, infidelity and infidelity-related cases are a

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dime a dozen. For me, they had their advantages;

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low personal risk,

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helping people who need it and being fairly cheap and quick to pursue.

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The downside however

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is that I could only count a handful that had happy endings.

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“Ms Burton,” I said

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as a red fox entered my office. “Please

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take a seat.” She thanked me and sat down.

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“It’s about my husband,”

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She said. “Husband-to-be,

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I should say. His name is Wendell. I met him in the fall of 1970 and we have been

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dating almost ever since.

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He’s a lovely, wonderful man but…

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recently he’s been…

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off the rails.”

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“In what way?” I asked.

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Her eyes darted around the room.

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“He’s been drinking more.

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Been away from home more.” “Has he

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been violent?” “Absolutely not.” She said firmly and decisively.

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Her body tensed, then deflated.

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“He cries,” She said. “He won’t tell me about what. He just…

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cries.” “Do you suspect infidelity?”

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“No.” She looked me dead in the eye.

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“I suspect suicide.”

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I drew a long breath.

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“Has he asked to call off the marriage?”

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“No, no he hasn’t. But I can only assume it’s to do with the marriage, because it started after I’d proposed to him.”

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I blinked. “You proposed to him?”

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“That’s correct,” she said.

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“I know how much my father wants me to be married.

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My mother and father separated just after I moved out and I

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feel like he wants to have a successful marriage vicariously through me.

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And Wendell seemed like the ideal man for me to give everyone what they wanted.

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So I broached the question.”

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“And giving them everything they want is vital?”

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I probed. She looked down at her paws.

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“It is… to be desired,”

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She said. “Escaping our families is…

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not cheap.” “Why is that?”

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For the first time, Ms Burton didn’t have an answer for me.

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In fact, for the first time her

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composure seemed to slip a tad.

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“They’re… not kind people, Mr Tremblay.” She said.

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“My marriage to Wendell was also going to help appease them, and justify an escape.

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This was something I had to instigate; Wendell…

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he hadn’t shown any interest in a marriage or anything more than

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cohabiting and talking.”

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A sickening feeling stirred in my gut.

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“I’d like to ask you a personal question, you do not need to answer it if you do not wish to,

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but it would clarify a great deal.”

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I said, perhaps overly formally.

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She looked at me expectantly.

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“Have you and this man engaged in any sexual contact throughout the time you’ve known him?”

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“Not really,” She said.

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“Though I’m not regularly interested in sex.”

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She said, flatly. “I didn’t find that unusual in me or in him.

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If anything it made a welcome change from previous partners I’d had to

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whom that was their primary interest.”

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I had a horrible, horrible feeling that time was of the essence.

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“Where is Wendell liable to be?”

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I asked. “We’re attending a party this evening at Guildhouse Manor.

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In case it was useful I put in a reservation for yourself and a plus one.”

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I raised a brow. “Quite the expense to take.”

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“No expense.” She said.

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“Just sleight of hand.”

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I tapped the table with my paw.

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“Forgive me but… it seems like this might be a matter more suited to a therapist or a counsellor?”

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“I have my reasons.” She said softly, but firmly.

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“I explored all of those,

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however you have a particular set of skills

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which set you apart from those other options.” --

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“Guildhouse Manor?” My fox, Charles, repeated with a wry smile.

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“Tonight.” I added, kissing him again.

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“What do you know about the place?”

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“Words is the owner has a vast collection of artifacts, acquired under… dubious means.” My fox said.

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I nodded. “If we ever need to be ejected from the building, I’ll be sure to

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ask where they got them from.”

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“I’d better get changed,” Charles added,

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turning around to face the bedroom, then pausing to gaze at me over his shoulder.

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“Unless you’d prefer I stay in my underwear?” He teased.

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“You know… really give them

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something to talk about?”

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“Now Charles, you know it’s rude to make the other guests feel inadequate,”

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I say, pressing myself against his back and running my hands over his bare fur.

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“A leaflet is the polite way. Perhaps Larry can

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get some more pictures of our...

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performances? I have a hunch we’ll be visiting the commune tonight.”

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Charles gave a loud purr,

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pressed his hips back against mine and

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stuffed my paw down the front of his briefs.

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“Is that so? We ran him out of film last time we were there.

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And the good stuff ain’t cheap.”

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“Only the best for you, my love,”

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I replied. He gasped and then snorted,

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biting his lip to try not to chuckle,

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though I wish he wouldn’t. “I really set you up for that one, didn’t I?” He whispered,

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a big grin

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on his muzzle.

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“You did,” I smiled.

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“I’d thank you the only way I know how,

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but it takes ages to get your cum out of my fur

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and we’re somewhat up against the clock.”

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Charles agreed. He kissed me again, then scampered into the bedroom to change.

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My fox emerged from the bedroom in a cheap suit.

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“Perhaps it’s for the best to maintain a low profile?”

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“As low a profile as you can,”

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I said, stepping close to hold him again. “You’re

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far too stunning to slide completely under the radar.”

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“Oh please,” Charles grinned, kissing me again.

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“We all know how to hide when we need to.” –

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We arrived at Guildhouse Manor at 3PM.

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“What’s the plan?” Charles asked.

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“First objective is to locate Wendell.

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Then, we get him somewhere safe.”

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“And you’re thinking Larry’s commune is the spot?”

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“If my intuition is correct about Wendell’s sexuality,

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then there’s no safer place..” I said.

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“If I’m wrong…then I guess my intuition isn’t as sharp as I think it is.”

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“While we’re in here,” Charles gestured up to the Manor. “ We’re…

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just friends?” He sighed.

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I nodded meekly. “Just friends.”

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We were chaperoned into the parking lot.

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This wasn’t our first adventure into high society gatherings;

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Charles had once played a chess tournament in a vast manor house like this.

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My mother and father would spend as much money as needed to be seen being seen in these kinds of places.

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We left the car and walked around to the entrance of the building.

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There were people being dropped off in limos and people lining up to go inside,

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a line that we promptly joined the tail of.

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The door was guarded by a beaver in a tuxedo.

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He ushered people through, then paused at us.

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“And you would be?”

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“Victor Tremblay, I’m here on request of Julia Burton,”

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I said. The bouncer glared between us, then looked down at his list of reservations.

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“So you are,” he said.

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“And your plus one is…?”

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“Charles Alexander, he’s a friend of mine,”

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I said. I regularly had to remind myself that this was not, technically, wrong.

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We were both lovers

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and friends. Just that one was taboo, the other wasn’t. “I see,”

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the bouncer mumbled, looking at our cheap clothes as if

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trying to find a way to disqualify our entry.

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When he could not,

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and our denial of entry was causing a scene,

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he stepped to one side and reluctantly let us in.

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The room we entered was a large open ballroom.

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Servers with drinks trays shuffled between clumps of people.

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They had a uniform, black shirt, black pants, white waistcoat,

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which made them easy to spot in a sea of people in various gray and silver suits and colorful dresses.

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A set of stairs at the back led up to the first floor balcony that

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overlooked the room.

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Beneath the balcony at the very sides were doors into other rooms, held open

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to allow maximum crowd flow.

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Finding Wendell would be difficult.

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There were hundreds of people in here, and getting good looks at individuals without looking suspect

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is a fine art. And that was just this one room,

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let alone the others.

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“I think the best way to locate Wendell is to split up,”

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I said to Charles. “I’ll try in here, the balcony and upstairs, do you think you could try those side rooms?”

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“Can do,” he agreed,

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“What does he look like?”

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“Marble fox. Early 20’s. Likely to be drunk.

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Very emotional,” I sighed.

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“I wouldn’t be surprised if he makes a pass at you.” “Understood,”

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my fox said, and before I knew it, he’d camouflaged himself into the room.

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I began walking around the room.

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With Charles gone, I felt vulnerable.

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And in particular,

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I felt that sense of being on enemy turf.

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Just like I had felt growing up in Quebec.

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Every now and then, I could have sworn I had seen the old lemurs in the throngs of people.

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Watching me. Waiting to hurt me again.

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“A drink, Sir?” A stoat stood before me, holding a platter.

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“Thank you,” I said, taking a glass of wine.

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“Oh, one thing-” I interject as he goes to leave.

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“You wouldn’t happen to know a man by the name of Wendell Olsen?”

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His passive stare shifted.

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He drew a long breath, then forced it out through his nose.

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“Yes, Sir, I do. He may be in a bedroom upstairs.”

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“Thank you,” I said.

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“Follow the empty bottles,” the stoat tutted.

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“And hope that he’s still conscious when you find him.

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him.” I watched him walk away and took a moment to collect myself.

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It seemed Mr Olsen’s troubles were an open secret if a butler was willing to blurt it so brazenly to a guest.

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Or it was a secret they couldn’t keep closed. -

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Up on the balcony, I started inspecting the side doors.

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None of them had any signs on them. I hesitated to try and open any,

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even if Wendell was inside.

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Spooking him or otherwise getting caught were not to be desired.

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Some of the decor on the walls had an insignia,

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resembling a mask placed atop a diamond.

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It didn’t mean anything to me,

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not at the time anyway.

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With nothing of note, I took a moment to look down at the room below.

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I was able to just about pick out the figure of Ms Burton.

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She was wearing a long blue dress and was sipping a drink,

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stood to the side of the room.

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She did not have anyone with her.

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I considered approaching her again, but I didn’t want to link the pair of us together

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in a public capacity unless it was absolutely necessary.

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As I turned back, I could hear a commotion down a corridor near the top of the staircase.

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I headed towards it,

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just in time to see a tail round a corner,

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and an open door to a bedroom.

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I approached the room.

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Peering inside, it seemed to be empty of people,

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but on the bed sat a magazine.

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The room was otherwise tidy in a manner similar to a hotel.

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Clinically tidy, not thoughtfully tidy.

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There were more of those insignia on the towels and the cups.

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Whatever it was, it was an important brand for this place. But for some reason,

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only once you were inside the building.

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I snuck into the room and picked up the magazine.

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Porn. Gay porn. In fact I was certain there was a copy of this particular portfolio in our home.

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I flicked through it, for the first time able to justify doing so as “work”.

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There was a page missing. Torn clean out.

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Somewhere in my brain I could remember which man was on this page, but then and there, it escaped me.

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Leaving this magazine out here for anyone to find was risky.

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Very, very risky. And with no immediate benefit that I could see. It was either a mistake, or someone wanted it to be found.

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I stuffed it in my jacket pocket, then departed the room, making a note of the room number as I did so.

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From here, I followed the tail I’d seen depart around the corner of the corridor,

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trying to remember what it looked like.

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At this point a panic began to flutter up my spine.

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I knew men who’d been in this position.

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This helpless and hopeless.

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Hell, I had been a man in this position,

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Charles had, Larry surely had too.

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The tail had gone to the left at the end of the hall.

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This set me into another balcony overlooking another large open room.

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This was brighter

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and quieter. Opposite the balcony, down on the ground floor was a bar.

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And sat there were Charles Alexander

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and Wendell Olsen. -

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Wendell was drunk.

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God I bled just looking at him.

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But we’d reached him in time.

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He was dressed in a white suit to match his marble fur. Black dress shirt

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underneath a white waistcoat and jacket,

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red tie and white slacks.

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There was something folded neatly into the inside jacket pocket, just barely poking out of the top.

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I took a seat at the bar so that he was sat between me and Charles.

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“Good evening gentlemen,”

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I said. The marble fox looked over at me and took another sip of his drink.

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“Can I help you?” he slurred.

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“I was wondering if I might be able to help you,”

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I said. “You look a little lonely over here.” “Oh me?

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Oh I’m… I’m just fine,”

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he lied. He tried to smile at me.

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That kind of smile that buries a twenty inch knife blade right in your gut.

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I took a breath and nodded.

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“Sure, but we’d like you to stay that way,”

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I said. I turned back to the waiter.

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“A drink, please.” “I’ll have what he’s having,”

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Wendell grinned. A grin that I couldn’t bear to look at.

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With that reaction from him, I was reasonably confident that he hadn’t attempted anything recently.

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People who have just attempted are not jovial and keen to knock back yet more alcohol.

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Which meant we were still in the prevention cycle.

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“A water, if you don’t mind,”

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I said to the barkeep.

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First step, sober him up.

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Doing so without him realizing it would be important.

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I had interrogated many drunk scumbags for information before.

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I couldn’t bear to interrogate a broken man like this while he was intoxicated.

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The barman placed down two glasses of water, for myself and the white fox.

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“To good health,” I said, raising the glass to toast.

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Two glasses met, two drinks knocked back.

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It was just that. Water.

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But Wendell drank it and it was a good start. “Wendell,” I began. “I see you’ve met my boyfriend,

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Charles.”

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The word seemed to hit Wendell like a semi truck.

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Or perhaps it was shock.

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He couldn’t mask it regardless.

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He looked at me, then Charles,

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then back to me. “Oh uhhhh

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I’m not… in the market for that,”

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he whispered, before his full voice returned.

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“In fact, I’m going to be marrying…”

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he began the sentence, but couldn’t finish it.

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“Julia Burton?” I offered.

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“Yes,” he said, “It’s not very…

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becoming of a husband to forget,”

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he said. He was looking for an exit.

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“Would you mind if we spoke to Julia with you?”

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The moment the question left my mouth, he stumbled to his feet and stared at me with grey, glassy eyes.

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His stare abruptly shifted to Charles too. Then back to me.

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Then back to him.

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I sit perfectly still.

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I don’t want him to panic.

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Abruptly, he turned.

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He ran. I leapt to my feet. As I did, Wendell tripped and tumbled onto the marble floor.

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He tried to shuffle away from us as we approached, but he quickly realized it was in vain.

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It was a very public incident.

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What began with just drawing the attention of people in the room, soon drew people in from the main hall.

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People glared. They whispered.

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“So drunk so early Wendell,” the stoat piped up,

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walking past the marble fox’s body with another tray of drinks.

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“Must be a new record for you.”

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Charles picked Wendell up while I checked the seat to see if the ripped page of the magazine was there, but it wasn’t.

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“Come on, let’s get you somewhere quiet,” my fox said.

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Wendell was powerless to resist, so just nodded and let it happen.

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I went to follow, but the figure of another red fox moved to block me.

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Older, eyes just as yellow as Julia’s, but blunter and less insightful.

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“Mr Tremblay?” he asked.

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“Yes,” I said, extending a hand.

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“And you would be?” “Ulysses Burton,”

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he said. “Like the president?”

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I blurted before my mouth could stop me.

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He scowled. “I’m aware that my daughter hired you to try and mend their relationship.”

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“She hired me because she has concerns about Mr. Olsen,”

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I replied. “I have concerns too,” Ulysses said.

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“Concerns that unless something is done that drunken, lily-livered princess

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is going to be marrying my daughter!” He growled.

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“I appreciate your concern,” I lied.

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“I am liaising with both Mr Olsen and Ms Burton and aim to do what I can to make both parties happy.”

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The old fox screwed his face up again.

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“You really think you know what’s best for my daughter?”

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“I never claimed to.”

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“Then why are you acting like you do?”

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“I’m sorry?” I said firmly. “Your daughter hired a private investigator

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to check on the safety of her husband-to-be.

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She’s doing due diligence.

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I’m doing my job.”

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He grabbed me by the collar. “You listen here and you listen good.

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You will talk my daughter out of marrying that man, or I will personally fly your stripey tail right back to Quebec

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where you belong, do you understand?”

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I didn’t respond verbally.

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I waited a moment, then nodded,

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and he released me.

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He took a step back, then turned and walked across the now-silent room. --

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“I never hurt her,”

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Wendell whispered,

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lifting his head to look over at Charles, then up at

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me “I never wanted to hurt her.

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Please tell me I didn’t hurt her.”

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“You haven’t hurt her,”

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I whispered firmly,

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stepping towards him and squatting down by the bed.

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“She’s worried that you’re going to take your life.”

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His gaze faltered again.

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He whispered it under his breath.

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The unholy request that mustn’t be repeated.

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“Wendell, no,” Charles said firmly. “You mustn’t and you won’t.”

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The marble fox lifted his head and with a finger Charles turned it to face him.

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He was crying. So were we.

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A broken man sat before us. The nadir of his life.

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“Please,” Charles whispered.

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“Let us help Julia.

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Let us help you.” Wendell buried his face in my fox’s shoulder and

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cried just as hard as he could.

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I sat on the bed and held him,

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just as Charles held him

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and he held Charles.

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The marble fox finally raised his head. “How did someone find out?” he whispered, his throat hoarse. “I did everything

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I could to hide it.”

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“Because we’ve been down this road too,”

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I said. I stared at the wall.

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I remembered what this was like

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when I realized I was like this.

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Locked in my ugly little bedroom.

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Realizing that I was on enemy turf and

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that I was in for a war, not a battle. I looked at that wall and

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remembered being alone.

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Then I looked over at Charles,

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and reminded myself that I’m not anymore.

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“People like us have all hidden it.

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We get to know what it looks like in others,”

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Charles said softly.

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Wendell sighed, uncoiling from Charles and sitting up on the bed.

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He looked at me with those gray eyes again.

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“I don’t feel like I can call off the wedding.

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Everyone would know.

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Either that I’m gay,

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or worse, they’d think I

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did have an affair.”

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“Is that why you said yes to the proposal?”

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I asked. He nodded.

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“Partly that, and partly the money,”

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he said. I narrowed my eyes.

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“You were hoping to inherit some of the wealth from the Burton family?”

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“Julia was. She had a plan for what would happen after the wedding. She didn’t say much, only that

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we wouldn’t be worrying for money anymore.

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anymore.” “What was your plan, long term,

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for being in that marriage?”

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I continued. He stared blankly at the floor.

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“I’d just hope she had an affair.

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Or I’d just go ahead and-” “I see,”

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I interrupted. Keeping him talking was important.

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But not about that.

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He drew a long breath.

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“What can I do?” he asked.

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“To make it right? To get us both out of this horrible mess?”

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“Tell Julia the truth,”

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Charles said. He flinched.

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“What can I do that won’t hurt her?”

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“Tell Julia the truth,”

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Charles and I repeated.

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“It will hurt her,” Wendell insisted, the first time I saw him do anything with conviction.

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“I’ve been lying to her for years. Our entire relationship is built on lies.”

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“It will hurt more if you don’t,” Charles said softly.

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“She can see what’s happening to you.

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She will work it out eventually and the best thing you can do is tell her the truth now.”

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“And if mine and Julia’s families find out?”

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“Do you have any dependencies on them?”

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I asked. “I live with Julia here in Guildhouse manor. Her father owns it,” he said.

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“My parents know I’m a drunkard, I can’t go back home to them.”

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Wendell deflated again.

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“They taught me how to lie. I followed their example.

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At first I just lied about it to them. Then I lied about it to my friends. To my landlord, to my boss. I even lied to the draft man.

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I was too weak to be sent to die in ‘Nam.

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But I’d rather have died there than let anyone find out.”

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He gestured towards the wall out into the ballroom.

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“When the word gets out,

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I don’t know what these people’ll do to my future.”

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“People whose love turns to hate over who you are

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never loved you to begin with.” Charles said.

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“At best they liked the idea of the fictional you that you exhibited.

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They want you to play a role in their life, a role they dictate, they decide on, they control.

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If you kissing men is enough to ruin their little stage show, then fuck ‘em.”

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Something about the revelation that Wendell and Julia lived in this building felt…

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off, to me, but I didn’t have time to pursue it.

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“You’re going to have to tell Julia the truth,”

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I said at last. “We will help you, but ultimately you’ll need to tell her.”

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Wendell summoned his strength.

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“If she’s hurt more by me not telling her than

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by me telling her… I’ll do it.” “We can do it now,”

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I said. He shuddered, then gulped.

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“We can get it over with?”

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“Yes.” He drew a breath.

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“Okay.” I stood up. “Charles,

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if you could remain here and comfort Wendell,

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I’ll find Julia.” - “He made yet another public scene, Julia,”

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Ulysses had gathered Julia in one corner of the large ballroom,

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underneath the balcony.

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He hissed, at a whisper.

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“In our home, in front of such esteemed guests.”

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“I’ve been made aware of that,” she replied.

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“Are you going to put me through this humiliation any longer?”

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He asked. “Or have you finally seen sense?” “Julia,”

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I said, taking the opportunity to interrupt.

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Mr Burton looked at me with contempt,

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Julia without much overt emotion at all.

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“Wendell needs a word with you.”

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I said. She moved to follow me, but Ulysses stopped her.

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“He can wait. My daughter and I are having an important discussion and I would like to think you would find it polite enough not to eavesdrop.”

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Julia glared at the back of his head with aggression I’d not seen from her before,

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but he was too busy glaring at me to notice.

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Before Ulysses could turn to look at her again,

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she gave a loud cough.

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From across the room, a large stack of glasses fell over,

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bringing the hubbub of the room to a quiet.

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The old fox turned his head sharply to the source of the noise, then released Julia.

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“I will speak with you later,” he said firmly.

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Julia nodded, aggression masked again,

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then moved towards the balcony stairs.

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I turned and started to follow her.

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“Mr Tremblay?” I heard Ulysses call.

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I didn’t bother to stop.

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“I know Jacques.” This did grind me to a halt.

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I gestured Julia onwards and turned to face the old fox.

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Ulysses continued, with an awful smile smeared onto his face.

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“You can't run away from family, Victor.

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No matter how far you run,

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or how pathetic the reason;

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blood is thicker than water.

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And besides, your father is an upstanding member of society,” he said, approaching me.

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“I like him a lot.”

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I shrugged. “I guess somebody has to.”

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This was the first of two parts of

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“Victor Tremblay in: Saving Wendell Olsen”

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by Pascal Farful,

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read for you by Carrizo,

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your Coyote in the Court.

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Tune in next time to find out if Wendell can admit his feelings to Julia,

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if Victor can keep Ulysses in the dark

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and if anyone can work out what on earth Julia’s up to...

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As always, you can find more stories on the web at thevoice.

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thevoice.dog, or find the show wherever you get

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your podcasts.

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Thank you for listening

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to The Voice of Dog.

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