FINDING ~wip~

"This is the second part to my take on American history. While writing the chapter, however, I did not exactly like what I was doing with it...I will add notes to sections that I deem are "out of the style", and I would enjoy having readers' input in this.
Well, enjoy what is written so far!
drewcaine"

note: oh, and sorry for the serif font...I copied it from wordpad...I will remember to change it to verdana or something next time.

He was staggering down an alley, the walls themselves threatening to crush him without abandon. His head felt like it was splitting open wide, yet he made no sound.

Above, fire and debris rained down. Many people were running past him, screaming in terror obsenities and faintly mourning those that had immediately died. He crossed the "yellow line", not even thinking, and kept moving towards the base of the indignified twins.

He then came to a halt, hardly able to see anymore. A doomed employee had thrown herself from the building; how long she had to fall in terror, he did not know. Something had drug him to come to this lifeless body...an object that sparkled in the crimson painted on it.

"You...?!"

He fell to a knee, consciousness struggling to leave him, and reached out for the object. He held his paw up in the orange light mingling with the rising sun and stared, eyes wide, at the cross-shaped accessory besmirched with bright red blood.

***

"...the World Trade Center was completed in 1971. They...they were the two tallest buildings in this great nation. However, just because these terrorists have caused them to a loss to us...does not mean America is going to fall. The towers are still there, in spirit. The deaths, of everyone, their deaths will not be in vain. This tragedy will only give us strength to persevere through this time."

The retriever hit the POWER button in disgust.

"It has been an hour...but it will take an eternity for this to all go away," he said, eyelids wavering.

"You haven't had any sleep," the bat minister said. He paced the room.

"I don't care, John...I can't sleep knowing what is happening in New York," he said loudly, wanting the bat to stop nagging him about his health.

"I am just showing concern, Kevin."

"Forget about me. Go pray for those people dying."

"What do you think will happen to them, Kevin?"

The dog's ears perked up, and looked at the minister. The bat's eyes were watering behind his spectacles.

"The Bible implies that...that suicide is not advocated by God." The bat looked up at the ceiling. "What will happen?"

"What would you do if you were trapped, John? What for hell to consume you?" the dog said spitefully, not desiring a response.

An hour later, the golden retriever was in black attire and sitting in a meeting the New York City branch of the National Security Agency. Timothy Swyn, the aged director, was silent for several minutes. They all knew that this was going to be a long meeting.

"Yesterday was quite a terrible day for all of us," he began sternly. "We lost family. We lost associates. We lost a great American trademark."

"However, we all know that the United States is not going to lie down and die. We, the NSA--we are going to track down these bastards and make sure they get what they deserve. Our lack of information allowed this tragedy to happen. That is not going to be acceptable again. From today on, every single type of communication is going to be reviewed by our offices, and any questionable line will be investigated singularly..."

***

Jason's eyes revealed the sterile room to him at their own slow pace. His mind cleared; he looked to both sides, then he closed his eyes again, not wanting to wake up.

A door opened minutes later, allowing three people into the room. One of them was a young male nurse, a fox like himself.

"Welcome back, Mr. Azalia," the fox nurse said, smiling somewhat. "You don't know the trouble we went through to save you...I'm glad you're alive."

Jason stared at him for a moment, then passed his confused gaze over the the other two bystanders--a coyote and a human female.

"How did I end up here?" he asked weakly.

"You wandered off from that taxi driver," the woman said; she had an expression that said she would be beating him to death if he had not just escaped it. "I wish he would punched you in your face...you idiot."

The nurse grinned, then said, "Yeah...you were overcome by the massive debris when the towers collapsed--"

"What?" the fox jumped up slightly, nearly dislodging one of the many IVs stuck in him. "The towers what?!"

The coyoted explained. "Yeah, man...the Trade Center...they're searching for all the bodies of the people that died. It's gone, man." The young canine looked terrible.

Jason let out a strangled cry, the memory coming back to him.

"I...I could have died that day..." he muttered, paws over his face. A tear rolled down his cheek.

The other fox, however, wanted to reassure his patient. "You are actually doing better than you were before...during your examination, we discovered that your cancer has receded."

The fox let out a surprised yelp, amazed...and with the feeling that a burden had been taken off him.

***
(This is a soliloquy, something new that I decided to tack on to the story. I think they will add much to the mood and provide tidbits of backstory to each of the characters. Let me know if they get out of hand, though.)

"A year ago, I had gone to see my physician because I had been losing consciousness. I also vomited frequently, even after going for a day without eating. I did not know what was wrong with me. I did know, however, that my stepfather had died of tuberculosis a few ago, and my sister had recently been diagnosed with diabetes. My mom...she died when I was still in high school.

"Eye cancer. She claimed her own life. Ironic. She always accepted what that god of hers had given her.

"What a healthy bloodline...my family keeps dying of some disease or illness that hardly anyone suffers fatally from. Why am I being spared? Why did my cancer go benign? If there is a god, then why didn't that bastard take my life? Why am I still here? Huh? Huh?!"

***

The fox dug into his pocket and pulled out the same key that had allowed him into his sanctuary every evening after he left his office. The only difference tonight, however, is that he was not returning from the office. He would never return from his office again.

The main interior greeted him in pitch blackness. Inside his head, a voice spitefully reminded him that he had not yet paid the electric bill.

"I like candles, anyway," Jason muttered, throwing his attache case onto the case and slamming the door shut; he stepped over over to the bookcase and found the flashlight so conveniently placed next to a copy of PlayDog magazine. When the beam cut through the velvet darkness, he noticed the blood dripping from his paw. Curious, he slowly unclenched his fingers.

A pendant had cut deeply into his black pads, the warm substance flowing deeply down his hand, acted on by that Newtonian force. The same force that invited those poor "jumpers" to the earth, taking them from this world not-too-many hours ago.

"It's that thing I picked up by that dead woman...but...wasn't that just a dream? No...a nightmare? Or...it was real."

It made perfect sense now that he contemplated what he had done yesterday. He wondered off from Mark, found the pendant...then the tower collapsed, nearly killing. Instead of screaming and throwing the cross out the window, however, the fox fell onto his weathered couch and just stared at the accessory--why had he nearly given up his life to claim the damn thing?

He did not sleep at all that night.

***

"Mr. Alexander, may I have a word with you?"

This was one of the many lines that were shouted as the man in the trench coat quickly navigated through the crowd and into the Associated Press's office. He let out a small sigh of annoyance and proceeded to his office that bore the plaque "MANAGING EDITOR".

The long-haired man shut the door quietly and walked behind his desk, rearranging his name plate as he took his seat. He sifted through his folder, seeing what needed to be reviewed before it hit the press.

"The falling man, huh?" he said to himself. "I doubt the public is going to react well to this...that's the news, though, so I could care less." He dropped the folder on his desk and leaned back in his chair comfortably, thinking about his nice it will be when he heads for home, picking up the love of his life on his way.

His lover's picture was on the cluttered desk, right his computer monitor. The male was ethnically ambiguous and wore a delighted expression on his youthful face. A collar was fastened around his neck, contrasting greatly with his executive attire. Quite uncanny, the man was, who was posing against the main doors of his company's office building.

The man sighed and went to work, looking forward to the end of the day.

***

The visage of the desert fox in the cafe was a clear shot of him taken from the airport records database. Every single detail--from the clear orange eyes to the unshaven whiskers on the muzzle and chin, even the over-sized ears--was visible on the American standard paper posted to the bulletin. Well, five of them. Even more were outside.

The agent took a step back, examining his handiwork. The suspect's name was Aariz Afig Rafeek; he was a desert rat that had been accused of aiding the terrorists in bringing down the plane that had crashed into the Pentagon. Smirking, the agent turned away from the board and squeezed past the ten or so customers that had gathered around the board.

"Ten million dollars?" one said, amazed. "Damn...he must be up there with Osama!"

"I could buy ten new prom dresses...no, make that ten hundred!"

The golden retriever shook his head--sometime's these Americans really got to him...how materialistic. Sighing, he pushed open the door leading out into the city and pulled out his vibrating cellular.

"Steel here."

"This is Hunnigan, Mr. Steel. I am your assigned secretary on this investigation," a charming voice informed him.

"A new girl, eh?"

"I've had just as much college as you, thank you." The dog was taken aback by her moodiness. "Anyway, I am sending some files to you. One of importance is the list of contacts that this Rafeek-guy has...you'll be surprised."

"Right." The dog glanced at the phone's screen, seeing the download bar complete. "Let me know what's going on back at headquarters, Hunnigan."

"Will do."