
Todd paced down the sidewalk of the Florida town, grateful for the shade of the overhanging shop entrances. The highway passed not more than six feet in front of the stores and restaurants here, turning the sidewalk into a thin strip of pedestrian-friendly concrete between the painted brick walls and the speeding traffic. He passed by the windows of tobacconists, plant nurseries, and clothing stores, each one giving a glimpse into a recessed interior, darkened by the bright morning outside. He stopped for a moment, wincing and leaning against a newspaper machine as he prepared to leave the shady sidewalk and cross to the other side of the road. He was hung over, and the Florida sun was showing no mercy.

The truth was, Todd had been hung over a lot in recent mornings. Like most Ferrets, he had a low tolerance for alcohol. That hadn't stopped him. His nights were miserable, he reasoned, so why shouldn't his mornings match? Besides, it's not like he had anyone to show off for. Nobody to avoid waking up by puking in the bathroom at three in the morning.  Nobody to scowl at him if he started his day stinking of Old Forrester and body odor and sometimes his own urine. Nobody to tell him just how far gone he was. Not that he didn't know; he hadn't gone from married, employed, and housed to divorced, stinking drunk and facing foreclosure in the space of four months without realizing he'd screwed the pooch at some point.

Todd rubbed his face with his paws as he waited for a break in the highway traffic, then set out across the hot asphalt. The other side of the street was barren in contrast with the buildings it faced. Half of the block had once been commercial, with closed shops and boarded-up display windows bearing witness to its past. The closed stores were all smaller than their busy counterparts across the street, with low ceilings and squat doors. Some of them appeared to connect to their neighbors inside, forming a continuous storefront of varying heights and colors. Halfway along the block, the defunct stores came to an end, and a large, red brick building towered over the street. Occasional small windows dotted the surface, but all of the blinds were closed. It was impossible to see from the sidewalk how wide the building was, but its heavy presence could easily have occupied the entire half of the block.

He crossed the street next to the closed shops and peered into one of the few windows which were not boarded up. Old things fascinated him. Some of these buildings must have dated back to the species wars - he could see a tunnel going directly into the floor of the shop, covered by a thick metal hatch. It would have been used for an emergency retreat if the Predators came. Predators like him, since this was an old Rabbit town. Todd peered in long enough to satisfy his curiosity, and then moved along, looking up at the brick structure ahead of him. He pulled a card out of his pocket and began to count addresses on the buildings next to him, slowing down as he approached the end of the stores. Surely that can't be it, he thought...

The entrance to the brick behemoth came into view near the corner: a short, white wooden door with an address picked out in black numerals above it. Todd examined the card in his hand. "Corwin Hall: Where love starts over. 667 Silfay Place," he read. He looked up at the number above the door. 667. Incredulous, he checked the street sign by the corner. Silfay Place was the name the highway took for a few blocks as it ran through town - he was at the right building. But this aging red brick didn't look like it had anything to do with love. And why was it so big? Todd had expected a small, discreet building. Some out-of-the way shrink's office, he'd hoped, although in the back of his mind he was afraid it might turn out to be some secret clubroom where Lisa indulged in her quirk. This structure, though, with no markings, no awnings, and not even any sign to hint at what was inside, was a mystery. 

He hesitated on the sidewalk, wondering if he was supposed to knock. It didn't even look like anyone was home. Flipping the business card nervously in his hand, he stepped up to the door, and noticed the small doorbell and intercom on the inside of the frame. He took a short, bracing breath and pressed the button.

"It's open!" squawked the speaker.

Todd stood in front of the door for a moment, then opened it and entered. His first impression was of darkness, then of cozy closeness as his vision adjusted. In contrast with the building around it, the room was short, narrow, and long - almost a corridor. There were several chairs along one wall, closed doors spaced regularly along the other, and a desk at the end. It was a reception room. Behind the desk sat a smooth-furred, cream colored Rabbit doe, probably in her late twenties. She looked up from the computer monitor on the desk, and pulled her light rimless glasses down to the end of her nose.

"Ah. Mister Parks." Todd was nonplussed at the use of his name.

"Uh... Yes. Have we met?"

"Lisa's told us all about you. You're the only Ferret we're expecting. Come in, and have a seat." Her words were inviting, but the look she gave Todd over her glasses was cold and evaluative.

"Look, Lisa just gave me this card." He waved it. "I don't really know what this place is."

"It's Corwin Hall, mister Parks."

"Yes, but what do I do here? I mean, what do you do?"

"We help people. Please, come in and have a seat now. Someone will be along shortly." With that, she turned, flicked her teardrop-shaped tail, grabbed a stack of papers from her desk, and disappeared through one of the side doors. Todd, bewildered, sat down in the nearest chair and wished he had a drink.

After a few minutes, one of the doors opened and another Rabbit came through it. He was dark-furred, with odd tufts at the ends of his long, floppy ears. He was also completely naked, in the traditional Rabbit fashion. He smiled at the Ferret and gestured through the door. "Mister Parks, please come with me." Todd stood and followed the Rabbit.

"Everyone here seems to know my name, but I'm at a disadvantage there."

"You'll learn all our names in time, I'm sure. Mine is Brutus." Brutus extended his paw and shook Todd's as they passed through the door into a long, low hallway. Todd looked backwards into the cozy reception room, then forwards into the hall, which ended in a set of wooden double doors. 

"This is a Rabbit warren, isn't it?"

"Corwin Hall was a warren, yes. One of the oldest in Florida. It has since been converted to suit our purposes."

"Which are what, exactly?"

"We help people, Mr. Parks."

"That's what the lady behind the desk said, too. I'm afraid I still don't understand." They reached the double doors and Brutus stopped, looking at Todd with an intense, though unreadable gaze.

"What we do here is strange, Mr. Parks. We have no illusions in that regard. Everyone who comes here does so for different reasons, but there's a common trait that unites us."

"I think I can make a guess at that. You wear diapers, don't you? Like Lisa." Todd's tone was carefully neutral.

Brutus paused for a moment, continuing to fix Todd with his intent look. "That is part of it, yes."

"Look. I don't want to be impolite. I don't even judge you for it. I just want nothing to do with it, all right? I told Lisa that in no uncertain terms."

"And no kind terms, either." The Rabbit's gaze hardened.

Todd rolled his eyes. "Right. I think it's pretty clear that I don't belong here. I thought maybe Lisa had found herself a solution - a twelve-step program or something. I don't know why she invited me here, but I think I'd better get going." He turned to leave, and Brutus put his paw on the back of his shoulder."

"Mr. Parks. Todd. Lisa invited you here because she loves you, and seeing you in despair hurts her. She thinks we can help you. I apologize for my manner. I tend to be fiercely protective of my friends, and I sometimes forget my charity. Please, if you ever trusted Lisa, give us a chance. We can change your life."

Todd stood still for a moment, measuring his words. He looked back at Brutus, his face showing pain and determination. "I don't want that kind of change. Excuse me, I have to leave now." He swept out of the hallway, ducking to fit his long frame under the door, and left Corwin Hall without looking back. In the hallway, Brutus sighed and leaned against the double doors.


***


Todd slammed his front door and stalked through the dining room into the kitchen. His mind filled with thoughts like coals, he banged a tumbler on the counter and opened his liquor cabinet. Why did she give him that damn card? She knew he hated... that. All of it. His fingers passed over the 14-year Oban and groped the plastic jug of Canadian Mist. This was not a night for sipping scotch. He poured the hobo whiskey until the tumbler was half-full, then added a splash for good measure. 

The thought of putting one of those on, and... losing control. He slammed back a mouthful, trying not to taste it, and swallowed.  The loss of dignity, in front of other people no less. Who did she think he was? Did she think she could invite him to her little fetish club and pretend everything is just hunky-dory? Maybe they could pretend there weren't three overdue notices for the mortgage sitting in his trash bin. The glass is three-quarters empty. She knew he needed her support until the writing thing started to pay off. Why did she push him away with her disgusting fixation? Slam back a swallow; don't taste it. It's like rubbing alcohol. The glass is mostly empty. Refill it. Why couldn't she keep it to herself? Slam; swallow. The glass is - where's the glass?

Todd slid his hand along the counter, feeling for the tumbler, the warm buzzing at the base of his neck distracting him. He knocked the glass off the counter, and it shattered, spilling cheap whiskey all over his feet.

"Shit!" 

Todd fumbled for the towel shoved in the refrigerator handle and stepped on a shard of glass, then fell hard on his knee with another curse. The floor was wet as he groped across it, his vision blurred with alcohol and tears. He backed into the corner - the same corner Lisa had been in, the night he left for the hotel. The glass wasn't in deep; he drew his legs up and pulled it out. The linoleum was cold, knocking against his head lightly with every hitching sob. He waited for the calm of intoxication, but it never came - only the rage and the shame. He grimaced and clenched his fists, and a spreading warmth in his crotch told him he'd be showering in his jeans again tonight. Involuntarily, he pictured himself curled in the corner, sobbing like she had that night. She'd been wearing nothing but her adult diaper. The part of him that could still think latched onto the irony of it.

"Why did she-" Todd winced at the sound of his own voice, rasping and wavering. Something inside him was breaking. It felt like being exposed - as if the pain and the alcohol and the humiliation were dissolving his clothing. Unsteadily, and favoring one foot, he stood.

"Why did I leave her?"

He didn't remember calling the cab, but he did remember shambling down the dark street beside the moldering storefronts. The next thing that was clear in his head was the sound of the buzzer as he pressed the button next to the door. Then a long wait, and finally the door flying open, an irritated Rabbit standing in front of the bright light within.

"What?!  It's half past-oh my God!" The reception Rabbit from that afternoon stepped back, holding her paw over her nose.

"I'm sorry... Lisa."

Then nothing. 
