by Kody Boye
“I… wanted to apologize for all the weight you’ve been carrying on your shoulders the past few days. I’ve been… concerned about my family’s wellbeing, and, well… I’ve neglected to ensure your health and safety.”
“It’s okay,” I say, then lift my hand to stop him before he can continue. “Really. It’s fine.”
“Still…” The man sighs. “I just wanted to apologize.”
“I appreciate it, even though it isn’t necessary.”
I’m not sure if it’s the way I’ve said the words, or the choice of them, but Mister Meadows offers a frown before turning his head to look back into the kitchen. “Do you want me to order something in?” he asks. “For the two of you to snack on?”
“No, sir,” I reply. “That’s fine.”
Something tells me I’m not really that hungry anyway.
“How are you doing?” J’vonte asks.
I stand beside the flower pot that she and her mother gave me and peer in at the developing starts that are beginning to rise. Unsure how to respond, or even if I should, I lift my eyes to look out at the barren and slowly-recovering plot of land opposite the street, then sigh.
“Oak?” J’vonte asks.
“I’m doing as okay as I can be,” I reply, then turn my head to face her. “How about you? Is everything okay on your end?”
“I’m fine, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“But,” I offer in response to the hesitancy in her voice.
“But the school has been depressing as hell. All those kids, just… slaughtered by that wolf… and then Easton—“
“What about him?”
“He’s recovering, slowly.”
“Slowly?”
“I figured you’d have to after part of your arm’s been amputated.”
I pale. A sliver of unease snakes through my chest, crawls up my spine, ignites my brain. “Wait,” I say. “What?”
“Yeah. The wolf tore his arm up so much that they had to remove it. Guess it’s goodbye football career.”
“Jesus,” I whisper, and close my eyes.
I could’ve never have imagined something like this happening. I mean, I knew what was going on—had ridden, as that deliberate passenger, inside the Dark Wolf’s body—but I couldn’t have anticipated the damage being that grave.
The Dark Wolf killed many, the Light Wolf inside me says. You should have known that the fifth would have dire injuries.
But I didn’t— I respond internally. I couldn’t have—
J’vonte lifts her eyes to face me. “What?” she then asks, and frowns short moment later. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I… I don’t…”
Oh God, I think, and inhale a long, deep breath. Oh God. Please, no. Don’t have an attack now.
“Oaklynn?”
“I’m okay,” I say, and exhale the breath soon after, thankful that I’ve become so accustomed to my anxiety that I’m able to calm it down. “I just… didn’t expect to hear something like this.”
“Yeah,” J’vonte says. “Neither did I.”
I exhale a long, hard breath, then turn my head to face J’vonte.
My friend—whose eyes have since fallen to her phone—lifts her eyes to face me. “Something wrong?” she asks.
“No,” I lie. “Everything’s fine.”
“Good,” she replies. “Because I have a huge test coming up soon, and I want to relax before I have to hunker down and study.”
“Yeah,” I reply, turning my head to look out the window once more. “I get it.”
I could only wish I’d had such minor problems.
J’vonte and I spend the next several hours hanging out, doing nails, talking about tests and grades and guys and our aspirations for the future. The quality time that passes is enough to alleviate my thoughts, but no matter how much I try to dispel the thoughts of Easton’s amputation from my mind, I cannot shake it.
By the time my best friend leaves, I feel like I’m ready to burst.
“Jackson?” I ask as I come to stand in front of his bedroom door. “Are you awake?”
“I am,” he replies. A short moment later, he’s opening the door and looking out at me. “God, Oak. You look like shit.”
“I take it you didn’t hear what J’vonte said?”
“No. I was in here the whole time.” He frowns as he considers me. “Why? What’re you—“
There must be something in my eyes, or a look on my face, because suddenly, Jackson is falling silent, and his lips are turning down in a frown.
When he finally does speak, it’s to say, “What’s going on?”
All I can reply with is, “You should come with me.”
I summon his father into the kitchen, then consider Jackson as he comes to stand opposite me. Both have incredulous looks on their faces, and look as though I am speaking a completely different language.
By the time I explain everything, both of them wear the same expression.
Jackson asks, “They amputated his arm?”
To which his father replies by saying, “The Dark Wolf mauled him. That isn’t surprising at all.”
“I just… can’t believe it,” I reply, crossing my arms over my chest. “I… I didn’t think that he’d… he’d—“
“Wolves are powerful creatures,” Mister Meadows says, “and unfortunately, not everyone ends up recovering from their injuries.”
“You don’t think he’s going to… what?” I ask. “Die? Do you?”
“No. I don’t think he’s going to die. At least… not from this.”
From this? I think. What could he be…
My thoughts trail off shortly thereafter.
No, I then think. He wouldn’t.
But would he not? Would he really, truly not? His football career had been his sole driving force—his one-way ticket to college. Surely he wouldn’t kill himself over that, would he?
The pain of existing, the Light Wolf says, is sometimes worse than physical pains themselves.
I try my hardest not to succumb to panic—to emotion that I know is inconsequential to many but not to me—but find myself doing so regardless.
“Oaklynn?” Jackson asks. “Are you all right?”
“Just… processing, is all,” I say, then turn and make my way down the hall.
“Where are you going?” Mister Meadows asks.
“I need to think,” I say. And I do, too. Because if I don’t—and if I allow this to pool over me like bloody waters on a godforsaken shore—than I am apt to lose my mind once again.
The moment I step into my room is the moment I feel that everything in my life has gone wrong.
Tears spring to my eyes not long after.
It is all I can do to keep from sobbing.
Chapter Three
I don’t want to go to the school. I really don’t. Because after everything I have gone through, and after everything I have endured, going back seems like a punishment unto itself.
But I have to.
Jackson and I still have things waiting for us in our lockers. The stuff in mine is nothing overly personal, of course, but just because the stuff inside isn’t overly personal doesn’t mean that I want it to be taken by the security officer on duty.
For that reason, I prepare to make my trek into town on this Monday morning—when, at the crack of dawn, and at a time when I would normally rise to prepare for a day like this, I rise from my bed and begin to dress.
“You’re still coming with me?” I say. “Right?”
Jackson lifts his eyes from where he stands at the sink eating a piece of toast. “Why wouldn’t I?” he asks.
“I don’t know. Maybe because you don’t want to?”
“I’d feel better if I went with you.”
“Why?”
“I just would.”
I decide not to push it and instead make my way toward the door.
“Can I at least finish my toast?” Jackson asks.
“I’d pref
er we went now, so we don’t get stopped by the security guard, or worse: the counselor.”
Jackson frowns, but shoves the last of his toast into his mouth before saying, “Okay. Let’s go.”
I start out into the cool autumn air with the knowledge that this may be the last time I ever set foot in the high school. Physically warm on the outside due to my insulated sweater, but cold on the inside because of my feelings over the matter, I cross my arms over my chest and try my hardest to keep from feeling down about the entire thing, but find myself doing just that regardless.
I’d wanted my senior year to be typical—a time where I could have prepared for the future with the knowledge that I would eventually be pursuing a career in wildlife rehabilitation. Here, though, and now, I know that will never happen.
No.
The matters at hand, and the forces that be, have declared that I will not have an ordinary future, that I will not have an ordinary life.
My parents are gone. I live with strangers. I am no longer an ordinary girl. Instead, I am now a shifter—one whose rage had allowed an angry spirit inside not only my body, but my mind.
And who killed for you, I remind myself. Don’t forget that.
I shake my head as we continue down the road—as we progress up the dirt path that will eventually lead to the high school at the far edge of town.
Almost instantly, I remember that time only a few fateful days ago.
Seeing the wolf—
Meeting Jackson—
Experiencing a life altered, a present changed—
“Oaklynn,” Jackson says, drawing me out of my reverie.
“Yeah?” I ask.
“You’re shaking.”
“It’s just a little cold,” I say, hoping the lie is bold and brazen enough to catch him off guard.
“If you say so,” Jackson offers, then stretches his arms over his head. “Almost there.”
“Yeah,” I say. “We are.”
The moment the school comes into view is the moment where I feel all my self-doubt and loathing come back.
“You ready for this?” Jackson asks as we cross the front lawn and begin to merge into the crowd of students.
“Yeah,” I reply. “I am.”
We step toward the double doors—
Enter through them—
Then through the second set—
Only to find a staggering sight.
Displayed, in the front hall, directly across from the front entrance, are the pictures of the young men the Dark Wolf killed. Surrounded by flowers, and arranged below the school’s various trophy cases, the four pictures—and the faces they captured—look out at me as if they are judging me from beyond the grave.
I swallow immediately upon looking at them.
“Oaklynn?” Jackson says. “Are you—“
“Let’s just get this over with,” I say, and make a bee-line toward the lockers.
I know the urgency must appear odd—that it must seem callous—but I can’t care, not when there’s so many people around, not when those young men’s faces are staring back at me.
Spinning my combination is a torturous activity. Opening, and then pulling back the tape on the pictures arranged inside the locker, is comparable to pulling scabs off still-healing wounds.
“You have much in there?” Jackson asks.
“No,” I say as I continue to pull pictures off the inside of the locker. “Just a few pictures is all.”
“Do you need me to—“
“So you really aren’t coming back,” J’vonte says.
I jump. “J’von,” I say.
My friend’s full lips form into a pout as she considers the picture I pull from the locker. It is of us as little girls, possibly no older than ten, hugging at an elementary school event—her in yellow-and-black honeybee stripes, me in my usual white shirt and blue jeans. A smile tugs at her lips for only a moment, then disappears. That is when she says, “I thought you’d change your mind.”
“I can’t come back,” I say. “Not… not yet.”
“What are you going to do about college?”
“I can get into a community school,” I reply. “I… I can take my GED.”
“I know you’re scared, Oak, but you have to consider how this is going to change your future. How this is going to change your life.”
“My life’s been changed already, J’von. I can’t make things go back to normal.”
“I know.” J’vonte sighs and presses a hand to my shoulder. “I just feel bad.”
“Why?”
“For not being able to help you. For not being able to do anything.”
“You being here, and talking to me, helps, J’vonte.”
“I try,” the girl says, before turning her eyes to look toward the front office. “Are you just going to leave your books in there?”
“There’s only a few,” I say. “So… yeah. I think that’d be for the best. Don’t you?”
“Easier than lugging them to each class and getting looks for returning them,” my friend offers, then nods. She frowns as she considers the clock over the front office. “I have to go. But Oak.”
“Yeah?”
She draws me into a one-armed hug. “Good luck with everything you’re doing. I know it isn’t going to be easy, especially now that your parents are gone, but… just remember that I’m always here for you.”
“I will,” I say.
J’vonte spins and, in the blink of an eye, disappears down the hall.
Leaving me and Jackson to watch her depart.
“You’re sure you want to leave school?” Jackson asks as I pull the last picture from the locker.
“There isn’t anything left for me here,” I reply. “I just… I can’t. Not after—“
“You don’t have to say it.”
I nod.
Then I close the locker, turn, and with Jackson at my side, leave Red Wolf High School behind for good.
Chapter Four
The first words out of Jackson’s mouth the following morning are: “What do we do now?”
The two of us are standing in the kitchen, eating the breakfast that we have managed to whip together while his father sleeps in the other room. Tired, unsure, and still waking up, I lift my eyes to face my friend in the moments that follow and ask, “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he says, “about… well… the future.”
The future, I think, and frown.
The truth of the matter is that my future seems bleak at this godforsaken hour of the morning—when, after having risen from nightmares, I find myself breathing heavily for everything I’ve endured.
It’s okay, I think. You’re here. Safe.
Still—the fact of the matter is: I’ve been having almost constant flashbacks to the days before, when I’d assumed a position I never could’ve imagined being in.
The fire—
The pain—
The excruciating, undeniable rain.
It’d washed away the sins of my past, the potential hardships for my future; and though I know that I will never be found out or considered to be the perpetrator of those young men’s murders, I know for a fact that they will haunt me forever.
All because a dark spirit came inside.
It takes several moments for the relentless panic to leave my system—for the thrill of dream to finally escape my mind.
Come time it does, a sigh escapes me, causing not only my chest to fall, but the hairs on the back of my neck to rise.
“Oaklynn?” Jackson asks. “Did you hear me?”
I blink, stunned. I then say, “Suh-Sorry. I was thinking.”
“You don’t have to be sorry,” he replies. “I was just… wondering, is all.”
“You’re talking about our GEDs and college,” I say, “aren’t you?”
Jackson nods. “Yeah. I am.”
A part of me wants to tell him to just ignore that part of our lives for now, because the more I think about it, the more anxious
I become. I am still entrenched in grief, in mourning, in desolation. The longer the spells of doubt go on, the further into the murky waters of depression I sink.
Like a mermaid, I think, swimming through the ocean.
Never to come out again.
“I,” I begin, “am… really not sure what to say about that.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t think I’m ready yet.”
Jackson remains silent for several long moments, seemingly in thought. I’m just about to ask if I’ve said something wrong when he offers, “I can understand that.”
I frown. “Really?”
He nods. “Yeah. I can.”
“It’s just… I don’t know how I’m supposed to move on… you know? A part of me is still stuck in the past—and though I imagine that’s probably natural, considering how quickly things have happened and all, I just… I don’t know if I’m ready to just forget everything I’ve known and loved.”
“You don’t have to forget, Oaklynn,” Jackson says.
“What?” I ask.
“You don’t have to forget.” Jackson bridges the distance between us. He sets his plate of toast down. Sighs. Leans forward to place a hand on my arm. He holds it there for several long moments, and then says, matter of factly: “No one’s asking you to forget.”
“I—“
“Forgetting would be a crime against your parents’ memories. Against everything you felt. Against everything you are feeling. I mean… the more I think about my grandmother, and the more I realize that I should’ve spent more time with her—talking, laughing, loving—the more I realize just how fragile life is. I mean… we both know what it’s like to lose someone.”
“I know.”
“And we both know what it’s like to feel that unstoppable pain.”
“Yeah. We do.”
“It’s just…” Jackson sighs and shakes his head. “I don’t want you to ever feel like you can’t come to me with this kind of stuff. Okay?”
“Okay,” I say.
He draws me into a hug shortly thereafter.
“Thank you,” I whisper, tightening my grip on his body.
He doesn’t say anything.
He simply holds me.
There is a point, during the day—when Jackson leaves to finish having the final touches on his tattoo sleeve done and I am left alone—that I feel lost. Unable to keep from feeling sad regardless of the fact that I know he will soon return, I sulk in my room as the weight of everything comes bearing down upon me once more.
