by R A Watt
Tiptoeing up behind her, I gently reached for her sides and leaned my face into her messy hair. “Suzanne’s returned,” I whispered and kissed her head.
She was quick to shrug me off. “Huh? What are you doing?” she spat, spinning around with a scowl.
“I was just . . . saying hi? I mean, you know, after what happened and all?”
Sybil shook her head. “Don’t do that again, Teavan. Things earlier . . . that was stupid. We got caught up in the chaos, made a dumb decision. End of story.”
I stepped back. “Caught up? I wasn’t caught up in anything. You kissed me back. You felt it.”
She shook her head again. “Fine. I got caught up, whatever. This can’t work anyway, and we both know it. Someone always gets hurt, so it’s best to leave things. You like Rachel and she likes you. I’ll never do anything to hurt her.”
“Well, yeah, but things are different now. So much has happened, so much has changed,” I said, thinking about our kiss and the events before it.
She turned to the sink. “So, let me ask you this. You had a huge crush on Rachel, and then she gets hurt, so you change your mind? Did you think of me in that way—even yesterday?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. But I do know something has changed between us.”
“Like I said, it was the situation, the emotion of knowing Suzanne was okay. We both got caught up in things.”
At that moment, Jermaine bounded into the kitchen with cleaning materials in hand. “Teavan, you’d better get out there! Your sister is here and calling for you. She freaked out when I went to help her.”
Her bag was under the table and I grabbed it. Sybil said nothing, finishing up with the dishes.
“Be right back,” I said.
Running across the yard toward the trees, I held the bag out. “You there?”
“What took you so long?” she hissed.
I tossed it in the shrubs. “Sorry. I’ll meet you inside.”
Walking back to the house, I wondered, Was that all it was? Getting caught up in the moment? It was definitely the wrong time for romance, and yet, as I thought about Sybil, I knew it was different. We were changed.
I liked her differently now. Had it been there all along?
Maybe that was wrong, given Rachel and all. Was I a bad person? It’s not like Rachel and I were boyfriend and girlfriend. But we had shared a kiss that night, albeit a small one. An innocent one.
My kiss with Sybil was not the same, it was much deeper, more passionate.
That kiss felt right.
Suzanne joined us in the kitchen a few minutes later, looking filthy and a little worse for wear. But otherwise healthy and definitely not dead. She remembered bits and pieces from before she fully transformed, then it all went hazy as she tried to recount the last few hours.
She ate everything in the fridge, too. Well, not everything, but quite a bit. I knew how she felt.
“So, now what?” she asked, down to eating bread with peanut butter on it.
Jermaine, Sybil, and I joined her at the table.
“We go home soon, and we know nothing about any of this. I’ll bike over here later, saying Honey was barking and upset about something, so I came over to investigate. I’ll put a call into the sheriff’s office and we’ll let the police deal with it,” I suggested.
“And Sheriff Vincent?” Suzanne asked.
I shrugged. “Someone will find him, and until then he’ll be missing.”
Jermaine leaned in. “What about Kevin? He’s been texting me apologies all night.”
The mention of his name made angry. “Who cares.”
“But he knows; he’ll know the truth. We need to talk to him either way,” he answered.
“Is he awake?” I asked.
Jermaine nodded. “I think so. I get a text every thirty minutes asking if we are okay.”
“Tell him to come over then. Quick.”
Kevin arrived shortly after on his bike. It was almost seven in the morning. He, too, looked like he hadn’t slept much. He held his head low as he parked his bike. At the sight of Bruno’s body, he started coughing and dry heaving. The four of us came out and stood on the porch. Mrs. Leclair’s body was beside the wicker furniture, covered up with a blanket.
“Is . . . is that him?” he asked, avoiding Bruno’s body as he shuffled over.
Jermaine nodded. “Uh huh.”
Everyone just stood there; nobody talked. Kevin’s eyes were puffy and red.
“I . . . I can’t apologize enough to you guys for what I did. Bruno—he knew; he came to my house yesterday. Made me talk to him, threatened to kill my little sister if I didn’t tell him something. I was so scared. For me, for her . . . for my whole family. I know it was wrong and I’m so sorry,” he said, wiping tears away with the back of his arm.
Jermaine took a step down, glaring at Kevin. “Dude, you gave us up! We could’ve been killed. You basically signed our death warrants.”
“But you aren’t dead,” he countered. “Everyone is okay, it all worked out. Right, bro?”
Jermaine shook his head. “Don’t call me that, you ain’t my brother. A brother wouldn’t give you up when things get dicey. You’re just a coward.”
“But—”
“And,” Jermaine continued, “things aren’t all okay.” He walked back up the steps and lifted the blanket. “If you want to apologize to someone, apologize to her.”
Kevin’s eyes went wide as they processed the corpse of Mrs. Leclair, and his hand came up to his mouth. “Bruno killed her?”
“No, but his dad did,” Jermaine said, dropping the blanket back down.
We reluctantly updated a teary-eyed Kevin on what happened over the night, but left out the part about Suzanne almost dying and changing as well. He didn’t need to know about her.
Even I was feeling a little bad for the guy. He seemed genuinely sorry, and I could kinda get where he was coming from. Though I still wouldn’t have squealed.
“What can I do?” Kevin asked, looking to each of us.
“Not much you can do now,” I said. “Just go with the story and keep your mouth shut. Hopefully this will all be a memory in time.”
“And . . . us?” he asked, looking at everyone but particularly Jermaine.
Jermaine shook his head. “Dude, there is no us. We were here—together—we ended this. You? You gave us up, left us for dead. That’s all there is.”
Kevin’s lip quivered, and tears streamed down his face again. “I know, trust me, I know. I wish I could take it back.”
“Easy to say now,” Jermaine said.
Jermaine and Kevin had been friends a lot longer than I’d known either of them, so the hurt probably ran a lot deeper between the two of them. They stood staring mostly at each other.
“F-fair enough,” Kevin stammered, getting on his bike. “Well, if there is anything I can do, call me. And I hope one day you guys can forgive me.”
And with that, he rode back down the lane as quietly as he’d come.
I noticed tears glistening in the morning sun on Jermaine’s cheek as he watched Kevin ride off. Suzanne, Sybil, and I said nothing as we walked back in the house.
We decided to leave a short time later, not wanting to get home too early, but not wanting to be there in case the police showed up. I wanted to crawl into my bed and sleep for a week.
We said our awkward goodbyes and took the covers off both bodies. Jermaine and Sybil headed back into town, while Suzanne and I went to our place with Honey limping quietly beside us.
“We should talk,” I said as we tiptoed up our front steps, hoping not to wake Dad if he was still sleeping.
“I know,” she said. “But not now; I’m so tired I could sleep in the grass.”
I knew how she felt.
Nodding, I opened the front door. The house was quiet, and my dad’s bedroom door was closed. He was still asleep.
We retreated to our bedrooms in silence, and I crawled under the covers and quickly drifted
off.
Although I didn’t know it at first, the same dream returned that morning, though a little different than before. There was knocking at the front door, and the wind howled outside the house.
I got up and noticed Honey wasn’t there, but thought nothing of it as I stumbled down the hall to answer the door.
As I approached, old dream memories returned and I knew I was in a dream. I knew who was outside without even looking. Fear filled my body as I backed away from the locked door, and the knocking persisted. The old woman’s cackles could be heard above the wind.
However, when I turned to hide, Suzanne was standing behind me, motionless. “You’re home?” she asked.
“Uh huh.” I nodded, wondering if she’d had the same dream. “You are too, finally.”
The outside screen door opened, and the pounding started on the inside door, sending icy shivers down my spine. Suzanne joined me in the front entrance.
“Should we just let her in?” Suzanne whispered, keeping an eye on the door.
Outside, the winds suddenly stopped blowing right as I came to the same decision.
But then the screen door slammed shut and it was quiet.
In the distance, someone was calling my name.
As Suzanne unlocked the door, I saw the old woman was gone.
We had already let her in. Getting in our house had never been what she was after.
“Teavan!” my dad said, shaking me awake from the dream.
Blinking, I looked around my sun-filled room, confused. “Dad?”
He smiled. “Rise and shine! It’s past two in the afternoon! What is with you?”
I looked at the clock, it was 2:17.
Shrugging, with one eye closed, I answered, “Tired Dad, real tired. We didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“Evidently your sister didn’t, either,” he answered as he walked out into the hall and knocked on her door. Honey stood up and lay directly on me, licking my face with her gross dog breath.
“Honey!” I yelped as I hid my head under the pillow, but enjoying her loving attention.
Time to face the world.
Chapter 49
Over our late breakfast, my dad shared some terrible news with us. The sheriff and his son had been mauled by a wild animal. Or a pack of wild animals. Turned out maybe my friend Jermaine had been right about wolves, he reluctantly admitted.
And even worse, our dear neighbor to the west, Geneviève Leclair, had also died, possibly of a heart attack, but the police weren’t sure yet. The county was under an immediate curfew until the animals responsible could be contained.
“I want you close to home, and Honey, too. Terrible thing. That poor Vincent woman has lost both her sons, and her husband now. And Santa Isadora has lost its sheriff.”
“See Dad?” Suzanne said, with less snark than usual. “We should have just stayed in New York.”
He eyed her with one eyebrow up. “There are plenty of murders in New York, I’ll have you know. Statistically speaking, we are much safer here.”
She winked at me, then poked her head back into the fridge, looking for more leftovers. “Doesn’t seem safer,” she mumbled.
To say I was missing my cell phone is an understatement. It was driving me nuts. I wanted to text Rachel because I didn’t want to make a call or visit, and I wanted to text Sybil something because I couldn’t make the call. I’d promised to visit Rachel, so I had to go, even though I no longer felt right about it.
We told Dad I forgot some textbooks at Jermaine’s, and Suzanne volunteered to drive me to pick them up. Dad asked us to grab some ground beef for dinner while we were out.
Suzanne and I had so much to talk about on the short drive. We were both sickened by what happened to Mrs. Leclair, and even Bruno and Mr. Vincent—though that was necessary. And I was probably more excited than I should have been now that I knew she was a lycan as well. Not being alone in this journey felt oddly reassuring, especially now that my only mentor was gone.
Though we had no one to talk to about it, at least we had each other.
As we drove through town to the medical center, I asked her to make a quick stop.
“Here? Why?” she asked, wondering what possible reason I had for stopping at the lumber supply store.
“Just gimme a sec.”
Running into Timberland Lumber gave me second thoughts, but I continued to the front help desk. It was loud, busy, and smelled like fresh cut wood inside the industrial retail space.
“Is Mr. Hughes working today?” I asked.
The lady at the front desk looked up. “He’s in the back, through those staff doors. Just poke your head in and holler.”
Dodging a small forklift, I walked to the back of the store and pushed through the marked double doors, looking around. “Mr. Hughes?”
A man was cutting plywood. He turned the saw off, lifted his goggles to his forehead, and turned around. “Eh?” he said.
“Mr. Hughes?” I asked again.
He nodded. “What do you want? I’m not working on the floor right now.”
Trevor Hughes was not a small man: probably six feet tall and over two hundred pounds. He had tattoos on his bare arms, and his head was shaved bald, but he had a full black beard. My second thoughts returned.
He put the goggles on the table. “What’s up, kid?”
“Are you Sybil’s father?” I asked.
His previously neutral demeanor disappeared. “Yeah, why? What’s she done now?”
Stepping forward, I said, “Nothing. That’s the problem.”
Despite a bit of a belly, I could tell he had once been in good shape. His neck muscles tensed. “What the hell do you want?”
I hesitated. “Don’t ever hurt her again, got it?”
His face crinkled. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
Mr. Hughes took off his gloves now, sizing me up with a smile. “What, are you her boyfriend or something? Is that where she tramps off to? You think you are some tough guy ‘cause you’re captain of the football team?”
I shook my head. “No. She doesn’t even have a boyfriend, but that’s not the point. I’m just saying, don’t touch her. Ever. And she’s about as far as they come from being a tramp; I only wish you could see that.”
Quick as a flash, he grabbed and pushed me back, bending me over the bench, spittle flying out as he barked, “You little pissant. How dare you come to my place of work and threaten me.”
My back hurt as the corner of the table gouged into it; his full weight was pushing me down. It was what I wanted.
The feeling was coming, deep down in the pit of my stomach. I pulled on it just a little, and let loose a deep-throated growl as I glared up at him.
His eyes jumped open from anger to surprise, and I pushed him off me easily.
It was my turn.
He stood, momentarily confused. Before he could react, I grabbed his thick work shirt and thrust him against the wall, my face just inches from his. I growled—loudly—and lifted him up against the wall, about six inches off the floor.
My voice was guttural and raspy, full of anger. “I said don’t ever touch her again, or I will come back, and I will end you. Understand?”
The terrified look in his eyes alerted me just seconds before the smell of urine did that he understood. As I lowered him back to the ground, into a small puddle around his boots, I mockingly straightened out his shirt and industrial apron.
“She’s a good girl; don’t forget it. Just appreciate it,” I said, almost politely.
I turned and left the room. Mr. Hughes said nothing further.
Pissant.
“What was that about?” Suzanne asked as I got back in the car.
“Nothing,” I said, putting on my seatbelt. “I just had a quick talk with Sybil’s dad about his treatment of her.”
“Oh no,” she said, shaking her head. But then she smiled. “And?”
I grinned. “I think we have an understanding.”
>
Rachel’s parents stood when I entered her room.
“You two can visit. Dad and I will run home for a few minutes, okay?” Mrs. Denning asked Rachel.
She smiled weakly. “Sure,” she said, then looked at me. “Hey big guy.”
“Big guy?”
Her laugh turned to a cough. “Sorry, couldn’t help it.”
As I stood there awkwardly, she patted her bed. “Sit.”
My eyes looked down at the spot she patted. She looked a lot better today. Her hair was done perfectly and held back in her customary headband. She even had a little makeup on, more color in her cheeks against the white bandages.
But being here felt wrong.
Not only because of my changed feelings, but because of who I was. What I was. I remembered her saying something like ‘if there is divine good in this world, there must also be evil.’
Was that me now? It may not have been me that harmed her, but it was one of my kind. An evil abomination.
“What?” she asked, tilting her head. “Are you okay?”
I shook myself out of it. “You look better today, that’s all. Healthier.”
She turned red. “Thanks. I feel better. They let me have a proper shower, and I could finally comb my hair. I can’t wait to get out of here tomorrow, I hate hospitals. Did you hear what happened last night?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I can’t believe it. My poor neighbor.”
“It’s scary, Teavan. Whatever did this to me . . . it’s getting worse. And now they’re calling for a curfew for the whole county. This doesn’t seem right. It doesn’t seem natural. I’ll bet you never had issues like this back in New York.”
I shook my head. “Nope. But we had shootings and muggings to deal with. Nah, I think things will be okay. I’m not really worried, to be honest.”
Her head tilted again. “Not worried? Some rabid mountain lion or a werewolf killing people near your house and that doesn’t worry you? Because it should. I keep having nightmares . . . I drift off so often in this bed, and the attack replays itself over and over. It makes me sick to think it’s still out there.”
“I know, but I just have this feeling that everything is going to be okay. You don’t need to worry anymore.”
