by Elyse Draper
After finishing the omelets and making extra bacon and toast, I start to become annoyed by the idea that I might have to eat all this food alone. Imagining the dogs knocking Christopher down and licking him raw, I grab a couple pieces of bacon and walk back to the pen, raising my hand to throw the bacon at Christopher. He opens his eyes and stares calmly at the fist now perched over my head, dripping bacon grease down my hand. I try to smile innocently; feigning a turn back to the kitchen, I throw the bacon at Christopher’s head. Lune, apparently anticipating my action, nonchalantly raises his head and catches the fastball of meat before it can reach its target.
The kid sits smiling, annoyingly not surprised, and says, “Nice throw.”
Looking at Lune now, avoiding Christopher’s smug face, I tell the dog,” Nice catch.”
I stand, absorbing the false tension until Christopher starts to laugh. “That really was a nice catch.”
He puts Artemis down with Ursa and scratches Lune’s head as he stands. Walking to the kitchen and then washing his hands, he looks over the breakfast I prepared.
“I’m starving, this looks good.” His voice still holds an annoying amount of smugness that makes him sound surprised by my cooking ability.
“Dig in … and maybe I can get you to explain what that was all about.” I look back at Artemis; she already looks healthier than the runt that was born yesterday. She is definitely stronger than the little creature that was nursing on her mother this morning, although she isn’t any bigger. Some sort of exchange happened between Christopher and the pup … and whatever it was, they both look stronger and more content. I have a feeling this is going to be an extremely interesting relationship to watch grow.
Shaking my head to release the bewilderment, I join Christopher in the kitchen. Loading a plate for myself, my mouth start to water, “I could eat breakfast all day long … if I had the time to make it.”
“Considering how good this is, I can’t blame you.” He speaks as he stuffs a forkful of eggs, onion, ham and stringy, melted cheese into his mouth.
Watching him like this, I could almost believe he is still in his teens, still growing. Grunting a laugh in the back of my throat, ‘still growing’? The kid is already a giant: almost as wide as me and at least six inches taller. Standing next to him, even the wolves look small. He doesn’t see it though … always stuck in his head, listening, watching, and thinking. He has no idea that, to some, his size is as intimidating as his precious ‘talents’.
“We make quite the pair.” He still has a mouthful, and is stuffing more in, “I was thinking the same thing about you earlier.”
I am not surprised by his interpreting my thoughts, and then answering them. But, I am in awe at the simple changes in his personality as he speaks. For approximately six months, I’ve watched this kid, and this is the most relaxed I’ve seen him. He’s almost more … open. I’ve never seen anything like it: people with as many walls as Christopher, don’t just pull them down like this. The tension around his eyes has released and the muscles on his jaw become slack between the bites and chewing. It makes his face look softer, younger … and his eyes are almost glowing. I’ve watched those eyes, studied them for motive and lies, and they have always been a muted, blue-green, nothing remarkable … but now they are almost, iridescent.
Chapter 7
Monsters
Concentrating on Christopher’s expressions, I press him to explain what just happened in the pen. A look of wonderment crosses his features as he shrugs his shoulders and eats a bite of toast.
Absentmindedly he tries to explain, “I’m not sure. Somehow Artemis reminded me of everything I was missing, and at the same time everything I have gained. She forgave all my wrongdoings, with such innocence. Well, she’s too young to understand what she was forgiving; but the love involved gave me a wave of relief I didn’t think I’d ever feel again. Hey, she showed me who she has decided is her pack … you’re there. She sees you as some sort of nursemaid.” Snorting as he says it; I can just see him picturing me as a nanny wearing a high-collared dress like Mary Poppins.
“Ha! Very funny.” I lace my words with sarcasm, but I can’t help finding the thought comical. “Is it normal for animals as young Artemis to communicate like that?”
“I don’t know. I’ve only communicated with Lune, Ursa, and of course the pack ... none of them are young. I didn’t know, with Artemis being half husky, if she would inherit the ‘passing of history’ that the wolf pack shares. From what she showed me though, she obviously has that knowledge … I guess communication at her age maybe a trait unique to the wolves.
“Ann once said that she thought Lune was some sort of spirit guide. She was always going on about protecting him … something about how dog spirit-guides help us to understand the duality between doubt and faith; and that they can heal emotional wounds.
He continued. “After I returned to Vegas, and she knew V had started manipulating me … she wouldn’t stop reminding me every time we spoke that Lune would be the one to help break V’s hold. Whatever powers inhabit Lune, she was right; he was my savior in the end. Given the possible, inherited abilities of a spirit guide mixed with the given qualities of the wolf ... I can’t even envision how powerful Artemis is going to be.”
“You never did finish telling me last night, about how you got those scars.” More hints, more questions … Artemis forgiving him, and now mentioning Lune saving him. As usual, talking about his time in Vegas leads him to unconsciously rub the scars on his neck again. Pushing away his mostly empty plate, Christopher looks at me with agitation behind his glowing eyes.
Even though I haven’t felt the presence of a ghostly entity today, Christopher looks around expectantly before he grudgingly answers. “Where did we leave off?”
“You told V to kill James.” My voice is even, but I know Christopher will see the mental flinch that comes with understanding he is capable of ordering someone else's death. The responding smirk is made that much creepier by the new intensity in his eyes.
“You should understand, James had become … problematic. He didn’t respond well to my ‘interaction’ with his foster father. For whatever reason, he still saw the old man as his boss, and respected him.” Stubborn as usual, Christopher’s voice has taken on the monotone response of a practiced criminal under scrutiny.
“I’ll tell you what I do understand: I can’t pass any kind of judgment, because I’ve never been put in the position where I would need to survive in those conditions. You’re being intentionally dodgy … just tell me what happened.” His posture relaxes slightly; but I can still see the defensiveness in his distracted face.
Now focusing on another time, another place, he continues. “I had set up a meeting with James’s father; V wanted to suck the life out of a human with so much influence … it was some sort of power trip for him. I didn’t have much of a choice about following through with the events in motion; V was in complete control at that time. I do admit … I wanted to make it so that the old man couldn’t bother Ann, or me, ever again.”
Christopher’s eyes are moving back and forth like he is in the middle of REM sleep, but his lids are open. Whatever is playing out in his head, I have a feeling being patient is the only way I am going to hear it. So I put the teakettle back on for more coffee and start cleaning up breakfast.
“I had set up a meeting with James’s father at his hotel, at midnight of all times. He was going to have a sniper waiting for me when I appeared; so I went early and scoped out where the gunmen were going to be placed. He obviously thought I was going to be a threat, but not much of one, because he only employed three men to kill me before I could reach him. Not one bodyguard with him personally, he figured I’d be dead long before I could reach his penthouse suit."
He pauses, and I think about waiting for him to continue, but curiosity gets the best of me. “How did you take care of the gunmen?”
Still watching the movie play out in his head, he answers without his stand
ard games. “I read the plan in their heads, and attacked their minds in the order of who was most dangerous. Starting with the sniper stationed in the building next door. I walk up the flights of stairs, with V close behind. He was making sure I had the right amount of motivation until I was right outside the door where the sniper laid in wait. I could see the memories being formed in his head, and was able to look through his eyes with only a momentary delay. The sniper could see the other two guards waiting in the lobby, one hidden by the elevator and the other covertly working behind the information desk. They were planning on me using my abilities on at least the one by the elevator. Even if I took control of the two stationed in the hotel, the third man would finish me, shooting right through the large glass arboretum that made up the lobby. At first I was scared, but V absorbed that, and magnified the hatred I was already feeling … he was making sure I wouldn’t let morals interfere. You see ... if I have the power to invoke one emotion, outside of his control, that would lead to others, potentially breaking his spell. He wasn’t going to allow me to think about what I was doing.” Christopher chews through the last thought with such bitterness … I can taste the bile in his words, forming in my mouth.
I can see that whatever happened next in his story, he regrets every choice that was made … the images physically sicken him. As he stuttered to start again, I notice that tears have begun to roll down his stone-like face. “I forced myself into that man’s head, the one with the rifle. First I accessed the memories of his orders to kill me … then I wiped them clean, replacing them with the order to shoot the two bodyguards on the ground floor, and any others that might interfere with the old man’s meeting at midnight. I told him that he was to time the killings for 11:58. Then at 12:30 he was to leave the rifle behind, someone else would be by to pick it up and dispose of it later. And then, he was to return to the penthouse for payment.
“I knew that he would be greeted by one of two things; more hotel gun-toting ‘employees’ ready to take revenge on him, or the police, who would take care of him in their own way.”
For the first time, Christopher makes eye contact, and I can see that the horror of what he has done is still eating away at his mind. “It only took, maybe, twenty minutes to reprogram the guy. A little voice in my head prayed that I failed. But he was a killer; I didn’t make him do anything he wasn’t prepared to do in the first place. I slid down the wall that was next to the door where the sniper hid, and watched the clock until it was time to move.
“I forced my conscious thoughts to continue looking through his eyes as I walked back down the stairs, and waited in front of the building. I had to make sure he was going to follow my orders, before stepping into the line of sight of the man at the information desk. Counting down the seconds, I walked up to the glass doors at 11:57:45 and made eye contact; the few people that stood around in the lobby would never connect me with what was about to happen, soon they would be too distracted. I heard the sharp ping of the bullet slicing through glass, the gun must have had a silencer, and the man at the desk crumpled. Then, as the momentary, delayed memories of the sniper responded, I watched him pull the trigger. Not waiting to see the first man fall, the sniper already had the second man in his sights.
“I casually walked in before anyone realized that the crack in the glass wall meant someone was shooting … before they knew two men were dead. Walking over to the elevator and pressing the up button, I glanced over to the second bodyguard’s hiding place. There he sat, palms face up, and body completely limp … the shot was perfect, execution style, and I didn't want to inspect the damage too closely. I heard the first scream as I slid into the elevator.”
Never breaking eye contact, continuing to hold his emotionless stare, I watch as the tears keep flowing. He is in shock; these men would have killed him in a heartbeat … but he mourns them, all the same. “I had pulled the elevator’s penthouse code from so many different people that I punched it in with mechanical certainty. V kept me in my icy rage, nothing was able to pass by the wall he’d built … just finish the task at hand, deal with the nightmares later.” The bitterness of his memories seeps back into his tone tainting his act of indifference.
I have to interrupt at that point, asking, “When V was influencing you like that … where was your conscience? You’re obviously bothered deeply by the violence … where was your freewill to not take part in it?”
I am desperately trying to keep the horror from my voice … the last thing the kid needs is to think I see him as some sort of monster. Frantically searching for something to do to keep my hands busy, I notice I’ve not only cleaned up breakfast, but done all the dishes and made a fresh carafe of coffee. Absentmindedly pouring more into our mugs, I return to the kitchen, and not knowing what else to do, I start cleaning the bird that Lune brought in last night.
“I don’t know how to answer that. I guess the part that kills me the most is, just like that sniper doing what he was always prepared to do, amoral or not … some part of me was prepared to let rage control … some part of me was willing to forget my conscience, and take life.” He drops his eyes; turning back to the table, he begins staring at his mug.
I don’t need to worry about him thinking I see him as a monster … he has already convinced himself that is exactly what he is. “Please continue.” I speak with the clear thought in my head; you can’t force me to see you as monstrous.
Christopher nods, never lifting his face away from the table. “When I entered the penthouse, James’s father was sitting on the couch with his back to me. Not turning, he told me he should have known I would make it past his men. I expected him to show me the gun that I knew was in his hand … the small voice in the back of my head wished he had turned around and pointed that gun at me.
"From the chair seated directly in front of the old man, came James’s voice, "Hello Christopher." To my surprise, James was trying to force compassion and mercy into my head. As a stranger to those noble emotions, he failed miserably. V was much stronger, and now he was angry that James was interfering. This was the first time I’d ever noticed the strength of V’s anger … it was insane, and I might have pitied James, if I’d cared anymore.
"Looking right where I imagined James sitting, I pried in to his father’s head. By the time I had reached the point of digging up the old man's deepest secrets, I could hear him sobbing, hunched over as if he’d aged fifty years. James was begging now, begging for me to stop torturing the man that had taken him in, when no one else would.
"I faltered, but not because of James. I hesitated, because of what this great crime boss’s grand secret was. Surprise overtook me for a second; his secret was he loved James’s mother, a prostitute. Digging deeper, I found what he was afraid to admit even to himself. Looking at James, I told him … everything. "He killed your mother, so he could take you and mold you into his special soldier … and then he killed you, when he found he wasn’t able to control you. You were nothing more than a tool … one important enough to kill his only love for, but a tool nonetheless. When he lost control, and found out you were working outside the family, he decided you were as important as a broken toy. He had you followed to the meth house, then set a bomb to cremate you. A small incendiary device, mixed with all the chemicals from the drugs … who would know the difference."
Extracting the last bit of juicy information broke the old man … and James. I walked over to a beautifully ornate, Japanese, jade cigar box. Opening it, I found exactly what I was looking for … a lock of glossy, black hair, tied with a silk ribbon. On the ribbon was a tag that identified the hair as belonging to James’s mother. And then, I lifted out the most damning evidence of all: inside a silk handkerchief were the charred remains of a finger with a ring burned into the last remaining bits of flesh. "He had his man at the meth house bring this back as proof that you were dead." I held up the package, making sure to display it so that James could see.
"James said nothing all throughout the revelations about his m
other; he had barely a flicker of emotion … but when I mentioned his own demise … he lost his mind. Finally giving him proof of his father's conspiracy, he began screaming so loud that his voice echoed around my skull. The pain was unbearable, and V lost his connection, only for a second … but it was long enough for me to realize I had signed the old man’s death certificate. James turned his rage with such force on his father; I could actually see the man physically breaking.
“He lifted the gun and placed it gingerly in his mouth. I could hear it clacking painfully on his teeth as he positioned the barrel upward. V was so entranced by James’s rage, and what James was forcing on his father, that he forgot about me … my job was done for the time being.
"Racing over to the couch, and tripping in my haste, I landed to the side, almost tackling the old man … but missing. I recovered in just enough time to catch him, after the gun fired. My ears were ringing, and I started to panic … the adrenalin was pumping hard enough that I hadn’t felt the side effects of V releasing me, not yet.
"That was when James tried to turn his rage on me, but I blocked him easily. My mind was busy; I had taken a look back into the sniper’s head, and could hear the police sirens wailing … see the flashing lights. Trying to suppress my panic, I went in to the bathroom … the carnage wasn’t too bad; until, I turned around. There was blood spatter all over the back of my shirt … most of it hit me when I was on the floor. I stripped off my shirt, and used the front to clean up, then grabbed a fresh one out of the old man's closet. Semi-clean, I looked around, retracing my steps. I wiped down the only things I touched; the jade box and the door handles.
"Like the elevator code to take me up to the penthouse, I also knew the code to take me to the private parking lot in the lowest level of the building. I locked the door on my way out and punched in the right order of keys, wiping everything down as I left. I knew there would be a blood void from where I was kneeling, telling the forensic team someone else was in the room, but there should be no other material evidence for them to find. I was still panicky, running everything through my head, but the fact remained: I hadn’t pulled the trigger, nor was I in the position for them to think I forced him into pulling the trigger.
