Shackled Serenity

by Leon Logos

  “Father’s elusive, he knows what he’s doing,” Desmos assured. “And we were quick to leave.”

  Serenity stared at him dubiously. She never understood why Desmos was so submissive and biddable towards Gunther. The blind faith he had in him was questionable. Was it to maintain his status as the perfect son? Or out of fear? All she knew was that Desmos never once questioned his father. If Gunther were to tell him to jump off a bridge, she genuinely was sure Desmos would do it without hesitation. His unyielding obedience didn’t reflect his captaincy, being their leader. Excluding Gunther, of course, Desmos didn’t take orders from anybody.

  Since he didn’t ever question or doubt Gunther’s decisions and actions, the others followed in his footsteps.

  The car deviated off the dirt road they had been traveling on for the past twenty minutes and into an even bumpier, decrepit road that routed through a woodland thickly clustered with pinewood trees. Desmos slowed down the car, taking care not to crash into anything as the path became narrow. As they cruised through the forest, she looked out the window as a squirrel quickly scurried up a tree in fright. The car jerked sporadically as it drove through fallen branches and uneven ground. She had no idea where they were going, but she assumed their destination was beyond the forest.

  “Yo, do we have to drive through here?” Garen asked irritably. “What kind of a shortcut is this? This GPS is garbage—”

  “This isn’t a shortcut, it’s the direct route,” Desmos said, unruffled.

  “Wait, what?! Who the hell lives in the middle of a damn forest?! As if this place isn’t isolated enough.”

  Serenity wholeheartedly agreed. Whoever these eccentric individuals they were going to be staying with were, she wasn’t too optimistic. But she also expected nothing less from somebody close with Gunther.

  “When you said ‘temporary,’ how long are we talking here?” Cackle asked, discontented.

  “Not sure, maybe two or three days?” Desmos replied uncertainly.

  Eventually the road ended. Literally. Desmos stopped the car at a very small clearing. The trail ahead was only suitable for walking; they’d have to forge through obstacles (bushes and branches) to actually advance, on foot. Desmos put the car in park, removing the keys from the ignition. Nobody needed to confirm what their next move was. They exited the vehicle, Serenity the last to hop down. It was cold, but not as cold as it was hours previously without the comfort of the sun. Desmos open the trunk and they grabbed their luggage.

  She scanned the environment watchfully; forests were welcoming and familiar to her. But not this one. The very air was eerie, evoking caution in her. Most forests were teeming with insects, birds, and mammals. However, this woodland was dearth in wildlife; audibly, their presence was barely perceptible. Not much buzzing or humming whatsoever. The trees above were so tall and thick that very little sunlight reached the surface, illuminating only patches of the ground.

  “In case you all forgot,” said Desmos, leading the way forward, “we have no weapons, so be alert.”

  “This is a great parking spot,” Agno quipped; the Range Rover, which was enormous in size, didn’t quite fit in.

  Considerably filthier after driving through wild terrain, it appeared bizarre parked in the center of a forest.

  As Desmos had mentioned, they had no weapons. No guns, no knives, no clubs, crossbows or bats. Just their hands, feet, and senses. Although the forest felt unwelcoming, she didn’t strain much on keeping alert. The others would be doing it for her anyway, keeping their eyes peeled and ears out. For twenty minutes, they trudged through the trees with nothing in sight. Cackle delayed them, asking them to wait as he urinated out in the underbrush. It would be incredibly easy to get lost here, as the trees were so tightly compact. A dark cavern reposed on the other side of a stream downhill tempted the brothers to explore. Not her; what lurked in that cave, whether it be bear or some other beast, wouldn’t want to be disturbed.

  Eventually, they reached a massive clearing encircled by the forest. The trail lead to a large two-story log house with a porch, chimney, and maroon gable roof that sat in the center. Although a bit grubby, the house looked to be in good condition. It caught her off guard; she was expecting some dilapidated single-story shed, not a proper home. All the windows were curtained, inhibiting any sort of peeking into the house.

  “Who the hell builds a house here?” Garen said scornfully.

  They approached the house, stopping by the veranda. Desmos reached into his pocket and pulled out a map; he analyzed it silently. Serenity looked around warily. There were no signs that anybody was currently home. A guarded hornets’ nest was perched above the door, causing her to take a few steps back. She had been stung before, and it was not a pleasant experience.

  “Should we knock?” Kyler asked.

  “Yeah. Serenity, go on,” Desmos nodded, eyes focused on the map.

  “W-why me?” she protested; but she knew it was only because she was closest to the door.

  “Go!”

  “No, there’s a hornets’ nest up there. I’m not going anywhere near there!” she objected forcefully.

  Desmos looked up from the map acidly.

  “Keep refusing and I’ll make sure to get you stung.”

  Kyler came to her rescue and stepped onto the veranda, knocking twice loudly. They waited in silence for the door to open and for the owners to show themselves. After twenty seconds, Kyler knocked three more times. Still no answer. Nobody must’ve been home.

  But that supposition was quickly invalidated. Kyler turned his back from the door and halted immediately upon the door suddenly opening a quarter of the way, the end of a rifle popping out and aimed directly at his back. They all froze, like Kyler. His face was still inexpressive, but he reasonably was alarmed. Serenity held her breath anxiously.

  “Identity yourself, before I blow a hole through this lad’s chest,” a husky, fragile voice threatened from behind the door. It sounded as if it belonged to an elderly person; it was croaky and slow.

  “We’re here under orders from Gunther Carlisle, our father,” Desmos stated calmly. “Were you not expecting us?”

  There was a pause, as the voice did not reply. Then, the door shut again, the gun withdrawing. They heard a distinct clanking sound; the door was clearly in the process of being fully unchained and unlocked. It opened all the way, revealing the man. The elderly man stepped into the light. He was at least in his sixties, wearing overalls and a straw hat. His skin was wrinkled, scarred and creased like vellum, accentuating his old age. The man’s wizened gray hair glistened in the sunlight. A hunting rifle was secured in his left hand, fully loaded.

  “I was expecting you children, I just needed to make sure,” he said, taking a gander at them all with his sunken eyes. “Gunther did tell me you’d be coming, though, I was unsure when.”

  Kyler turned around, inspecting the man from head-to-toe.

  “Well, don’t dawdle, come on in, then!” the man grunted, gesturing them to come inside. “The grass will grow, no need to wait for it.”

  Desmos beckoned them to follow, walking inside. The first thing that came into view was a narrow hallway leading to a living room on the left, a corridor on the right, and a staircase in between. The house had wooden flooring and walls. There were conspicuous scratch marks scattered sporadically around the house. The floors were superfluously covered with rugs and carpets and the house had a musty smell like mold and mildew. The man guided them to the living room area and then turned around to face them all.

  “My name is Patrick,” he said. “Gunther asked me to allow you to stay here until he arrives. Now, do you know how long exactly?”

  “Indefinite,” Desmos shook his head. “May I ask your relation towards our father? How long have you known each other?”

  “Your father and I have known each other for ages,” Patrick scoffed. “I got him out of quite a predicament twenty years ago; he still owes me—”

  “What ‘predicament’?
” Garen cut in.

  “It’s rude to interrupt, have you any manners?” Patrick berated.

  Garen glared, folding his arms; he wouldn’t take a scolding from anybody but Gunther. Patrick was merely some stranger.

  “Thank you for allowing us to stay,” Desmos conciliated. “We’re grateful, but my brother just wants to know the details. As do I.”

  “If your father never told you, I don’t think he’d approve of me telling you,” said Patrick. “Ask him yourself when he gets here. Put that back!”

  Upon being snapped at, Cackle put down a machete he had picked up on the shelf. He mouthed “sorry” unenthusiastically and put his hands behind his back. Cackle was plainly unapologetic; he loved to snoop.

  “You boys are going to be some trouble, I can already see it,” Patrick chided. “Don’t touch anything that doesn’t belong to you.”

  “They won’t do it again, I apologize,” Desmos nodded courteously.

  “Anyway, what brings you out here? Gunther didn’t say much, but he did mention that you’re being hunted by Aurelians. Nothing new, eh?”

  “Yes, sir. We narrowly escaped from them. They were coming at us in massive numbers, so we had to flee.”

  “Do you ever leave the house?” Agno asked. “I’ve noticed you haven’t got a car anywhere. What brings you out here in the first place?”

  “Interesting,” Patrick grunted, registering his English accent. “You sure you in the right family, boy?”

  “Pretty sure, thanks,” Agno replied.

  “Where did you get him?” Patrick asked Desmos, pointing a thumb in Agno’s direction. “London? Liverpool? Perhaps, Bristol?”

  “We all come may from different parts in the world, I’m not sure,” said Desmos. “Though, I’m sure we all came from the States but Agno.”

  “Ah, I see!” Patrick chortled. “Of course, Gunther wouldn’t impregnate a woman and produce biological offspring. Very like him to scour the world and kidnap some poor children!”

  “That’s not how it is—” Desmos began.

  “That’s exactly how it is,” Serenity blurted accidentally, on impulse; it was a thought she never meant to say out loud.

  Everybody in the room looked at her. Desmos gave her a sour look. She stared at the floor sheepishly, pretending to be interested in the worm curled up in a ball on the floor. Patrick scrutinized her thoroughly.

  “Honestly, I never noticed the girl,” he said. “Is there a reason why she’s the only daughter in the pack?”

  “Not necessarily,” said Desmos, continuing to glare at her crossly.

  “Since Gunther raised you, I assume you kids are quite tough? I also assume you are the alpha in the group. I can already tell who the weakest is. You, girl, exude pure delicateness. You lack the eyes of a killer.”

  “She’s weaker than you’d expect,” Garen said, patting her head roughly and superciliously. “You want to see a demonstration?”

  “Maybe later,” Patrick smiled. “For now, you all can take your belonging upstairs. We’ve got only three bedrooms, divide them as you like.”

  “Are you going to ignore my question?” Agno scowled.

  “No, we never leave this house and we do not possess any vehicles. Our main source of food comes from the animals that hide in the forest, which I hunt and bring back for supper. You satisfied now?” Patrick growled.

  “‘We’?” Desmos repeated. “Do you not live alone?”

  “Helena, come out!” Patrick barked.

  After a moment, an old woman came shuffling slowly out from the kitchen. She was wearing an apron and an old floral collar dress. In terms of age, she looked equally as elderly as Patrick. Serenity stared uncomfortably; something about this woman creeped her out. From her clear fake smile to her erratic movements, she seemed unnatural.

  “This is my wife, Helena,” Patrick introduced. “It’s just us.”

  “How do you do?” Helena bowed her head politely; her voice was even hoarser than Patrick’s.

  “Which reminds me,” Patrick clapped his hands. “After you boys settle in, make yourself useful and come hunting with me? I’m certain you all have hunting experience, correct?”

  “Plenty,” Desmos nodded. “We’ll be on our way upstairs now.”

  Serenity followed the others out of the living room and up the wooden staircase. It creaked loudly on each step. They had conversed with Patrick for a couple of minutes, but he still felt like a complete stranger. He never elucidated on his relationship with Gunther. When they were out of earshot on the first landing, Desmos hissed at them all, rebuking their behavior.

  “You guys need to stop being so disrespectful!”

  “Shut up, man, we weren’t even being that rude,” said Garen. “And don’t act like you care, you’re not Father.”

  “All I was doing was investigating,” Cackle added. “The blood on that machete was no older than a day. Maybe even half.”

  “H-huh?” she stammered apprehensively.

  “What the hell was that comment you made, Serenity?!” Desmos demanded. “Speak only when I want you to!”

  She didn’t respond, knowing that she’d only infuriate him further. That “comment” was her being honest; and frankly, completely truthful.

  They stopped on the second floor; like Patrick had mentioned, there were only three rooms. Three doors. Which raised the question: where did Patrick and his wife sleep, then? Would they be sharing a room with them? It was a first-come-first-serve situation. Desmos opened all three doors which were all next to each other; two of the rooms had beds, but one of them was completely empty with only a lamp and a table.

  All the rooms were claimed in a duration of three seconds. Cackle was outraged; he had been tripped intentionally by Garen as they both fought for the first room. By the time Cackle got up, only the third room (which happened to be the bed-less one) was unoccupied. Serenity was just as upset; Cackle was the world’s worst roommate. She was veritably unwilling to sharing a room with him. He could have it for himself. However, Cackle felt the same way, possessing a mutual disinclination towards sharing the room with her, balking at the prospect.

  “Congrats, you have your own room,” he said snidely, turning away.

  Desmos put him back in his place instantly, shoving him into the room. Also aware of her unwillingness, he pushed her in as well.

  “Oh come on, there isn’t even a bed!” Cackle groused.

  They set their bags down in the room. Hopefully, there were extra sheets or blankets somewhere in the house. But she wasn’t too optimistic. This couple never left the house and probably never expected guests. Furthermore, it wasn’t like there was a Wal-Mart ten blocks away for their convenience. Patrick beckoned them to follow him as they returned downstairs.

  “I’ll show you to the tool shed in the back,” he said. “I’ve got a few weapons you can use, some I’m sure you’re experienced with.”

  He led them to the other side of the house through a door in the kitchen. The backyard constituted the rest of the space enclosed by the trees, about an acre long, which looked the size of a football field. An 8x4 ramshackle toolshed stood about ten yards from them. Patrick opened the lock to the door with a key. The shed stored mostly gardening tools, but six hunting rifles were unmistakably stacked on the walls. Patrick took them all out at once and dropped them to the ground in a pile.

  “Now, I’ve only got six, so one of you will have to come unarmed,” Patrick noted. “Or not at all, if you’d like.”

  Serenity stepped backwards; as the dispensable one, it was obligatory that she be the one without the rifle. She normally disliked hunting; but this time, she wanted to go. It was better than staying alone in that house.

  “You stay here,” Desmos inevitably told her. “You’re not going; you’ll just be a hassle to deal with. The usual liability.”

  “You take me on hunts all the time,” Serenity invalidated. “Animals or Aurelians, you force me to come with you. Why not now?”


  “You never want to come with us, why do you now?” he fired back.

  “Because,” she said in a hushed voice, not wanting Patrick to hear, “I don’t wanna be by myself in that house, especially with that shady—”

  “I’d rather you stay at home,” Patrick suggested. “This forest is larger than you’d think. Brown bears roam around. I wouldn’t want you getting hurt; and besides, you can help Helena prepare supper.”

  “I’m not a housewife,” she said scathingly. “I can take care of myself.”

  “I don’t recall calling you one,” Patrick said patiently. “Christ, American teenage girls are feisty. There’s nothing wrong with being in the kitchen, you know?”

  “Quit being so touchy and obey,” Desmos warned. “Now!”

  “Must be that time of the month,” Cackle smirked.

  Serenity turned away and stormed back off into the house, rapidly muttering insults under her breath flagrantly. If Desmos were to hear, he’d probably smack her; but she didn’t care, consumed by aggravation. Desmos’s overbearingly domineering face loomed into her mind, fueling her abiding hatred and making her desire to punch a wall. Since childhood, he had bossed her around, imperiously treating her like crap; like a burdensome child, intolerable to deal with. If she had ever said Cackle was the worst brother, she was wrong. Desmos was irrefutably the worst with his condescending, self-important, carping, high-handed attitude and his—

  “Are you all right, dear?” a soft voice asked.

  Serenity snapped back to her senses, conscious of her surroundings. She realized she was punching a wall, unconsciously. The kitchen wall to be exact. Her knuckles were bruised, discolored to purple. Patrick’s wife, Helena, was staring at her with a mixture of concern and confusion.

  “I’m fine,” she calmed down, massaging her fists. “Sorry about that.”

  “It’s quite all right,” Helena smiled. “I haven’t seen a youth in decades. I wonder what goes in kids’ minds these days. What struggles you must deal with on a daily basis, and the pressure society subjects you to.”