"Yes, Paul, I want you." I whisper.
"Are you sure? I wouldn't be angry if you wanted to stop. I need you to know what you're asking of me."
"Yes, Paul, I understand. I want this," I whisper, kissing the tip of his nose with my quivering lips.
He still looked wary, so I squeezed his hand, "I truly want this, Paul. Yes, I'm excited, but I can think clearly." I laugh, "You're not all that with your bristly stubble and messy hair style!"
He laughs as he opens the door to the truck, pulling me out by my waist. Wrapping his arms around me, he kisses me on the nose. "You know I want you, too."
I wrap my arms around his neck, my feet dangling at least a foot above the ground. "Yes, Paul. I definitely want this." I kiss him deeply, letting my tongue dance with his.
He releases me and we laugh as I almost stumble. He pulls me along anxiously through his front door, but I stop cold when I realize we are not alone.
I recognized them as the guys he was playing football with in the University yard. It feels as if cold water is being poured down my back. I look over to Paul, but he is avoiding my gaze. He is looking toward a redheaded guy I recognize from campus.
He doesn't say a word, but redhead says, "Yes, sir," and hurries out of the room. I notice Edwin there, too, also avoiding my eyes.
"Paul?" I say nervously. "What's going on?"
"Ahhh, Alba, it's okay. It's meant to be this way." He reaches out to me. I try to pull away, but he is looking at me with those eyes that I now realize I should've been avoiding. "You made the decision." He takes me in his arms, my mind screaming but my mouth quiet, tears streaming down my face.
Don't ask why I thought of my brothers at that moment: remembering them fighting with me, baiting me, making me lash out and fight them even though they were bigger than me, stronger.
Paul leans his head down and licks the tears streaming down my face, then he kisses me and I think to bite him, but blackness smokes into my vision and I know that I am fainting.
***
I come to consciousness slowly, my body knowing it is morning. I’m cold, in extreme pain, and nude except for my panties. I can only make out the shadowy glow of night with one eye, the other swollen shut and throbbing in pain. They have taken turns beating me like a punching bag, hung by a chain by my arms, wrists bound together. The screaming pain in my shoulders told me that I was still strung up. After each of them took a turn beating me, Paul told them to back off. I guess he wanted all the fun for himself, because he’d spent the rest of the night periodically terrorizing and torturing me.
I heard the chains rattle as Paul lowered me himself, everyone else was gone. Even the trembling Edwin, who had looked on sadly throughout the torture, never lifted a finger to help.
My groans filled the room as he let me fall five feet to the ground, my face smacking the concrete hard. A saltiness I knew was blood washed through my mouth and I hoped I hadn't lost a tooth. I wanted to laugh at the absurdity of that thought but my split lips prevented it.
"It is time to fulfill your destiny, Alba."
My blood boiled at his smugness as I tried to lift myself up or kick at him, but my body wouldn't respond and just lay there helplessly betraying me.
"Fmmff you!" I screamed through my gag.
He laughed.
"I wouldn't soil my body with a half breed mongrel like you!" he hissed, his voice grating in my ears.
I waited for his evil laugh…but it never came. Seeing only his boots from where I lay, I looked on as his body suddenly hit the ground, his head bouncing on the concrete floor with a sickening thud. His head lay mere inches from my face, his eyes closed… mouth slack. I wondered if he was finally dead, but his sour breath reassured me that he still lived.
"I thought he'd never conk out!"
Gram?
I thought I was dreaming at first when I heard her say those words. I tried to turn my head to look in her direction, but it hurt too much.
"That was my strongest spell, it took me fifteen years to master it and it still barely worked on Mister Next in Line for Pack Leader here. Did you know he was a wolf shifter my darling Alba? No, you probably didn't. All you could feel was his compulsion causing you to want him. I know it was strong because he comes from a long line of Pack Leaders.
He was trying to take your spirit for himself, if he did that, he would have no competition for Pack Leader. I counted on his lust for power, knowing that he'd come and incapacitate you.
I couldn't do it, you know. You're too strong, being full-blooded owl shifter, Lechusa, although right now you don't think so. But you'll notice that my spell did nothing to you, nothing at all.
Ahhh, there’s another revelation for our darling Alba. I know you must be wondering, so I'll explain while I prepare to do away with Paul here.
Lechusa are a breed of angel designed to protect the world from evil, evil like myself. In the beginning, there were masses of Lechusa, but now, I only know of you. I killed your real parents, you know. Then, I compelled my daughter who had four sons to adopt you, raising you right even though her sons hated you the moment you were carried into the room as a baby.
Why did I compel her to adopt you? Because you are the most powerful being that I know of. I knew your power would multiply dramatically as you matured, which is why I waited until now.
I counted on Paul disarming and weakening you, and then I put the spell on their compound. It’s your power my dear, the power I worked so hard for all of these years.” Gram finished with a smirk.
I didn't think I could feel any worse, but this woman I had always known as Gram had just pushed me over the edge, my hope flying away with her words.
I honestly just wanted to close my eyes and die. Not even the thought of ever seeing my "adopted" family again could pull me out of it.
Just as she was explaining how she would suck my power down, Paul opens his eyes. He gazes at me and his eyes begin to shine with that unearthly glow that I now knew was his magic. It urges me toward him. I stretch out to brush my cheek against him, closing my eyes in sick pleasure. As my skin touched his, Gram’s spell was broken. He smiled mischievously at me and as Gram swung the ax down to sever his head, he kissed me and in the next moment he has Gram pinned to the wall, the ax clanging uselessly to the concrete floor. Letting out a howl he breaks the spell on his pack as they all coming running in. He orders the red-headed guy, his second in command, to grab the ax and walks away to finish what he started, not even sparing a glance to see that his orders are followed.
I look on in shock, tears running down my face at Gram’s betrayal. Anger bubbles within me, I want to cry but can’t. Paul walks to me, lifting me into his arms in a hug. He squeezes tightly until I feel my arms begin to make their way out of their sockets. Leaning down, he kisses me hard, trying to force my mouth open. Failing, he bites down on my lips, drawing blood.
I flinch inwardly as he whispers, “Thanks babe, for helping me kill your Gram. Now it’s your turn.” He releases me and I fall on my bound arms, promising myself through the pain that I’ll kill him before the hour was up. I close my eyes and play possum, as my brothers had taught me. Slightly opening one eye to look at him, I see him smiling, so full of himself. His eyes glow warm brown and I feel the urge to reach out my hand to caress him.
His magic turns inward, and I know he is about to change to his wolf form. I finally manage to free my bound wrists and know that if I have any chance at all, it would be now. As the magical mist envelops him, and his form changes to that of the brindled wolf I encountered in the woods, my rage becomes intense. He turns and realizes his mistake too late. I pounce on him, straddling his back and effectively pin his paws as they lay on each side of his body.
Closing one hand around his snout and the other behind his head, I pull up and twist with a piercing scream…and he is dead. I feel my strength instantly return, along with my anger and disgust.
Looking around me angrily, I see the pack members staring at me, Ed
win smiling knowingly. They don't even touch me; instead, they fall to one knee with a closed fist against their chest in a silent but effective pledge of loyalty…to their new Lechusa Pack Leader.
Honest Nightmare
by
Alicia Cannon
The sound of a pen scratching against paper was the only thing that broke the silence that enraptured the pale room. I ran my hands over my arms creating friction in hopes of ridding the feeling of being exposed. I looked through my dark bangs at the woman sitting across from me. She was writing something; I was curious, but too shy to ask, afraid of what it might say. She finally stopped scribbling and looked up. Her eyes were prying; they were searching me for something; two big green orbs attempting to see into my soul. I glanced away; I didn’t want her to find anything.
“Lexie, do you have something you want to tell me? This office is a cone of silence and privacy, remember that.”
Being a teenager, I wanted to enter the stereotypical mold. I wanted to curse her out and tell her to mind her own fucking business. I wanted to call her a liar and show her that there wasn’t anything even remotely private about the office. I wanted to tell her that the walls she called so strong and trusting were paper-thin and anyone sitting in the waiting room could hear what she said. But, I didn’t.
“Not really.”
Her eyes seemed to smile knowingly. They read my movements as I squirmed uncomfortably in the solid black leather chair. The skin of my legs stuck to the leather and made a rather audible Velcro like sound as I crossed one leg over the other in a poor attempt to seem more calm and together. I didn’t want her to think I had something to hide.
“Is everything going well at school?” she inquired, her voice rising to catch my attention, not that she didn’t already have it. “How about at home?”
I bit back a scoff and reminded myself not to give anything away—absolutely nothing. I gave her what I thought to be an indifferent shrug of my shoulders. Another silence enveloped the room; she watched me closely, and I did my best to look at everything but her.
I focused on the office. A desk, mostly made of mahogany or oak, and a matching bookshelf filled with books on psychology—big shocker there. A wilted plant in the corner obviously needed some sunlight that it would never get in this windowless room. White walls, excuse me, off white; God forbid something just be white or any other simple color; now instead of purple, its mauve.
Dr. Swindle cleared her throat, interrupting my rather interesting inner rant over the non-existent colors of the rainbow. She reached across to me and invaded my personal space. Her hand gently gripped my chin and she moved my face into what I could only guess was better light.
“Those are rather dark circles, are you not sleeping well?”
I wretched my face from her hand and glared at her bitterly. To say something so rude! For all this bitch knew, I had naturally dark circles under red, puffy eyes! But, even worse, to hear her say it so blatantly when I had said nothing about sleeping made me angry and scared. I hated that she was able to read what I was thinking. My blood boiled when I saw her beginning to scratch something down in my file even though I hadn’t given her a response, like she already knew what kept me awake at night.
When she was done, she looked at me again; her dark hair that sat neatly around her shoulders shone in the dim light as she leaned forward.
“What do you have to tell me Lexie?”
I bit my lip; I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of cracking me, of making me spill my guts. These were my thoughts, dammit! I could feel her eyes on me, waiting for something, anything. I grit my teeth and felt my stomach churn with something unfamiliar.
“Lexie?”
“I’ve been having nightmares. That’s all.”
The second the words left my mouth, I wanted to take them back. I hadn’t meant to say it out loud, just think it. She scratched something else in her little folder and leaned back, her eyes curious. Maybe my answer had surprised her. Who knows, she was the master of body language, not me.
“Nightmares? What kind of nightmares?”
‘The bad kind,’ almost said it, but I held it in. I shot a glance around the room. How could I get out of this; where was my escape? I didn’t want to talk about my nightmare. It was my weakness, the one thing I was truly afraid of. The churning returned. I placed my hand over my belly; why was it acting so strange?
“Is it about someone in school? A friend? How about one of your classes, maybe someone dies?”
Her constant guessing triggered the memory. I closed my eyes tight trying to block out the images that seemed so real.
“Is that it, Lexie? Someone dies? Who?”
“Please stop guessing,” I didn’t even recognize my own voice. Even to me, it sounded broken and distant.
“Sweetie, this dream is really hurting you, you got to tell me. I can help you face it.”
I shook my head and glared at her, “Why should I tell you? How will remembering make it any better?”
“Lexie if you don’t face this, then it will only get worse. Dreams manifest in your mind creating fear. To face a fear, is to defeat it.”
“But if I face this fear… then he dies,” Face my fear… I can’t force him to pass. I won’t! I’m just like him; it would be like a part of me would die with him.
“Who dies?”
“Daddy,” it escaped without as much as a warning. I felt like a little girl saying it that way, but that’s who he was. He was my daddy, my hero. I looked at the woman again; she was staring at me with something new; another thing I couldn’t read. She made me feel so illiterate.
“Tell me the dream.”
It didn’t seem so much of a question as it was a demand. I felt another churn and knew I would tell her the dream. My body was going against me, too much stress? Over eating? I uncrossed my legs and leaned forward putting my elbows on my knees and my face in my hands. I couldn’t look at her when I said this—only the floor.
“It starts off in a hospital room. The walls are a blinding white and mirror-like tiles line the floor and ceiling. I’m in the only bed in the room and in a deep coma. The sheets are tucked under my chin and are uncomfortable, like straw. A television is directly across from me playing Looney Tunes, one of the Road Runner episodes. By the window are two dark red chairs with light coming into the room. I can never recognize the first person sitting in one of the chairs. His hair is always somewhat long, falling a little into really blue eyes. He is dressed in all black and something just doesn’t feel right about him.”
I looked through a little peephole in my hands to make sure she was still paying attention. She was. Her eyes were on me and filled with wonder. I closed my eyes tight and started again,
“The second person I can recognize. It’s my Dad. He’s standing by the window and dressed in all white, but it’s so weird because, my dad never wears white. He is staring out the window into the light, waiting for me to wake up…”
“So you see all of this happening from a different body? Like you’re floating above it?” Dr. Swindle asked.
I thought for a moment then shook my head, “I am for the beginning but then I wake up from the coma and then I am apart of everything, not just watching.”
She nodded and tilted her head at me, “So what happens when you wake up from the coma?”
“I am sitting in the bed, the blankets around my waist. My dad tells me that he was so scared; he thought I was going to die. He gives me a really big hug and I look over his shoulder at the television just as the coyote falls off the cliff. I smile a little because it’s my dad’s favorite cartoon; he does the Road Runners ‘meep-meep’ sound all the time. So, when he pulled away and went back to the window I felt odd. He wasn’t laughing or watching with me. The window seemed to be his only interest. I look at the floor and see his reflection as he begins to say he has something important to tell me. It’s his time to go. It’s,” I paused and gripped the chair tightly, digging my nails into the
material, “It’s his time to pass on and leave! I try to argue with him and tell him no! But he is still standing at the window and I can’t get up or stop crying. It’s like I’m chained to the bed! And all he can say is it’s his time to fucking go!”
My voice broke into sobs as I tried to tell the rest of the story. I clenched my eyes and balled my hands into fists. I felt the tears trail my cheeks and the pain wrap around my heart. I wanted to curl up and die. I shook my head viciously as the memory peaked in my mind,
“He can’t die! He swore he would live forever!”
It was stupid, no one could live forever, but I was just like him. I couldn’t live without the person who could understand me so easily, someone who showed me everything I knew! He was my daddy, and I was no doubt, a daddy’s little girl. A hand rested on my shoulder and Dr. Swindle leaned in close to hug me. Even her embrace felt cold to me; I didn’t want it.
“Don’t worry sweetie, your Daddy is still here. He is still alive.”
I felt my body begin to shake and I pulled back to look her in the eye. A bitter laugh escaped me as the tears kept falling.
“Do you know what the worst part is?”
She tilted her head in question, her precious green eyes soft and sympathetic.
“My dreams always come true.”
The Last Picture
by
S.J. Davis
“What do you do at work, Daddy?” Cora asks with the squeaky voice of a young girl, her head peaks around the magazine he is reading. Her kindergarten teacher calls her effervescent. “Do you color?”
“I take pictures,” he sighs. His glasses slide down his nose reddened by the sun, alcohol, and allergies. “Photographs.” The last word hung in the air. He looked at the ceiling fan as it whirled around their heads, humming in dizzying crescendo.
“Take a picture of me, Daddy!” She twirls around. Her skirt flies up to her hips as she gracefully spins around the living room floor.
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