Her brother had a different father? No. That couldn't be. Fred adored Joey. Worked tirelessly to find a cure for him.
Her head spun trying to connect the pieces. If it was true, it would mean Jethro was her grandfather. Why didn't he tell her? And he's Joey's grandfather. None of this made any sense.
The clocked chimed twelve times. Too late to call now. The next time she saw Jethro, she'd make him explain—especially the part about Joey.
After she found the medicine in Joey's room, along with directions on how to give it, she had tried to get more before she left Baltimore. But the pharmacists just gave her strange looks and told her they'd never heard of the drug. Joey seemed to be fine—or was she kidding herself? What if he died?
Her mother called him her Sweet Joey, and told Charlene he'd been born with a thick pelt of baby hair that never went away—despite the doctor's assurances.
When she was a little girl, she asked her mother why her older brother couldn't talk. Mom said it was his disease, and her Daddy was going to find a cure for it.
Grief welled up in her chest—captured her heart in its iron fist, and wrenched sobs out of Charlene's most guarded memories. Overcome by sorrow and terrified by the knowledge that she teetered on the edge of an abyss of secrets within secrets within secrets, she clutched the Bible in her arms and wept.
Unbidden, her mind returned to the night at the morgue. Her mother, neck broken, but face intact. Her fingers and nails covered in blood. Her father, eyes bloodied, face shredded with what appeared to be claw and bite marks—Stop going there! She had to forget the medical examiner's questions about her mother's nails—and teeth. He must have been watching too many horror movies. Shame on him. He was supposed be a scientist. The marks were from the accident. Nothing more. Her mother was not some kind of mutant.
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Chapter Seven
The Route
"Good morning, Mrs. Jones!” Charlene called out her first greeting of the day. Joey sat behind her in his wheelchair, clapping and signing, “Good morning! School!” over and over again.
"Morning, Miss Charlene!” Mrs. Jones led a boy in denim overalls down the rocky driveway. He took halting steps, and his hands flopped as he walked. An oversized baseball cap shadowed Joab's face.
Charlene stood to assist her, but the mother insisted on getting the child onto the bus by herself.
Small hands, covered with fine light-colored hair pushed the brim of his hat back from his face. He impaled Charlene with his smile. “Bus,” he signed.
She stifled a gasp. “He looks like Joey."
Mrs. Jones smiled. “Now how'd you know that was Joab's nickname?"
Charlene shook her head. “No, my brother Joey—right here—he looks like Joab."
Mrs. Jones gaze followed Charlene's pointed finger. “Well, I'll be! They do look like brothers, don't they?” A firm hand gripped her forearm. Charlene looked up into Mrs. Jones’ green-blue eyes.
"The boys—they're real hard-of-hearing or—like Joab—completely deaf. They need their routine; otherwise they get upset. Be sure to get them home before sundown. Okay?"
"Yes, ma'am.” She blinked. Mrs. Jones eyes were crystal blue again, not a hint of green in them. “I'll see you this afternoon."
She signed “Hello, good morning!” to each child as he climbed onto the bus with halting steps. Each mother thanked Charlene, said they'd see her in the afternoon, reminded her to “get the boys home before dark,” and waved good-bye. The shock of seeing her brother in each one of them punched her in the belly. They weren't really boys, but grown men with severe disabilities like her brother. An image of the Koran and the old family bible came to mind. She had to talk to Jethro, find out what it all meant—but damn that old man. When he stared at her with those ice blue eyes, it was almost as if he could see right through her. She'd have to work up the nerve to confront him.
Secrets within secrets within secrets.
One of her charges grunted, interrupting her disturbing thoughts. She glanced in the rearview mirror and Justus? Joab? smiled, waved at her, and signed: “Joey is my friend.” They're really children. All innocent and sweet, like Joey.
The summer heat lingered and then autumn blazed through the orchards, with trees bursting into red, orange and gold flames. During the month of August, Charlene eased into a routine of driving in the morning, coming home to crate apples, then running out to pick up the kids in the late afternoon. Doing business under her aunt's company name, Janie Appleseed, she had boxes of apples in her cellar and orders from wholesalers piling up on her kitchen table. It was exhausting, back-breaking work. Every now and again, she wished someone would take care of her—but she couldn't give voice to that thought. One foot in front of the other.
Each night Zack came to her house after she'd fed Joey and put him to bed. They would share a meal—and something more. Much as she wanted to be with him, part of her was afraid to take the next big step and accept his marriage proposal. She valued her independence. Would she lose her identity, her independence, if they married?
One evening he arrived at her house and told her that Joab needed his school books, they'd been left on the bus.
He handed her book bag. “I'll stay here with Joey, while you run them over to his house."
Upon her return, she opened the door and inhaled the mouth-watering aromas of sizzling meat and herbs. By candlelight, the simple dining room was transformed into a romantic hide-away. Everywhere she looked, there were daisies and candles. A white lace tablecloth covered the table and in the center was a large vase of red roses.
Her hands flew to her mouth.
"Madam,” he pulled a chair out and bowed. “Please be seated."
"What's going on?"
"I thought the city girl might need a fix. So tonight, you are dining Chez Zack. I am your chef, your server and your dishwasher. Your wish is my command."
Tears sprang to her eyes. “How did you know?"
"I have my ways.” He poured a glass of wine for each of them. “Now, relax and enjoy your first course, a little apple and walnut salad on a bed of fresh field greens with a hint of balsamic vinaigrette."
He placed the plate in front of her, sat down, and lifted his wine glass. “To you, to me, to us."
She raised her glass in kind. “To you for making this a magical evening."
"We've only started. I have a wonderful ending in mind."
That night, his nips were harder, and caught up in the throes of passion, she found herself biting his shoulder, too. Embarrassed, she stopped, only to have him beg for more.
"Don't you see? We're meant to be together. I think about you every morning when I wake up and before I go to sleep at night. I dream about you. I love you. Marry me. Be my mate forever."
After he left, she stood in front of her full-length mirror, assessing the tiny bruises on her neck and shoulders. She glanced down and gasped at the now luxuriant curls where once a light silky triangle had been. A layer of blonde hair grew down her inner thighs. And a faint shimmer of golden fuzz shone all over her body. What was happening to her? She grimaced and then stared at her teeth. That can't be. No. I've had too much wine. Time for bed.
As Charlene drove out to pick up her charges from school the next afternoon, she caught sight of herself in the rearview mirror and stared.
Who was that woman? She seemed familiar, but her face was fuller, tanner and healthier looking than it had been in years. Was she happy at last? Yes, and Zack was a big part of her newfound joy in life. Six months ago, if someone had told her she'd be thinking about marrying and settling down in Eden, Kentucky, she would have laughed. Funny what love did to a girl. Love and fantastic sex.
The school librarian, Shoshannah, came out with the teachers’ aides and waved Charlene over. “I heard Zack is courting you."
Heat blazed in her cheeks. “Can't keep any secrets here, can I?” Charlene wondered if they knew how often she had sex with him, too.
"Know what?"
"Don't play games with me. He proposed to you, didn't he?"
Charlene felt her mouth open and close like a fish out of water. “How did you know that?"
"Everyone knows he wants you to marry him.” Shoshannah's pretty face scrunched up in a frown. “Honey, he's the most eligible bachelor in town."
"It seems like he's the only bachelor in town."
The librarian cleared her throat. “We lost a lot of our young men to genetic diseases."
Charlene felt heat rise in her face at her poor choice of words.
"We're depending on you to do the right thing. Make him an honest man. How long do you think you can string him along?"
It was time to change the subject. “Oh my! Look how dark the sky is. I have to get the boys home."
A short time later, as Charlene negotiated a sharp turn in a hollow, miles away from her first drop-off, she drove into a green fog and almost hit a large pack of black dogs crossing the road into the woods. She jammed on the brakes, the bus fishtailed, and the world went dark.
She awoke to the sound of someone banging on the door of the bus.
"Ma'am? Are you okay in there? Ma'am?"
Her head pounded and something trickled down her face. She touched her temple and looked at her hand in the light of the setting sun. Blood covered her fingertips. Still in a daze, Charlene twisted in her seat and stared at the dark haired woman in the black suit through the still-closed door of the bus. Where did she come from? “Who are you?"
"I'm an agent with Homeland Security. Would you like me to call for an ambulance?"
Charlene turned to check on the boys. Joey's chair sat on its side, the security straps ripped off, useless. The other boys, safely seat-belted, whimpered, whined, and cried. A long, low, agonized howl erupted.
"Joey! The boys! Oh my God!” Charlene stood. Her head throbbed, and her vision blurred. She groped at the back of her seat to stand, and made her way to Joey. “Are you okay?"
As she rolled him over, she sucked in her breath. Her eyes had to be playing tricks. She had a concussion. That was the only explanation. She had never seen her brother this hairy. Long canines jutted out from his mouth, and his eyes were deep orange. He pulled his lips back, growled at her, and lunged for her face with claw-like fingers.
She jerked back and screamed.
"Ma'am, I'm going for help.” Footsteps crunched away on the gravel.
Help? No. She had to handle the situation by herself. No one could see him this way. “Joey, it's me, Charlene!"
Recognition glimmered, and he signed, “Moon, moon, moon!"
Tears blurred her vision. “Yes, it's a full moon. And I've got you."
At last she was able to slide him back into his chair, despite her sudden fear that he might revert to the creature she thought she saw. The sunlight faded, and Charlene felt the full force of all the warnings about getting them home before dark. Moving as fast as she dared, she checked each frightened boy with caution. She was terrified at the changes she observed—fuzzier faces, shinier teeth, longer nails—but was determined to get them home to their families safe and sound.
A screeching sound pierced her ears. She turned. A soldier wearing green camouflage was attempting to pry the door open.
"Stop!” She pulled the lever and opened the door. “I've got everything under control."
The agent stepped in front of the men, looking skeptical. “Are you sure? Looks like you could use some medical attention."
"No, I'm fine.” Charlene tried to smile. “Just banged up a bit."
The woman peered into the bus and seemed to be staring right at Joey. “What about everyone else?"
Charlene reached down, picked up Joab's oversized baseball cap, and placed it on her brother's head, pulling the bill down to hide his face. “All good, thanks. But I really have to get them home. They have special needs."
The agent nodded, seeming to be satisfied. She reached into her pocket and extracted a card. “You see anything odd out here, call me."
Charlene read the card: Special Agent Eliana Solomon, Department of Homeland Security, Science and Technology Directorate. “All I saw was a green fog and a pack of black dogs in the road. I swerved to avoid hitting them. Looked like they were heading into those woods."
Solomon's eyebrows shot up. She shouted orders to the men standing alongside the road. Weapons at the ready, they began a cautious march into the forest.
Charlene gave a sigh of relief and plopped into the driver's seat. After multiple grinding attempts, the bus started and she maneuvered it out of the bushes and back onto the road. The radio began to work when she made it to the top of a ridge.
"You're late. The parents are frantic."
"The boys are okay. A little shaken up, but the only one hurt is me.” She told him about the pack of black dogs.
Zack began to curse.
"Please don't be angry with me. The windshield is smashed, but the bus is drivable. Tell everyone the boys are on their way."
"I'm not angry—I'm worried. Drive as quickly as you can. When you're done, go straight home.” His voice was urgent. “Don't go back to the bus depot. It's not safe for you to be out tonight. I'll be at your house when you get there."
"No. Please don't come. Not tonight. We need to talk when I can think straight.” Before he could insist, she snapped the radio off. The last thing she wanted was for Zack to see Joey like this. She was on her own
Joab's mother stood at the side of the road, waving at the bus. Charlene pulled up, opened the door and called to his mother. “Something's wrong with the boys, we need to move fast."
The woman jumped up the steps, looked at Charlene's forehead and gasped. “What happened?"
"Not now. Long story. I have to get these other kids home."
An hour later, the full moon crested the horizon as Charlene pulled the bus into her driveway. Wild-eyed, Joey whimpered, huffed and rocked back and forth in his wheelchair. She'd never seen him this agitated before. Maybe he wanted the pig? She whistled and clapped, but the normally social Trotter failed to appear.
She had to stay calm and focus on getting Joey into the house. Over and over again she heard Mrs. Morton saying, "Doesn't he remind you of Lon Chaney when he played Wolfman?" Then the medical examiner's astonished voice rose up in her head, joining Mrs. Morton's high whine, "I've only seen this sort of thing in books about cryptozoology. Always thought it was the stuff of fiction and crazy people. Was you mother on any medications to control her—um—condition?"
She covered her ears and whispered, “There's a logical explanation for this. He must be starving. That's why he's so agitated.” Act normal. “Are you hungry Joey?"
His eyes gleamed orange, and he growled.
"I take that as a yes. Let me see what we have.” She pulled a container of raw hamburgers out of the refrigerator. “Dinner will be ready in a jiffy."
At the sight of the box, Joey clawed the air and bared his teeth.
Shaken, she placed the entire package on the table within his reach and stepped back. She turned and plugged her ears with her fingers to cover the snapping sounds and snarling. At last, when the noises ceased, she glanced back over her shoulder. Joey slept with a smile on his furry face. Careful not to wake him, she rolled her brother into his room, covered him with a blanket and locked the door.
Charlene stuffed her fist into her mouth to stifle her rising hysteria and ran into the bathroom. She flipped on the overhead light, and the world came to a halt. She gasped at her own slanting green eyes filled with sparks of orange. She pulled off her jumper, determined to leap into the shower and scrub away the dreadful events of the day—and recoiled at the image of her hairy arms and legs in the full-length mirror. The little room whirled around her.
"I'm hallucinating.” She barely recognized her own voice, a low husky growl. She tur
ned the light off and stood with her back to the door so she could think. Think, dammit! Be rational. Use the scientific method. When did these changes become noticeable? Was it the night Zack made her dinner? “The food. There must have been something in the food."
Then, as if her mother stood in the dark space with her, Charlene heard her words. “Secrets within secrets within secrets."
Terrible memories sucked her back in time, back to her home in Baltimore. Her mother growing hairier, locked in her bedroom at “that time of the month,” the muffled sounds of howling, the syringes for her mother's “migraines.” The shame and fear her beloved mother was some kind of side-show freak, mutant, insane or worse. She recalled her race away from the unknown, her rush into the embrace of hard science and the loss of it all to an out-of-control car. Unbidden, images of the syringes she found in Joey's room after the accident came to mind.
Leave Eden. Go back to Baltimore, back to the life of science. She pulled herself up on the sink. That was the only thing she could do. Take Joey away from this place—get him some help. She touched the doorknob and stopped. Joey. She couldn't take him tonight—not like that. She couldn't abandon him. What was this place doing to him? To her? If she left, where would she go?
Jethro's words floated up in her mind. “Blood will tell, Charlene." Jethro. What was he hiding from her?
Anger boiled up in her chest, filling her with fresh energy. Enough of this mumbo-jumbo. She pulled her shoulders up straight, stood, and splashed cold water on her face. She stared at herself in the mirror. “I'm good at research. There is a scientific explanation for this and I'm going to find it."
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Chapter Eight
Secrets
After a sleepless night, Charlene fed, dressed and rushed the now back-to-his-usual-self Joey onto the bus. She raced to Jethro and Rebekkah's house after daybreak—before her resolve wavered. She stormed up the front porch steps and pounded on the oak door.
"Jethro,” she shouted. “Get out here."
Kiss of the Silver Wolf Page 5
