Beasts of Extraordinary Circumstance

by Ruth Emmie Lang

  “A little tired, but other than that, pretty okay.”

  “Good.” He stared out the window at the snow that had slowed to a gentle drift. “I knew it was only a matter of time before someone I love got hurt.”

  Someone he loved.

  Still, there was a distance between us. “Come here,” I said softly so as not to spook him.

  Weylyn tentatively sat next to me on the edge of the bed. “I need to tell you something,” he said, tracing the edge of my bandage with his thumb. “The night my parents died … the snowstorm didn’t even show up on the radar. It happened so fast. It was like it was never there, like my parents died from something that never even existed.” Weylyn’s left hand reflexively began to flick back and forth, a remnant of the wolf he had once been.

  “The worst part of it is I don’t remember anything about that day. How do you not remember the worst day of your life? How do you not remember what you were doing? How you were feeling? I think about that day and all I see is white.”

  I grabbed his left hand to steady it, but I could still feel his fingers nervously tapping against my clasped palm.

  “I’ve spent most of my life trying to convince myself that it was just a horrible coincidence, that I had no hand in it. I try to do good. I try to help people. Then I feel myself losing control, and I wonder if I’m fighting a losing battle. Maybe I’m this way for a reason.”

  I squeezed his hand tighter. “Weylyn, listen to me. None of this is your fault. Not your parents, not me.”

  Weylyn looked down at my hand and studied it for what seemed like hours. He and I both knew I was lying, but what else could I have said? I had never seen him look this tormented before, and I would have said anything to ease his mind, even if only for a second. When he finally looked up, his eyes were gauzy and dull. “Get some rest, Mary Jane,” he said, standing up. Then, just as he was turning to leave, he added, “I’m glad you’re safe,” his words as wooden as the expression on his face.

  * * *

  That night, I drifted in and out of sleep like waves on a beach. I dreamed about Widow and her penetrating stare. I dreamed about teeth sinking into my peachy flesh and the ruby-red blood that stained them when they pulled out. Each time, I’d wake up with a thumping pain in my arm and a vague feeling of dread. Dread of what, I didn’t know.

  * * *

  Saturday morning’s sun threw itself against my hospital room window, creating a glowing golden box on the opposite wall. I watched shadows of birds flitting between silhouettes of tree branches like a puppet show and was reminded of Plato’s Allegory of the Cave: how the shadows against the wall were perceived by the prisoners as truth, when in reality, there was a world they couldn’t see that was creating those shadows. Everyone who saw that freak storm yesterday only saw the shadow of it. I had seen the other side of the fire. I had seen the truth.

  I got a ride home that afternoon from Duane. He said he hadn’t seen Weylyn since he dropped him off at the hospital the previous night. I thanked him for the ride and opened the door to the cabin.

  No one was home. The coffeemaker puttered away on the kitchen counter, and Merlin sat on the back of the sofa like a cat, staring intently out the window. “Where’d Weylyn go?” I asked.

  Merlin acknowledged me with a quick glance, then turned back to the window. He’s probably out gathering more firewood, I thought as I looked at the dwindling pile on the hearth. The coffeemaker gave one last cough, and I set out two mugs and a loaf of bread. Then I grabbed milk, eggs, and butter from the fridge. Weylyn would be back soon, and we’d have coffee and french toast.

  An hour went by, and the coffee was cold. I was beginning to worry. Merlin paced back and forth in front of the door, grunting anxiously. I fed him a piece of toast to calm him down.

  Then I saw the postcard. It must have slipped off the kitchen counter, because I found it half-hidden under the bottom cabinets. On the front was a picture of a snowy peak. He must have picked it up at the park gift shop because the words WELCOME TO MAMMOTH NATIONAL PARK were written in all caps at the bottom. On the back, in Weylyn’s handwriting, it read:

  Dear Mary Jane,

  You are the best human I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, and that is why I must leave. If I had known then what I know now, I would have stayed in the shadow of the trees where I belong.

  I hope that you will take care of Merlin for me. Pigs are intelligent animals, him especially, but he will probably not understand.

  Forgive me for both my coming and going.

  With love,

  Weylyn Grey

  I read the letter three times silently, then once aloud. Merlin stopped pacing and listened, solemnly. Weylyn’s words sounded wrong on my tongue, like swimming against a current. He thought he was doing what was best for me, but he was wrong. He wasn’t getting off the hook that easily.

  I ran to the phone and dialed. The person on the other end picked up. “Elka, I need to borrow one of the snowmobiles.”

  45

  DUANE FORDHAM

  After I dropped Mary off at her house, I went to check on Rosie. I hadn’t seen her since before the blizzards, and I wanted to make sure no other wolves had sneaked into the barn without my knowing. When I slid open the door, Rosie happily trotted over to me, bangs flapping against her forehead. “Hi, girl,” I cooed as she nuzzled into me. “You won’t believe what happened to me yesterday.” I barely believed it myself. I hoped that once I got a good night’s sleep, I’d convince myself I dreamed the whole thing.

  I cleaned Rosie’s stall and replenished her hay and water before heading into the house. By that time, I was so tired I could barely bend down take my shoes off. I was just about to crawl into bed with what was left of the vodka I had stashed in my truck when the phone rang. I groaned and dragged myself to the kitchen to answer.

  Mary was on the other end. She sounded panicked. Apparently, she didn’t know where Weylyn was and she wanted to know if I would help her look for him. I stared longingly at my warm bed with its layers of cozy wool blankets and said, “I’ll be right there.” Then I took one long swig of vodka before heading back out into the cold.

  * * *

  “It’s my fault!” I shouted above the noise of the engine. I was behind Mary on the snowmobile, my hands around her waist, her hair fluttering over both our shoulders. The snowy landscape pinwheeled past us in stripes of white and green. “None of this would have happened if I had just kept my damn mouth shut!”

  “No, it’s not!” Mary yelled back.

  “Then why’d he take off?”

  “Because”—her voice cracked slightly—“he thinks he doesn’t belong here, and he’s wrong.”

  Or maybe he’s right, I thought sadly. She knew him better than I did, of course, but it seemed as if Weylyn had made his wishes pretty clear. “Do you know where he might have gone?”

  “I have an idea.”

  A few minutes later, Mary slowed the sled to a stop. “This is as far as we can ride. We’ll have to do the rest on foot.” She pulled out what looked like a GPS device and studied it for a moment. “East. About two miles.”

  “What did you do? Implant a tracking device in him?”

  “I’m not tracking him. Come on. Let’s go.” She started walking. I didn’t move. “Wolves. You’re tracking wolves.”

  Mary nodded.

  “And when were you planning on telling me that? I would have brought my rifle.”

  “You don’t need a gun. They won’t hurt you.”

  “Oh, yeah? Tell that to the mother of the calf I just buried.”

  The lines in Mary’s face softened. “I’m sorry. Was he yours?”

  “She. Maisy. I woke one morning to find her and the wolf dead in my barn. Primrose tried to save her … Well, she got revenge, anyway.”

  “Amarok.”

  “What?”

  “That was the wolf’s name,” she mused. “Nature can be unkind.”

  I considered this for a moment. “Yes
, it can,” I said, then took a deep breath and followed Mary into the woods.

  * * *

  I tried not to speak so Mary wouldn’t hear the tremor in my voice. Four fierce-looking adult wolves stood fifty feet away on the opposite bank of a river, pacing excitedly back and forth. What they were excited about, I couldn’t tell; I just hoped it wasn’t the smell of me. “I don’t see Widow,” Mary muttered, more to herself than to me.

  “Who’s Widow?” My voice wavered slightly, but I didn’t think she noticed.

  “The alpha female. The one who bit me.”

  I looked over my shoulder to make sure there wasn’t a wolf sneaking up behind us. Luckily, the coast was clear.

  “Wait! There she is.” Mary pointed to a wolf moving out of a bank of trees and into the clearing. This wolf was bigger than the rest with dark-gray coloring around her eyes, just like the wolf I had seen the day before. Then out from the same bank of trees stepped Weylyn. Mary rushed forward.

  “Whoa! Wait a minute,” I said, grabbing her arm. “What are you doing?”

  “I just need to get a little closer. Don’t worry. They’re terrible swimmers,” she assured me and walked toward the riverbank.

  I followed her against my better judgment.

  46

  MARY PENLORE

  I crept forward to get a better look. Weylyn was soon surrounded on all sides by curious wolves that sniffed him tentatively. Widow stood back and watched. She had already accepted him. Now, it was up to her family to back her up. Soon, the inquisition was over, and the wolves lost interest in the newcomer and wandered off.

  Then Widow did something I’d never seen her do: she groveled. She crouched by his feet, ears down, and rolled onto her back. It then dawned on me what was happening. She had chosen a new alpha. She had given her crown to Weylyn.

  As he bent down and scratched her behind the ears like she was a harmless dog, I felt a sadness more acute than anything I’d ever felt before. Weylyn Grey didn’t belong in my world. He belonged in theirs, and there was nothing I could say to convince him otherwise.

  My suspicions were only confirmed when he finally looked up and saw me. There was freedom in his face, relief mixed with sadness. In that moment, I could feel sand between my toes, water on my skin. I saw the sun melt into the water until everything was starry and purple. I held Weylyn one last time in that dark place, then turned and walked back into the bright white snow.

  47

  DUANE FORDHAM

  The snow was melted by the next morning. As I lay in bed, I listened to huge chunks of ice break off, skid down the roof, and shatter on the ground below. Outside my window, water gushed from the gutters into my already overflowing rain barrel, then ran in rivulets toward the street. Our annual spring thaw, a process that usually took a couple of weeks, had happened all in one night.

  I imagined Mary wading through the slush in a pair of rubber boots, searching in vain for wolf tracks. My heart went out to her. She had definitely gotten the raw end of the deal, although I felt sorry for Weylyn, too. He had tried his best to fit in. He moved out to the middle of frozen nowhere, got a job, and put up with Gus’s bullshit all because he wanted a life with her. I still didn’t know exactly what happened in those woods, but the romantic in me believed that Weylyn had grown that forest for Mary, the forest I had helped cut down.

  After getting up and realizing I was out of coffee, I drove through the very shallow river that used to be Route 728 to Glacier Mercantile. The sleigh bells hanging from the door announced my entrance, and a pretty Hispanic woman behind the counter looked up. “Hi! You’re the first customer we’ve had today. Wha’d you do? Swim here?” She chuckled. Her laugh was warm and earthy, like cello music.

  “No, I’m a terrible swimmer. I came here on water skis.” I smiled as the woman laughed again. “I haven’t seen you here before.”

  “Oh, I’m Sophia. I’m filling in for Ellen. She’s on her honeymoon.”

  “Oh, yeah. She mentioned something about being engaged,” I said, feigning disinterest.

  “Yeah. To a guy named Moose. Can you believe that?”

  “Actually, yes. I’ve met the guy. His name fits him perfectly.”

  Sophia laughed. Clearly, we had better taste in people than Ellen did. I snuck a glance at her left hand and noticed she wasn’t sporting a ring of any kind.

  “Hey, you don’t happen to work for Blackroot Timber, do you?” she asked.

  “I do. Why?”

  “Because people have been coming in here telling these stories about a forest that keeps getting cut down and growing back overnight. You know anything about that?”

  “Yeah. I was there.”

  Sophia’s lips parted in amazement. “So, it’s true?”

  I nodded. “I know it sounds crazy.”

  “I like crazy stories,” she said and leaned across the counter, her long black hair spilling over her shoulders.

  “Actually, it’s kind of a love story.”

  Sophia raised her eyebrows and smiled sweetly. “Even better.”

  third interlude

  WILDWOOD FOREST, OREGON

  2017

  ROARKE

  “If Ruby were my girlfriend, I’d never break up with her,” I said, licking grease off my fingers. “Especially not for a bunch of stupid wolves.” Boo raised one eyebrow and growled, then went back to licking the dried cheese clumps off Weylyn’s plate.

  “I agree,” said Weylyn. “I made a terrible mistake. One I’ve had to live with all these years.” He walked my plate over to the sink but didn’t set it down. Instead, he just stood there staring out the window with that plate in his hand, as if he had forgotten it was there. An uncomfortable silence followed, but instead of changing the subject like a considerate human being, I said, “It doesn’t make sense. If you lived with the wolves and Mary was studying them or whatever, wouldn’t you guys see each other all the time?”

  Weylyn turned on the faucet and began wiping the plate with a wet rag. “My pack and I left the park. Walked all the way to Canada.”

  “Why’d you leave them?”

  “I was chased out by another male.”

  “You ran away?” I laughed. “Why didn’t you fight him?”

  “Because he was a wolf. He had teeth that could cut steel cable, and mine can barely chew a caramel without choking.”

  “What about Mary? Did you ever try to find her?”

  “I tried once.”

  “What happened?”

  Weylyn hesitated, as if he was deciding between telling the truth and telling me what he thought I wanted to hear. “It’s a long story,” he said, choosing neither.

  He set the wet plate in the drying rack and turned off the water. “The first coat will be dry by now. We should get back to work.”

  We applied the second coat of mud and straw in silence. I could tell Weylyn’s mind was somewhere else, probably snowed in with Mary in their cabin in the woods, sitting by the fire and counting snowflakes as they drifted past the window.

  * * *

  Unsurprisingly, none of my friends believed me. “He had me in his web! I had to cut myself out with a knife,” I told Mike on Monday as we stood in line for lunch. Ruby, who was ahead of us, giggled and whispered something to her best friend, Olivia, while the lunch ladies spooned creamed corn onto their trays with a sickening plop. Giggling girls usually meant one of two things: either they liked you or they thought you were stupid. It was impossible to tell the difference. Feeling self-conscious, I looked away.

  “Yeah, right. I bet there wasn’t even anyone in there,” Mike said dismissively.

  “How would you know? You ran away,” I said, quieter this time. “He was a crazy old guy who said he’d feed me to his wolf if I told anyone where he lived.”

  Mike raised his voice so the whole lunch line could hear him. “Dude, that’s just a stupid story for babies. I can’t believe you bought it in the first place.” I heard Ruby giggle again from the end of the line.
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  “He’s real,” I said as I ate one of his french fries. Stealing food was how my friends and I displayed dominance over each other. The less of an appetite you had at the end of the school day, the stronger you were.

  “Then prove it,” Mike said, stuffing a whole handful of my fries in his mouth and washing them down with a swig of my chocolate milk.

  * * *

  When I knocked on the front door of the cabin, no one answered. I waited a minute before trying the doorknob. It was open. “Weylyn?” I said as I stepped inside. There was no sign of Weylyn or Boo aside from the faint smell of burned cheese. I sat down at the kitchen table to wait and pulled out my mom’s digital camera that I had borrowed under the guise of a “class project.” I figured I’d take a bunch of photos of leaves and tell her I was supposed to identify which types of trees they came from.

  A few minutes later, I heard voices outside. I listened closely and realized it was just one voice, Weylyn’s, but it sounded like he was arguing with someone. I poked my head out the door and saw him about thirty feet away crouched down next to a raccoon with a stumpy tail. I couldn’t hear very well, but I thought I heard him say, “Are you sure?” The raccoon squeaked something in response, and Weylyn nodded as if he understood.

  As I stepped out of the door, the raccoon scampered up a tree and out of sight. “Roarke,” Weylyn said, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

  “Just wanted to say hi,” I said, tucking my mom’s camera into my back pocket. “What’s with the raccoon?”

  He shifted his weight awkwardly. “Oh, that’s my friend Matilda. She’s helping me with something.”

  “Cool. I wish I had animals to do my chores for me. I once tied a duster to my dog’s tail, but she ate all the feathers.”

  There was something off about Weylyn today. He seemed distracted and anxious. Even his hair and clothes were a little more unkempt than usual. Perfect for the photo, I thought, then cringed a little at my own shamelessness.

  “Are you okay?” I asked. “You look kind of…”

  “Bedraggled?”