The Skinwalker's Tale

by Christopher Carrolli

  “What do you see?” Brett asked. He’d been watching him for several moments.

  Tahoe opened his eyes, but somehow didn’t feel the dark foreboding as he had the last time, or any time when a vision was meant as a warning. Obviously, Brett would shift yet again, but he saw and felt no danger from the vision of the hawk. Why tell him? Telling him would only feed his fearful anticipation, which would ignite the beginning stages of his chaos. If Tahoe saw or felt a warning, he would disclose it, but now was not that time.

  “Not much, I’m afraid,” he said. “But you will be fine, Brett. I saw and felt no warnings.”

  “It’s still early yet,” he said. “What if your next vision comes too late?”

  “We will deal with time as it happens, and warnings when, and if, they occur,” he said. “Now, you need to get ready.”

  * * * *

  Sidney was the first to make it to the university; though his being early was intentional. He recalled the last time he used the university’s library to search local history, and that had been before they’d entered Cedar Manor. Surely, he’d be able to discover something on the Anakas family from a historical search of Appleton, but maybe not. That had worked well enough in searching for the Marlowe family history; Caspar Marlowe had been a famous tycoon. But Sidney had a feeling that he would find relatively little on a small gypsy family who had immigrated briefly to a small town in the middle of nowhere.

  Another thought struck him. He would start by finding a Green Valley High School yearbook for the year prior to Brett’s birth—1986. If the Anakas family had fled the vicinity months before Brett was born in October, then checking the preceding year when Antonio would have been with Claudia would be most logical. He sat down at one of the library’s computers and searched for the location of the local high-school yearbooks. Before long, he got up, walked over to one of the many long, tall shelves, and retrieved the 1986 Green Valley High yearbook. He sat back down and began flipping through the pages.

  Antonio had been two years older than Claudia, so he would’ve been a junior that year, Sidney thought. His junior year in high school, that’s a very important year to just pick up and leave. Of course, he did knock someone up.

  Sidney continued flipping through the pages until he found the juniors’ section. Smiling, stupid, and stoned faces stared back him as he skimmed through the “A” section to find Anakas. His eyes rolled down the side listings of names until he found it. ..Anakas, Antonio. There, a handsome young man with dark hair and eyes, and a boyish mustache, stared back at him. He looked a lot like Brett, only his complexion and features were slightly darker.

  He checked the listings of activities connected to Antonio. He’d been in the drama club. Sidney figured that had been a vain attempt to further his Hollywood looks. He was also listed as running track and field the year before, but not in the 1986-87 school year.

  Interesting, he thought.

  Sidney then thought to search the freshman section, where he might get a glimpse of Brett’s mother, Claudia. After shuffling the pages, he found her name and photo, and the young, wan-faced girl had seemed almost afraid of the camera. Her eyes were fearful, skeptical, with a crazed and far away glint captured forever within the photo. She seemed to exude a scary silence. He looked at her list of activities; there were none.

  He searched through the random photo section, looking at the candid shots of the various students and scanning the faces to find either Antonio or Claudia among them. He found two photos of Antonio. One was of him smiling with a group of other boys, his arms crossed in a frontal pose at the camera, and the other photo showed him sitting in a classroom among many other students, observing a teacher who was pointing to the board. In the first photo, Antonio had been dressed in what looked like a tan-colored poet’s shirt and a dark-brown vest, looking very much the part of a young gypsy man. In the other, he appeared as a regular student, studiously listening to the teacher who spoke.

  Outside of her student photo, Sidney found no other pictures of Claudia.

  He closed the book as he thought of something else—listings of property deeds. That would take a little longer, so he checked his watch—5:20. He had forty minutes before he and the team were to meet. Within ten minutes, he was looking at property deed listings for Green Valley and its surrounding areas. It took him another five minutes to search so many years back and find the listings dated 1980-1989. He found it easier to search by Antonio’s last name, and soon, he found something.

  Anakas, Silas

  160 Elm Street

  Appleton

  Purchased: June 7, 1985

  Sold: June 13, 1987

  The dates would’ve had to have been right by Sidney’s conclusion. According to the story that Jack told, the family had moved to the area in the mid-eighties and left not long before Brett was born. Silas must’ve been Antonio’s father, Brett’s grandfather. He would have been the owner of the house, a house that was sold in June of 1987—four months before Brett was born. Obviously, they hadn’t waited for their house to be sold; they’d vacated it months before.

  Sidney internet-searched anything he could find of the name Claudia Taylor; the search turned up nothing. He even utilized his People Search account. It was as if Claudia Taylor hadn’t existed after 1988. But as he searched for the name, Antonio Anakas, he found something that struck his attention. It referred to an address. The address had been a different one than the previous Elm Street address, and there was no name, only an initial—A. Anakas.

  It can’t be this easy, Sidney thought. That would mean that Antonio would’ve been right under his son’s nose this whole time. And why come back?

  Something didn’t look right to Sidney. Either way, he would print out the page displaying the address, but he would wait before showing it to Brett. Sidney didn’t want to raise Brett’s hopes and then watch his bubble burst. He suddenly thought it best take it one step at a time. He looked at his watch; it was 5:55, time to meet the team.

  * * * *

  They slipped silently into room 208, minutes before 6:00 pm. The initial meeting would be quick, but necessary since speaking freely in the parking lot was not an option. They sat at their usual places, and Tahoe filled an additional chair. A dead, somber silence filled the room, yet it blared of the situation’s severity like a telepathic trumpet. Susan began...

  “I need not explain to anyone here, the extremity, or the seriousness of what we are about to undertake. Yet we do it because the life of a beloved member of our own is at stake, and because the life of an innocent was almost lost. We know that if we don’t go through with what we are about to do, there may be others as well. Then, the fault lies on our heads.”

  The buzzing sound of the overhead fluorescents accentuated the deep silence, yet Susan’s words had been clear.

  “We must be clandestine and reticent in our undertaking,” she continued. “We must be silent as mice, casual and unnoticeable as a group, drawing as less attention to ourselves as possible. We don’t know what tonight holds for us, if anything. I doubt this will end tonight, or even tomorrow. We don’t know. We must play this one according to fate, according what we’re meant, or not meant, to find.

  “We as a group have always maintained an extremely heightened level of secrecy. Needless to say, the bar of that secrecy has just been dramatically raised. If, or when, Brett reaches the conclusion that he’s looking for, we must never speak of this undertaking ever again. If there be bloodshed, it will be on all of our hands, not just Brett’s. It has been a choice made by all of us.

  “Now we could sit here, waste time, and discuss what we’re going to do when we get there, but we all know that life, death, fate, and the unknown don’t work that way—do they? Besides, we could always save that for the ride.”

  She looked at them all for a lasting moment. Apprehensive and unknowing eyes clung to her, and then fell away; heads bowed during the pause. She asked the next question slowly.

  “Does everyo
ne agree with what I’ve just said?”

  One by one, they repeated...

  “Yes.”

  “Great,” she said. “Then let’s get our asses on the road.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sidney’s van had once again become the team’s main form of transport. Once they reached the parking lot, Sidney asked Dylan to drive since he was more familiar with the route to Appleton. They piled inside with Sidney riding shotgun, Brett and Leah in the middle seats, and Susan and Tahoe sat in the back. They drove through the university’s picturesque scenery until they reached the highway, and in minutes, the road to Appleton unwound underneath the white van’s rolling wheels.

  The bright sun had dimmed at this late hour. Brett sat staring out of the van’s side-window, watching the newly formed pink horizon that mingled with the yellow of fading daylight. For some reason, he was thankful for Daylight Savings Time. Now as he sat pondering, he found the time to think about something he hadn’t time to dwell on before. It had crossed his mind during the service, but the sight of Uncle Jack before the lid was sealed stopped the thought cold in its tracks. And afterward, there were people he had to thank for coming not only to the service, but to the dinner party.

  He had briefly pushed the thought out of his mind, but now a spark that smoldered inside of him began to burn, fueling his anger. He felt his face turning red, his breath exhaling heavier. His verbal responses to the team’s mindless chitchat were sharper than he intended. Then, he felt movement from the back of the van. It was Susan who crept up behind him.

  “Is something bothering you, Brett?” she asked.

  There was a silence through which everyone waited, though Brett didn’t respond.

  “If there is,” Susan said. “I think you should get it out in the open.”

  Brett waited, calming himself before his words came out in a roar.

  “I can’t believe she didn’t even show up to see him!”

  “I assume you’re referring to Claudia?” she said. His silence confirmed it. “Does that surprise you, Brett? She hadn’t shown for Vivian’s service either.”

  “They gave her a life,” he said. “And she didn’t even have the decency to attend either of their funeral services? Was I really that much of a curse to her? Was I really that repulsive that she would turn her back permanently on the two people who loved and raised her? Is this all because she doesn’t want to lay eyes on me?”

  “You don’t know that that’s the case, Brett,” Susan said. “Claudia had a very serious mental illness. She left their care at a young age. If Claudia fell into the wrong crowd, who knows what kind of treatment she did or didn’t receive. It’s very likely she may even be dead by now.”

  “No,” he said. The tone of his voice was bitter and almost agitated. “I would feel it, if it were true; I’m her son. Tell me, Sidney, you heard Aunt Vivian. She spoke to you. Has Claudia ever spoken to you from the other side?”

  “Come on, man,” Sidney said. “You know that’s not how it works.”

  “That’s not what I mean, Sid,” he said. “Why was Aunt Vivian the one who spoke to you? Why not Claudia? Because she isn’t on the other side; she’s alive!”

  “And I assure you, Brett,” Susan said. “Her condition without the proper treatment would not have allowed her to become a fully functional citizen. Even if she is alive, it’s impossible to discern what type of mental state she may be in.”

  Brett recognized the sound of a sigh he’d heard a million times. It came from up front, and it was undeniably Sidney’s. Sidney glanced back through the rearview mirror as he spoke.

  “She may have a valid point, Brett,” he said. “I wanted to wait until later to reveal all of this, but I think I need to now. I did some preliminary research at the library before we met in 208. I searched for any up-to-date, public postings on either Antonio or Claudia. As far as Claudia is concerned, I found nothing, absolutely nothing. It’s almost as if she dropped off of the face of the earth when she left Jack and Vivian.”

  “That’s because she changed her name,” Brett stammered. “Who knows what she calls herself today.”

  “And that’s a valid point as well,” Sidney said. “And of course, we don’t have access to all known records. There are some things that are confidential: tax records, medical records, and others. We’ll continue to search for information, of course, but I doubt we’d get anything substantial without a computer hacker.”

  Brett watched in the rearview mirror as Sidney closed his eyes and bit his lip. Another of Sidney’s famous slips of the tongue caused the silence that ensued, a silence over sudden thoughts of Cory Chase. Brett turned his head toward Leah, who simply stared out of the side-window. Brett had always felt a level of guilt over Cory, but now was not the time.

  “And Antonio?” he asked. “What did you find out about Antonio?”

  “Well, Jack was right,” Sidney said. “The Anakas’ did leave Appleton abruptly, months before you were born. Their house was sold in July of that year. But I did discover an address as recent as 2010, an address in the name of A. Anakas.”

  “That’s it?” Leah asked. “Just an initial?”

  “Then, it may, or may not be Antonio,” Susan said.

  “Correct,” Sidney said.

  Brett grabbed the Photostats from Sidney’s outstretched hand.

  “Those are for you,” he said. “But don’t get too excited.”

  Brett just stared at the name and the address on the page—521 Wilson Street. Could it have been Antonio? Why would he come back? Brett asked the team the same question, and all of them agreed. Why would Antonio run away, return many years later, and expect not to be noticed? Appleton wasn’t that far; they were halfway there now.

  A surge of heat flashed through him and was suddenly gone. His anger was quelled only by his admittance that he hadn’t known the whole story. But one way another, he intended to learn it. Could there be answers as early as tonight or tomorrow? He continued to stare at the name and address, wondering if this person knew the story of his existence.

  “I don’t know if this is Antonio,” he said. “But I’m damned sure going to find out.”

  * * * *

  Tahoe looked up toward the front of the van, and then out of the large side-window beside him. The scenes that he’d witnessed in his vision had come to pass. The rural roads were quaint and unique, cutting through the luscious green that abounded everywhere he looked. A pink horizon had been painted across the summer sky as vividly as his third eye had shown him. He listened as Sidney told Brett all that he’d discovered while researching in the library: the old high-school yearbook, the property deed listing, and an address as recent as 2010. He also heard the debate over whether Brett’s mother, Claudia, was still among the living.

  Then they began discussing the name on the address, one that could belong to the man that not only sired the skinwalker, but was a skinwalker himself. Tahoe thought back to the face of the man that he’d seen in his last vision, the man with the dark hair and eyes, and the beard and mustache. He tried to envision him again—with no luck. Could the man be Brett’s father? At this early point in time, Tahoe didn’t know the answer to that one.

  Then, he thought of his ability to see connections between people in the form of lines that were invisible to them, but not to him. It could be a useful tool if it prevailed, but he would have to see both the man and Brett together simultaneously.

  He thought of the hawk flying away in the vision. He watched moments ago as Brett had become irritated, nervous, exhibiting the first signs of the chaos, yet he seemed to have settled since then. The young man kept staring at the name on the printed page, hoping that the solution was so easy that it would jump out from the paper. Tahoe feared that it was not going to be that simple. Then, another thought occurred to him.

  “It’s too bad that you were unable to borrow the yearbook from the library,” Tahoe said to Sidney. “I would’ve liked to have seen both of their pictures.�
��

  “I second that,” Leah said.

  Sidney explained that he’d been unable to check-out the yearbook. Matters of public record or history were confined to the library premises. He’d also been unable to snap a picture with his iPhone. Normally, it was against library policy—not that it would’ve stopped him. But earlier, too many eyes had been surrounding him.

  “Do you think you would’ve been able to tell whether or not he’s my father, just from the yearbook photos?” Brett asked Tahoe.

  “It’s possible,” Tahoe said. “And I still may be able to see the presence of a bloodline between you and Antonio—if you find him. But being able to tell that Antonio is your father is one thing, proving that he is a skinwalker is another matter.”

  The silence was thick in the van, as though everyone had already known what cryptic words would follow, like their minds and thoughts were aligned on the same wavelength. Tahoe finished his thought much to everyone’s anticipation.

  “Executing the next part of the plan, doing what the legend requires, will be much more difficult than you think.”

  “I’ll do whatever I have to do,” Brett said, “even if he and I both go to Hell together.” The slightest stirring of unease swept through Tahoe. The old seer closed his eyes. He’d been afraid of those last words.

  * * * *

  “Look, nobody’s going to Hell, alright? Besides, we have no idea how this will end. Let’s just take things one step at a time.”

  Dylan had finally spoken up from the driver’s side. He was the chief-investigator of the team, but recently the lines of distinction had been blurred as the drama of their lives had unfolded separately. Now, there no longer seemed to be any need to distinguish; they had always weathered through their crises together. Lately, it seemed like they were freefalling through the unknown, their hands joined together as they plummeted blindly through the darkness. But he knew one thing for certain, he wasn’t about to let anything happen to Brett, or any other member of his team.