Daniel Wolfe II
With the help of John’s constant conversation and a little liquid courage, Daniel has managed to keep calm for the majority of the flight. They are now a mere fifteen minutes away from Springfield-Branson National Airport.
“It is a good thing to be in love,” John replies, nodding his head and smiling. “I… I’ve been in love a few times. With my wife, I thought we really had it figured out; it was my second marriage after all, if you can believe that- I thought after the first one that I wouldn’t make the same mistakes or that things would just be drastically different. They weren’t of course, and the same mistakes were made.”
“I went into it with the completely wrong intentions, with Lavender,” Daniel speaks, feeling slightly guilty, yet happy to get his feelings out to this stranger/turned friend. “It was purely a physical attraction thing, like she was just something that I wanted.”
“Then you got her, and…”
“Then it was different, instantly,” Daniel continues.
“She feels the same way?” John asks. “I mean, it’s not just a ‘physical thing’ for her?”
“I don’t think it is,” Daniel replies, pausing for a moment to think about it. “Not with her. I worried about it, but she makes me not worry – if that makes sense. I realized that I felt something when I started to worry. After all, why worry about something that you don’t care about?”
“That’s a beautiful thing,” John says as claps his hands together. “I wouldn’t look at how you got to that point, or feel bad about it. I would just be thankful that you reached that point. A lot of people would miss it, even if it were obvious.”
“I’m sorry things haven’t worked out for you,” Daniel replies, feelingly slightly guilty for indulging in his story of found love.
“Well, I’m not dead yet,” John says with a half-grin. “I may be old, but I think there’s still hope for me yet.”
“Of course there…,” Daniel begins. The plane suddenly shakes, cutting him off. He grips the handles of his armrests as tightly as he possibly can.
“It’s just turbulence,” John says as he places a hand over Daniel’s and pats it comfortingly. “A few moments and we’ll be on the ground.”
“Thanks,” Daniel speaks, as he attempts to force himself to calm down.
The plane buffets wildly once more, causing a few of the overhead compartments to fly open. Luggage is scattered about and a few shouts and screams can be heard throughout the airplane. The plane rocks harder, a man falls out from his seat and spills into the center walkway of the plane.
“Jesus,” John says as he places his hand over Daniel’s once more, gripping it tightly.
Daniel is in full panic mode at this point. He begins to count seconds in his head, wondering when it will finally end and the plane will stop its erratic bouncing. He watches as a female flight attendant attempts to help the fallen man back into his seat. Then, the lights flicker and go out completely. The airplane engines begin to emit a loud whine. The plane feels as though it is falling from the sky, and Daniels stomach turns in sickness—he is sure that this is the end. Then, an explosion is heard.
Various screams fill the cabin of the airplane. A terrible sound of rending metal fills the air, soon replaced with an eruption of wind. Fiercely loud, the ensuing vacuum tosses papers and items about violently. Daniel looks to the window, which is facing the ground. The earth below is growing ever closer in the window view—he then realizes at this point that the plane is completely on its side, and he is pretty sure that this is not something that is going to be fixed.
The plane rips apart around him. Daniel can no longer feel John’s hand over his. John has disappeared. Soon even the window is gone, leaving nothing between him and the open air. He is no longer even seated, but in a free fall. The earth is spread out below, the rolling hills of the Ozarks, hundreds of trees—he attempts to scream, but finds that the force of the air is so powerful that he can barely even breathe.
The ground, the trees, and the hills grow even closer. Only seconds pass, yet they each seem like an infinite amount of time. All about him, pieces of the plane fall. A jet engine on fire passes him a few feet away, headed down on a quicker vector than his own. There is nothing he can do to save himself. The seconds pass.
The wind is whipping at his face; his heart pounding in his chest—for what he is sure is the last time. Daniel thinks of Lavender, one last happy thought—her naked body in the dim light that morning. Her smile and laugh. The way her nose would squint up when she laughed… the warmth of her body and the touch of her lips, the taste and smell of her… and then, at last, there were no more thoughts, no more memories. No sounds.
Jack Wolfe V
Jack stands at the top of the stairs to his father’s office. None of the windows here are covered. He can see the grey skies, as well as the storm and the valley spread out below. He can make out the various vehicles in the mist and heavy rain. A gentle breeze blows in—one of the windows has been left open.
A cot is laid out in the corner of the room a few feet away from Landon’s computer desk. His executive leather office chair blocks the view; however, Jack can make out a form covered up by a white sheet lying upon the cot.
Jack places his gun in his back pocket and wheels the chair away. He bends down to the ground, his knees resting on the edge of the cot. A single wrinkled piece of paper covers the form. He picks up the paper.
My New Sport
By Landon Wolfe
Beauty came twice today. The first one was unworthy. The second gave more chase—she was the prize. For we wolves love our sport. Though my kin may have already laid its seed, though he may be capable, I must supplant with my superiority. After all, I have become something much more. Alas, despite my superiority, she was unwilling. What I’ve taken with force I could not restrain from going further. So much further… for we wolves do love our sport.
Jack rips the paper into pieces, throwing the fragments about. Like a gentle snow they fall to the floor. A breeze blows in from the open window, scattering them about like autumn leaves. He places a hand over the white sheet, his hand trembling. He grasps the top and pulls down—just like so many windows he has uncovered in the house. As the sheet slowly reveals the face below, turned to greet him, Jack sees Emma Creek once more.
Tears escape his eyes, wounded by what they see. He runs a hand through her soft, dirty blond hair that curls out playfully. He remembers doing so days before, fondly. He continues downward with his hand: her cheek is cold, her small nose, her smiling lips, all unmoving. Her eyes are closed—hiding the beautiful smiling blue eyes in which he had lost himself.
“Emma…,” Jack whispers. He knows that there will be no answer. Just as with Bill and Jack Olen, there can be no answer. He lowers his head to hers, kissing her cold lips briefly. He lies down next to her, holding her tightly. His eyes, full of tears, study her face. It looks as though she is merely sleeping, although she is not. She never will again. He looks to her neck, pushing back a few strands her blonde highlights. Her throat is bruised and crushed in.
“Emma,” Jack manages again. The grief he feels is overwhelming. Yet, still he feels detached, as though this is merely a dream. There has been so much blood, death, and loss—his mind cannot comprehend the reasoning behind any of it. All he remembers, all he knows is that he cared for Emma—loved her, even. Now, she was gone. All that remained was the body that her father had raped and choked to death. He cannot even work up enough strength within himself to feel the rage that he should feel. After everything he has been through, he knew it was foolish to even hope that she was still alive. Yet, hope he did. For better or worse, hope kept him going and brought him here. Now there is nothing to hope for, no reason to continue on. Jack brings himself back up to his knees.
“I… I am so sorry, Emma,” Jack sobs, “I should have never brought you here. We should have just stayed at the hotel. Things were perfect then. Life was perfect then, with you. We
should have gotten back into the car and drove out west until we reached the sea. We should have lived.”
Jack reaches into his back pocket and pulls out the pistol. He brings it up to his head, pointing the barrel at his temple. He looks down to Emma one last time. Even in death she is beautiful. He closes his eyes—soon he will be somewhere else. Hopefully with Emma, however, at this point, it no longer matters. The nightmare will be over.
Jack places his finger on the trigger, taking in a deep breath to steady his nerves.
A rustling noise comes from behind Jack. He turns and, out the single open window, perched atop the roof, is Landon Wolf balancing on a beam, spear in-hand, the fox’s body tucked away in a makeshift belt at his side, made from braids of what appears to be human hair.
Jack takes quick aim and fires four shots in rapid succession. He sees blood fly from his father’s side and arm. The other two shots ricochet off of the roof. With an angry, wounded roar, Landon Wolfe topples from the roof, disappearing off to the side. Jack rushes toward the window, and from the his vantage point he can make out his father’s body against the soft earth below—his blood mixing in with the rain.
Jack rushes out of the room, speeding down the stairs. He runs through the hall, passing the door to his room that is still both shut and silent. He jumps down the short length of ivy-covered stairs that lead to the entertainment room. He bursts through the dining room, taking no notice of the feast of the dead officer, passing into the kitchen. He looks up to the empty chain above his dead mother. Something resonates in his head, a memory, perhaps a thought—Can you save me? Respect me? He looks down at the blood writing one last time—The Wolf’s cry is not sad, it is proud.
He kicks open the front door, gun in-hand, and a look of malevolence upon his determined face. He runs to the side of the house where his father’s body should lie, but finds that he is gone. Off in the cold, rainy distance, he sees his father, clutching his side and attempting to flee. He begins to give chase—“After all, we wolves love our sport.”
William Walker
Bill hears the gunfire, and then a sound from outside, the sound of something coming crashing down. He looks to Jack Olen’s body once more. He has covered it up with the sheet from the bed. He has said his final goodbye. Now is not the time for more tears, but revenge. He grabs his rifle—outside the door he hears footsteps running through the hall.
Emma Creek V
Emma gets to her feet. She is startled by a noise off in the direction of the far end of the cave. She cautiously climbs down from the rock, and peeks ahead, looking for any sign or activity. She attempts to cover the glowing moonstone in her shirt—it is warm against her body, yet lights her skin up just as brilliantly as before. It is as though contact with it causes her to glow. She hears another noise, the sound of something moving, searching. A noise like a sniffing dog searching for its target draws even closer. Emma thinks about running, yet wonders if that would only give her away completely.
A warm breath wisps at the back of her neck. The terrors are much closer than she thought. She braces herself, her heart begins to race. She looks back and glimpses the shadowed wolf—not just a wolf, but a person. For a moment, her eyes see the outline of a young woman, her hand outstretched. Drawn in, Emma reaches out. She does not know why. Perhaps she knows that there is no escape now and allows herself to be taken. She is tired of running, tired of the anxiety and fear. She makes contact with the hand. Then, all goes black.
Her mind is set ablaze with memories. She sees flashes of her life up to this point, her father—alive and well, and happiness in his eyes. She glimpses a short memory of her and Jack Wolfe, running out of the class as careless as children running through a field in play. She wants to linger on the memory of Jack more, yet she is not in control. She misses him.
Emma sits in the car, watching as Jack makes his way to the stone steps of the farmhouse. The rain begins to fall, thumping on the rooftop like the sound of a thousand rhythmic drums. Soon a mist sets in, and she can no longer see Jack. She assumes that he has entered the house. The rain comes down in a torrent, and the noise is deafening. A banging noise comes at her car door.
“Jack?” she shouts, though she cannot make out any form outside her window.
The knock comes again, even louder this time, more persistently. Emma opens the door. Just as she opens it enough for her to pass through, a hand grabs her and pulls her violently from the car, dragging her into the mud. She looks up and sees a strange man, covered in filth, wearing the face of a wolf. The man deftly strikes Emma to the side of her head with the butt of a large wooden branch. The world goes black.
Emma comes to, slowly. The pain in her head is unbearable. Her eyes squint from the light of the room. She attempts to gather her thoughts, yet her head has been knocked about so hard she finds them as hard to gather as a spilt deck of cards. She attempts to move, but finds that her feet are bound. She is naked. She looks down and notices that she is on a mattress placed on a floor, her body covered in a white sheet.
She notices a terrible smell in the air. Like old dirt and shit. She is turned on her side. She feels hot breath at the back of her neck. A hand begins to caress her cheek. It is a dirty hand, with sharpened fingernails that almost appear claw-like. She attempts to look behind her, but the hand immediately forces her head back down to the mattress. Emma begins to feel the sticky hot body against her back—a sickening mixture of sweat, mud, and feces, sliding against her. The hand upon her face wraps itself around her neck as she reaches up in protest, and then it claws at her right hand, cutting it deeply. She lets out a cry.
Another hand reaches down between her legs, forcing them apart.
“Please, no…,” Emma cries, swinging a hand back wildly in an attempt to strike out at her attacker. She can feel herself being penetrated from behind. The terrible creature is inside of her, and lets out a disgustingly animalistic growl with each thrust.
Emma strikes back, finally landing a blow upon the man’s face, punching him hard in the ear; he lets out a loud howl. However, it does not deter him. She strikes him again and again, attempting to stop the horror that she is being forced to endure. She lands another blow, only angering the man further. Soon both of his hands are upon her throat. They squeeze her like a vice.
Emma flails about, attempting to free herself with her hands. The man’s hands only tighten around her neck in response. Soon, she can no longer muster the energy to fight back. Her vision grows blurry. This terrible world begins to disappear. There is still some pain, however, it is growing dull. Finally, it is over. She begins to feel as though she is falling away. Down through the floors of the house, she falls further until she finds herself adrift in an endless ocean. She begins to sink into the nothingness, fading away like a coin dropped into a lake.
Emma feels herself being ripped away, caught in an undertow that swiftly carries her through the water. Finally, she washes ashore, and can breathe again. Her eyes catch sunlight, and, at first, it is blinding. Her hands against the warm sand, she looks ahead. She is surrounded in a forest of trees filled with autumn leaves. Beneath her, the tide washes in and out, carrying away tiny particles of glimmering sand. She gathers handfuls of water, pouring it over her back, attempting to clean herself of the foul man. Her mind can still remember the stench, the feel of him.
“There is no need,” says a woman’s distance voice. “You don’t have to think about that anymore. Not here….”
Ahead, a young woman approaches, barefoot. She is wearing a sundress, her long brown hair flowing behind her as the autumn leaves take to the wind and dance around in the air like butterflies. Another small wave comes in as Emma attempts to get to her feet—she still feels unsteady. The woman reaches her hand out, just like the shadow in the cave.
“It was you,” Emma whispers quietly, as she reaches out.
“Alena,” the woman says as she helps Emma back up to her feet. “I am sorry, that was the only way that I could get you out
of there.”
Emma begins to weep. “I went through all of that… that really happened?”
“I am sorry,” Alena answers, placing a hand to Emma’s shoulder. “I am so sorry that you got caught up in this. I went through something similar once—it seems like an eternity ago, but I still remember it. It doesn’t have to control you. Not here, not anymore. You can control it, after all. It is just a memory.”
“Am I…,” Emma asks, hesitating for a moment, for she fears that she already knows the answer. “Am I dead?”
“Not in the traditional sense, no,” Alena replies, a tone of sadness in her voice. She looks away for a moment to the incoming tide. “That does not make us powerless though.”
“Jack?” Emma asks, although, after what she has been through, she does not feel that she even wants to see Jack—or at least, let him see her in this condition. She feels as though she could never be whole again. “Is he here?”
Jack Wolfe VI
Jack wipes away the rain from his eyes as he continues his sprint. His father is fast, yet wounded. Still, Jack is amazed at the speed Landon retains, despite his injuries. It is almost as though Jack is chasing a ghost. They reach the woods, and, for a moment, Jack loses sight of his father, yet he continues to run. He is determined not to lose him, not after what his father has done to Emma and countless others. Jack cares nothing for himself, now he only cares for revenge. He wants his father’s death to be slow, painful. He is almost glad that he is only wounded at the moment.
Window in the Earth Trilogy Page 38
