by Rach Elle
“Bloody hell,” Sunders said under his breath.
Crisp could see the locked door at the end of the hall. Once through they would be in the wing that held Awilda Rose. He continued, “It looks as though the mental state that Gayle had forced onto herself caught up with her. It’s been determined that she walked here.”
“So?”
They reached the last door. Crisp looked over at Sunders. “She was eighty-seven and lived two-hundred miles away.” He slid his card through the reader and pushed open the door. “Her shoes were filled with blood and her arthritic knees were missing too much cartilage. By the end of the walk she was rubbing bone on bone. The coroner was amazed she was still standing when she was hit.”
“Good lord,” Sunders breathed.
“Awilda is still in a traumatized state. She’s anxiety-ridden so as I’ve already said, I’ll be sitting in with you.”
“Of course.”
Crisp lifted his ID to swipe through the reader and enter the observance room. He paused for a moment and made eye contact with Dr. Sunders Harper. “Let me make one thing clear.” He began. “I’ve known this girl since she was twelve years old. You could say I’m rather protective of her. If I feel as though you’re upsetting her in any way, or that you’re carrying out a hidden agenda whatever that may be, I’m going to put a stop to it. I will kick you out of this facility and I won’t hesitate in the process.”
Sunders sighed, “Aye, you’ve made that abundantly clear.”
“And for the record,” Crisp swiped his ID card, “I don’t really believe you’re a doctor.”
2
An old station wagon clunked its way into the city of Portland, Oregon a little after eight pm. It chugged through intersections and wheezed its way across an overpass. The car was running on fumes and trying desperately to make it to the next gas station.
A police officer purchased a coffee at a local mini mart and headed outside. The air was cold and he couldn’t wait to get back into his car. After settling in and securing the coffee in the cup holder he turned the key in the ignition and proceeded to back out of his parking space. He sat at the edge of the lot waiting for a chance to pull out onto the road when the old station wagon pulled in. Had the officer known the beat up car had just spent the past twenty-four hours barreling down interstates at neck-breaking speeds he would have confiscated the vehicle. Had he known the man driving was an escaped convict he would have called for backup. Instead, he pulled onto the road and drove away, sipping his coffee.
Junior, Kingsley and Elizabeth sat in the car impatiently as the gas attendant ran out into the cold to pump their gas. They handed him enough to fill up the tank and waited.
“So, where to from here,” Junior asked.
“Bain Asylum.” Kingsley answered.
“Do they allow visitors this late at night?”
“Doubt it.”
Junior creased his brow and looked at the man sitting next to him. “Then why are we going there?”
“In case you’ve forgotten, you’re officially a fugitive. You think they’ll just let you waltz in?”
“So you want to break in? Why don’t you just go tomorrow morning? Elizabeth and I will wait for you at the hotel; nice and simple.”
“Because I didn’t come all the way out here just to visit.”
“Then why are we here? Why did you bait me with Elizabeth?” Junior wasn’t as dumb as his friend thought. He knew that’s why Kingsley even mentioned her at all; to get him to leave West Coleman.
Kingsley sighed. “You’re stronger and faster than me kid. I need that on my side.”
“To do what,” Junior was growing agitated. He wasn’t getting a straight answer. He hated that. Finally Kingsley looked at the large man in the driver’s seat with surrender. “I need you to break her out.”
“What?!” Junior yelled. “Are you crazy?”
“Only if she’s my Responsibility,” Kingsley tried to calm him down. “If not, then we can leave and enjoy our little vacation in the good ol’ northwest.”
“Damn it King! Neither of us had to come all the way out here.” He motioned toward Elizabeth sitting silently in the backseat.
“I need the girl out of that asylum.”
“No, you don’t. You could have moved out here and gotten a place nearby. You could live near her knowing she’s locked up and safe from everything including herself because in case you’ve forgotten, she’s clinically insane! Good God if she’s the real deal then you’ve got the easiest Responsibility in the world. I can never go back to North Carolina. I’ll have to change my identity again. I’ll have to move and you know damn well that means uprooting Lizzie too. I drove this piece of crap at max speed listening to your damn police radar and watching you drool in your sleep, for you. So again, why did you drag the two of us all the way across the country?”
“Junior,” Elizabeth interrupted, “maybe we should just…”
“No.” Junior cut her off. “I want to hear this.”
“There’s more to this than meets the eye.” Kingsley said softly.
Junior pinched the bridge of his nose. “I swear to God if you give me one more cryptic answer I’m going to lose it.”
“I can’t tell you what you don’t want to hear.”
The gas attendant knocked on Kingsley’s window. “All done sir; It was a little less than what you gave me.”
“Keep the change.” Junior grumbled as he turned the key and hit the gas. The station wagon sped onto the main road. All three passengers sat in complete silence until they approached a freeway onramp. Junior flipped on the blinker and took the road heading east.
“What are you doing?” Kingsley sat straight and wide eyed.
“We’re leaving.”
“Where? You said so yourself you can’t go back to North Carolina.”
“I hear Texas is nice.”
“No. We can’t. Turn around!” Kingsley began breathing rapidly. He could feel his heart starting to race. He was having an anxiety attack and it was the best feeling he’d had in a long time. It meant he was close. “She’s it! My Responsibility; I can feel it.”
“But that’s not all she is, right?” Junior didn’t take his eyes off the road. Kingsley began breathing even faster, his chest pumping up and down trying to keep up with the sharp, shallow flow of oxygen. “Turn… around,” He managed to say.
“Not until you answer me.”
“Junior, please!” Elizabeth started to panic. “You’re hurting him!”
“Sorry Lizzie, I’m standing my ground on this one.”
Kingsley clutched his chest. Elizabeth gasped, “Junior!” She snapped. “Get off this freeway and turn around!” Her voice was demanding and severe. Junior’s eyes popped with surprise before narrowing; he took the next exit.
The station wagon moved at a decreasing speed as it neared the end of the off ramp. “Not cool Lizzie.” Junior grumbled.
“I know; I’m sorry.”
“This doesn’t change anything, you know. I’m still not helping you if I don’t know the whole story.”
Kingsley’s breathing began to regulate. “In time, kid,” He started. Elizabeth could see Junior’s agitation growing again as Kingsley continued. “One day you’ll be ready to hear…”
“She’s the prophecy.” Elizabeth cut in. The station wagon swerved into a nearby retail parking lot and sped to a halt.
Junior couldn’t bring himself to look anywhere but the black top in front of him as the car sat idle. “Damn you King.” He whispered too softly for Elizabeth to recognize, knowing Kingsley heard every word.
“All signs point to her.” Elizabeth continued. “Kingsley told me all about it. I’m not as naïve as I used to be, you know.”
Junior didn’t know which saddened him more; the fact that his Elizabeth had been subjected to such a dark mythology; or the fact that she believed it. “It’s not real Lizzie,” he began, “it’s a story, that’s it.”
“And what
if it’s not? How can you be sure? At the very least we’ll be able to show the poor girl that she’s not crazy; that beings like you do exist.”
Junior leaned his head against the seat, stared up at the ceiling and whispered to Kingsley again. “Did you tell her about me?”
“Yes.”
“Bastard,” he breathed, “you know it’s not true.”
“We’ll see.”
Junior let out a deep sigh. It was clear to him now. Whether or not this girl was truly King’s Responsibility, he didn’t know, but the intention was never to find out. The true intention was to get Junior as close to the girl as possible so he could protect her. It was odd for a shifter to trust another to protect their Responsibility. That one person was the sole reason for being on this earth and thus too precious to pass the buck; but Junior had done so for eleven years. He was incarcerated and entrusted his most valuable possession – Elizabeth – to his oldest friend. Now, for reasons not based on reality, but based on fiction, Kingsley was asking for the same favor in return. He could hear the soft whisper coming from the old man, “Please help me.”
Junior popped the car in drive and headed westbound into Portland.
3
Bain Asylum was nearly deserted. Most of the employees had gone home for the night. Angie had officially clocked out and left the front desk unattended until morning. Don, the night guard casually walked the empty, dark halls occasionally peering through the barred windows for any sign of life. There were none. Everything was quiet; except for the counselor’s room.
Crisp led Dr. Sunders Harper into the small, dimly lit space. Awilda was already sitting at the table waiting for them. She smiled as she saw Dr. Crispin and he smiled back.
“Awilda, this is Dr. Sunders Harper.” Crisp introduced the man to his left.
Awilda’s eyebrow crooked, “Another doctor?”
“Yes,” Crisp continued as he and Sunders sat down, “he came all the way from England to see you.”
“Why?”
Sunders smiled and rested his forearms on the table. “I’m fascinated by your story. I would love for you to tell it to me.”
Awilda wanted to smile; she wanted to swoon a little over his accent; but she was tired of being studied. “I don’t like repeating it,” she folded her arms and looked away from the Scotsman in front of her, “it makes me uneasy.”
“Oh come now,” Sunders cooed and leaned forward on the table, “just one more time?”
“Take it easy.” Crisp warned under his breath. Sunders subsequently leaned back.
Awilda thought for a moment. “Are you going to write about it in a magazine?”
Crisp’s eyes widened. “Where did you hear about that?”
“Ricky; the janitor.”
“Did he show it to you?”
“No, but he said the picture wasn’t very flattering.”
Crisp sighed with agitation.
Sunders reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a manila envelope. He opened it and revealed a folded copy of the article. He dropped it on the desk in front of the girl. She cringed and pushed her dark hair behind her ears. The fluorescent light cast even harsher shadows under her prominent cheek bones and jaw line. “He wasn’t kidding,” she mumbled as she stared at the photo of her. She looked so frail and dark; like she’d just walked out of a horror movie. Did she really have that much gray hair? She knew her hellish nightmares had taken their toll on her youth; but she had never realized the physical extent before. She pointed to the small picture in the upper corner; the one of a young girl in school. Her hair was soft, her smile wide, and her shirt a bright pink. “Who’s that?”
Sunders frowned, “That’s you when you were younger.”
“Is it?” She asked, her voice suddenly so small. “I don’t remember being that happy.”
Awilda was entranced by the small, grainy picture. It had to have been taken before the incident. Memories began flooding her brain and before she could stop them, tears formed in the wells of her lids. She looked to Dr. Crispin, “Did my grandmother die last night?”
Crisp’s chest ached. The girl had been through too much in recent hours. This interview was a bad idea. “Yes, Awilda, she did.” He whispered.
“That’s what I thought. The pills they give me for my nerves make it hard to tell what’s real sometimes.”
As Awilda returned her distant stare to the article in front of her Crisp decided he’d had enough. He turned to Sunders, “I think it’s time for you to leave.”
“What?” Sunders asked. “We haven’t even started.”
“And we’re not going to. Now get up and let’s go.” Crisp stood.
“No, wait, you’re fine to continue, right Awilda?” Sunders almost begged. The girl didn’t look up from the article.
“Come on.” Crisp nudged his shoulder. Sunders, unwilling to end the evening, grabbed another photo from inside the manila envelope, pulled it out and threw it on top of the article. “Do you recognize that?” He frantically asked. Crisp clutched onto his arm and yanked him out of his seat. He forcefully pushed his back against the wall and latched onto the collar of his shirt, balling the fabric into his fist. “What did I tell you?” Crisp’s eyes were no longer a playful gray; they were dark and sinister. “You crossed the line. Leave the asylum and don’t plan on coming back.”
“Wait.” Awilda’s small voice cut through the testosterone. She looked up at the two men and locked eyes with Sunders. “Is this real?”
4
The old station wagon pulled along the sidewalk outside of Bain Asylum. The engine hummed softly as the car sat idle with its headlights off. The passengers inside all took deep breaths in preparation for what they were about to do.
“Do you know where she is inside?” Junior asked.
“No.” Kingsley answered.
“Oh good; this should go smoothly then.”
“Come on kid, what are you so nervous about? This isn’t your first felony and it won’t be your last.”
“And what if we get caught? There might be more people inside than you think.”
“I don’t care if we run into Bloods, Crypts and every card carrying member of the NRA; nothing is stopping us from getting that girl. Besides, that’s why I have you, isn’t it? You know how to diffuse those situations.”
“I’m not killing anyone.”
“No one’s asking you to. Just get the girl out unscathed, that’s all I’m asking.” Kingsley motioned for Elizabeth to grab a black duffel bag sitting in the backseat. She opened it and began sifting through. “If we get separated,” Kingsley continued, “we’ll meet up in Vancouver B.C.”
Elizabeth pulled out a passport and handed it to Junior. He read the name, “Junior Cross. We’re using my real name again?”
“Yeah,” Kingsley said, “I figure we have until morning before the whole country is looking for Toby Pierce.”
“Good, I always hated that name.”
“Give me a break; it was the best I could come up with at the time.”
A shifter rarely reached the end of their lives with the same name they were born with; living decades longer than the average human meant inevitably changing identities. At some point their true age would far exceed their shifting one. Kingsley had means by which to seamlessly change his identity, since he’d had to do it many times. Every now and then he had to retrieve his fake ID card to remind himself of his current alias, Jacob Stallings.
Kingsley had to change Junior’s identity only once over the past fifty years, and he didn’t get the approval of the new alias before going through all the trouble. He had hoped returning to his birth name would help ease Junior’s concerns with this venture.
The three passengers stepped out of the vehicle. Elizabeth took her place in front of the steering wheel as the official getaway driver and watched as her two men quickly and quietly ran into the shadows and around to the back of the asylum.
5
Crisp was more aggravated than
he had ever been. Well, that he could remember, at least. He swallowed his pride and let go of Sunders’ white button up shirt. He backed away one step and allowed the man to answer Awilda.
“Aye, it’s real. Do you recognize it?” Sunders asked, his eyes twinkling with excitement.
Awilda stared at the photo for a moment. It was dark and grainy, but she could make out a large, massive figure. She could see its arms, legs and posture were that of a man; but there was so much more that any other person might not be able to see due to the impossibilities of it all. It thrilled her for only a second before she was forced to concede; she shook her head, “No; the wings and tail are familiar, but this is not my monster.”
Crisp prepared himself to escort Sunders out of the room again.
“It’s my grandmother’s.” Awilda said.
Sunders, although nervous that Dr. Crispin might try blunt force again, could not tear him away from the current situation. He smiled brightly and managed to ignore Crisp’s icy stare as he reclaimed his seat across the table from the girl. “Your grandmother has seen these creatures?”
“No, but she showed me pictures. They were all illustrations though; drawn and painted; never anything like this.” Awilda blinked and a small tear rolled down her cheek. “I tried to explain my monsters to her so many times; but every time she’d describe them differently to me, as if she was trying to convince me that I was seeing something else. She would show me this one painting over and over. She would say they weren’t skinny; that they were healthy and strong. She would tell me that they weren’t minions and they weren’t stalking me; that they were good and they were here to protect me. She tried to turn my devils into angels and it only infuriated me more.” Awilda looked at the grainy photograph. She ran her fingers along the contours of the creature’s right wing. “All this time; was she right?” She looked up at Sunders with pained eyes. She watched the Scottish doctor nod. He looked like he had something to say but couldn’t bring himself to. She felt another tear cascade down her face. “Are they good?”
