Sunblind

by Michael Griffo

  Caleb’s hand reaches out to grab mine. I know his touch will be soft and welcoming and warm, but I don’t want that right now. I want rough and unkind and painful. I want to be hurt; I want to be blamed; I want to be punished for the things that I’ve done!

  “That’s ridiculous!” I shout.

  “You don’t want to have sex with me because you love me or even because you just want to get it over with and I happen to be around,” he says. “You want a distraction so you can forget about everything that’s going on.”

  No, Caleb, I don’t love you. Right now I hate you. For being right.

  “So I’ll forget, and you’ll finally get laid,” I reply, wincing a bit at how crude I sound. “Don’t guys consider that a win-win?”

  Caleb gazes at me with such intensity that I’m the one who has to turn away.

  “You really have no idea how I feel about you, do you?”

  Wiping away my tears, I have to cover my face for a minute until I stop shaking and before I can speak again. “I do know how you feel. That’s the problem.”

  “Because you don’t feel the same way?”

  This time I reach out to Caleb, awkwardly grabbing his wrist and his forearm, any part of his body, just to have an anchor to something good. His blond curls are pushed back, no longer falling against his forehead. I wonder for a second if this is the way his hair fell today or if it’s a new hairstyle that I’m just noticing. Why don’t I know these things?

  “Before all this started I wasn’t sure how I felt about you, Caleb,” I say, rubbing my fingers along his knuckles. “I mean, there’s no one else I want as my boyfriend, never has been, but was I in love with you? I wasn’t sure.”

  “What about now?” he asks, placing his hand on top of mine. The calluses underneath his fingertips feel good against my soft skin. Too good.

  Pulling my hands away from his abruptly, I cross my arms and lean against the door. “It doesn’t matter how I feel, Caleb, because I’m not worthy of your love. I’m not worthy of anybody’s!”

  “Oh will you shut up with that!”

  His voice hits me like a cannonball, and I’m stunned; Caleb’s never spoken to me like that before. And he’s never looked so pissed off either. Throwing his books onto an empty desk, Caleb starts to pace the room, and for the first time I notice that his muscular body could be more than sexy and alluring; it could also be dangerous. The way that he’s snarling at me and clenching his fists, I’m not sure what he’s going to do to me. I wanted to be hurt; well, maybe Caleb’s going to do just that.

  “I . . . I’m sorry,” I stutter.

  “So am I!” he yells. “Because obviously I can’t do anything right! I stand by you; you push me away. I try to uncover the truth about Nadine; you yell at me! I tell you that I love you, and it’s not good enough. What do you want from me, Dominy?! I mean seriously, what do you want from me?!”

  Instinctively, Caleb knows I don’t have an answer, so he doesn’t wait for me to respond.

  “Do you want me to go away and leave you alone? Do you want me to forget everything about you, everything that we’ve been through? Because if that’s what you want, just let me know and I’ll do it!”

  “Is that what you want, Caleb?” I ask. “Would you like to forget you ever met me?”

  I’m terrified to hear his reply. But thrilled when I hear him scream.

  “No!! That’s not what I want, and you know it! What I want is my girlfriend back! The one who wasn’t afraid to share things with me no matter how ugly they got. I mean for God’s sake, Dominy, I know that you’re a werewolf and I’ve stood by you! What more proof do you want that I love you and I’m not going to leave you?”

  You might if you found out that I killed when I wasn’t a wolf, that I’m actually capable of taking a life when I’m not covered in fur.

  “I’m sorry, Caleb,” I mumble. “I just don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

  He stares at me for a moment before picking up his books. His voice is quiet, but I can hear what he says just before he leaves the room. “Neither do I.”

  Nice going, Robineau; push away the only boyfriend you’ll probably ever have. Well, if I’m not going to have sex, I might as well feed.

  A few hours later I’m standing within a thicket of trees, the radiance of the full moon above slicing through the branches and bouncing off the snow-covered ground to create a prism of light that sprinkles me with its power. Bending to the moon’s will, I feel the burning and then the breaking and then I’m gone, replaced by something stronger, something that never questions what it is: the werewolf. And tonight I’m going to allow it to be as violent as it wants to be.

  I see a cluster of tiny footprints in the snow and bury my snout in them. The scent is fresh. A rabbit family is nearby, but that’s not what we want to feed on tonight. Through the darkness I see a fox, its fur the same deep shade of red as mine, and when it sees me it becomes paralyzed, unable to flee to safety. I could devour it and imagine that it’s really Melinda Jaffe wearing her fur coat. Growling deeply, I thrust my head forward, and finally the fox races into the brush; it scurries away never knowing that I had no intention of chasing after it. No, tonight is going to be a special kill, and I’m prepared to wait until dawn to find it.

  An hour later my search is over. Slowly I move toward my prey, pressing each paw down lightly onto the snow so I don’t make a sound, letting my body sway naturally with each step. If only the deer would turn its head, it would see that I look like the hunter that I am.

  My fangs pierce the deer’s neck while it’s still chewing on some grass. The impact causes it to topple over; its legs furiously try to regain contact with the ground, but do nothing but stir the night air. I rip my mouth away from its neck and take with it a chunk of flesh that I quickly devour. The taste is pungent and fresh and bloody, and I can feel my saliva growing in my mouth. I need more.

  Just as the deer is about to stand up, its bent, quivering legs almost vertical, I attack again, this time with my claws as well as my fangs. Ripping deep into its flesh until I scrape bone, burrowing my snout inside the deer’s stomach to expose its organs, biting through skin to swallow the fresh meat just underneath. This is more than just a feeding; this is a ritual. This curse began with the death of a deer, and that’s how it will continue. Unleash my savage lust onto the animal that started this horror.

  When I’m finished, when my own belly is bloated and my white fangs stained red with the blood of my prey, I step back and look at the ravaged animal with pride. Then I clamp down hard on its neck, the part that’s left of it, and I drag the animal away from the bushes and trees and rocks onto a flat, untouched piece of ground, the corpse’s blood smearing the ground, creating a red rainbow so my kill can be visible. Some dead bodies were never meant to be buried.

  And others were never meant to be found. Which doesn’t mean they won’t be missed. When Rayna didn’t show up for class there were a few whispers among the student body. When she missed the first practice for the upcoming regional cheerleading competition, speculation about her whereabouts grew. And this morning when her face appears on the cover of the Three W as the suspected latest victim of the Full Moon Killer, the school is whipped into a frenzy.

  I don’t know how I survive listening to Dumbleavy’s latest speech about how we can’t assume the worst has befallen our friend and how we can’t give in to fear. Oh really? Crawl inside my head, and I’ll show you something to be afraid of. He urges us to continue to hope and pray and tell the police anything that Rayna might have said or that we might know about her that could provide a clue as to her whereabouts. I feel like raising my hand and asking Dumbleavy if he’d like to know where Rayna’s spirit or her body is because I could lead him to both. The first is within Psycho Squaw; the second is in an unmarked grave in the middle of the low hills. I wonder if he’ll label me a hero or the murderer that I am.

  I have the same question for my friends.

  My sanc
tuary becomes cramped when Caleb, Archie, and Arla ignore my requests to leave me alone and they barge into the small music closet. I was having such a wonderful time sitting in the corner, reliving the moment when I killed Rayna, banging my fists into the foam soundproof walls, screaming until my lungs ached. Such good times ruined by such good friends.

  Well, let’s see how good.

  “Dominy, you have to stop avoiding us,” Archie declares.

  “It’s been like living with the Invisible Girl instead of a werewolf these past few days,” Arla says.

  Oh to be invisible! Now that would be a curse I could handle. Never have to see anyone again, never have to worry if they can see the death that clings to my face, that I can’t shake off no matter how many times I try to smile or laugh or cry. Why couldn’t you have cursed me with invisibility instead, Psycho?!

  “Domgirl, I am going to tell you one more time you are not alone,” Caleb whispers. “So knock it the hell off and stop acting as if you are.”

  The three of them have joined me on the floor, Caleb sitting next to me, his arm around me, and Archie and Arla kneeling in front of me. I stare at them for a moment and take them in, making sure I remember what they look like because I’ve been missing so many important details lately. Archie’s cut his hair again, the left side anyway, buzzed it short while the right side has retained its length. He looks handsome as always, his violet eyes twinkling against the white backdrop that is his face.

  The scar over Arla’s eye has settled into her skin, made permanent residence on her face, but in the compromised light of the closet it’s hardly noticeable. She’s wearing her short black wig, the one cut in a severe bob, which makes her nontraditional features look even more exotic.

  And Caleb looks just as handsome as ever. His blond hair is slicked back again with a little gel, so I guess this is the new clean-cut look he’s going for. It makes his face appear stronger and more inviting than ever.

  My boyfriend and my friends are all so beautiful inside and out. I feel ashamed to be contaminating their space. I start to cry when I think of all the ugliness that I’ve brought to their world, stains and scars and blemishes that can never be washed away or hidden with makeup because they cut too deep.

  “Domgirl, c’mon, you have to stop this.”

  I love how Caleb smells; I always have. A little bit of cologne, a little bit of sweat. He smells just like my father used to when he would hold me close to him, when he would whisper in my ear that I was his little girl and he would always keep me safe and nothing would ever harm me. My father was such a liar.

  “I killed Rayna,” I say through my sobs.

  The silence my comment provokes weighs down on us as if the ceiling has just caved in. When the ceiling lifts and they can breathe again, Archie is the first to speak.

  “During the last full moon?” he asks.

  I shake my head, my forehead rubbing against Caleb’s chest.

  “Okay . . . okay, Luba and Nadine . . .” Caleb starts.

  “They must’ve done something to you again, controlled you in some way so you turned into a wolf,” Arla rationalizes. “You would never . . .”

  “I wasn’t a wolf,” I say quietly.

  Caleb doesn’t let go of me, but I can feel his body begin to tense up. His transformation is a bit more subtle than mine.

  “But . . . but that doesn’t make sense,” Archie says, sitting back on his haunches, the impact of my words making it difficult not to topple over.

  “I wasn’t a wolf,” I repeat. “I was human when I killed her.”

  Grabbing me roughly by the shoulders, Caleb twists me around so we’re facing one another. There’s a flicker of light in his brown eyes, enough to light up the whole room. He believes in my goodness so much, he almost convinces me that I’m anything but terrible.

  “Tell us exactly what happened,” he demands.

  The anger and sorrow and guilt that I’ve been feeling these past few days bursts to the surface like a geyser, spilling into the room and drenching Caleb and my friends with my filth.

  “It doesn’t matter what happened!” I scream. “I killed Rayna! I have no excuse. I can’t blame this one on the wolf or the curse! I did it! I killed her with my own hand!”

  “Dominy, why?” Arla’s voice hits me somewhere on my left.

  “Why would you do such a thing?” Archie’s voice slashes on my right.

  “Because she’s brave, and I’m a coward.”

  A silhouette of light surrounds Napoleon’s body as he stands in the doorway. For an instant I think Jess has brought him to me, but when he closes the door the light disappears. The only thing that’s brought him here is his own conscience.

  “Nap,” Archie says, standing up to grab his boyfriend’s hand. “What are you doing here?”

  “I listened to our connection.”

  When Nap speaks again Archie’s impish smile is quickly wiped away.

  “My connection to Arla.”

  “Me?” Arla asks.

  “Nadine may be my biological twin,” Napoleon states, “but Arla’s my psychic twin. Isn’t that right, Arla?”

  “Well, um, it looks like that could explain a few things,” she mumbles. “My headaches for one.”

  “Your psychic twin?” Archie exclaims. “I thought that was a one-time thing.”

  “It was actually a failed attempt to try and suck Arla’s memory out of her mind,” Nap explains. “I guess when my sister and I work together we aren’t always successful.”

  “Well, Nap, your tag-team effort could’ve been a lot worse,” Arla adds, “than just, you know, opening up some sort of psychic tunnel with me on one end and you on the other.”

  By Caleb and Archie’s confused expressions, it looks like they could use a little more information, but now’s not the time.

  “I’ll explain it all later,” Napoleon says. “Right now you need to know the truth about your friend. What Dominy did to Rayna was selfless and heroic, and if I weren’t such a coward Rayna would still be alive.”

  Away from his sister and his grandmother, Napoleon looks so capable, nothing like the wilting little boy he becomes in their presence. They really are slowly killing him. The way Caleb jumps up and presses a finger into Nap’s chest it looks like he may want to quicken the pace.

  “You know something, Jaffe,” Caleb barks. “I’ve had it with you and your sicko family. I know Dominy is innocent, and I don’t buy your mea culpa act, so spell it out so we can understand it. What the hell happened to Rayna?”

  “My sister, my grandmother, and I sucked the life out of her and left her a hollow shell,” Napoleon replies calmly. “Rayna would’ve died a slow, agonizing death if Dominy hadn’t honored her request to kill her.”

  Caleb’s knees buckle, and he stumbles a bit, his foot barely missing my fingers on the floor. He shakes his head from side to side, but keeps his eyes focused, staring right at Nap. “You . . . you destroyed Rayna, and because you’re such a douchebag you forced Dominy to clean up your mess!”

  Napoleon’s gaze is as intense and unyielding as Caleb’s. “Yes, that’s exactly what I am and that’s exactly what I did.”

  Archie tries to intervene, but he isn’t strong enough or fast enough to prevent Caleb from punching Nap. In his nose, in his ear, in his chest. He ignores Arla’s and my cries to stop. Archie’s the only one with the good sense to know that Caleb isn’t going to respond to voices, only actions—so there’s a momentary pause in the pummeling when Archie grabs Caleb in one of those wrestler’s holds, his arms scooping up under Caleb’s armpits and then interlocking his fingers behind Caleb’s neck.

  “Let go of me, Arch!” Caleb pants.

  “Not until you promise to stop,” Archie says, his voice equally winded.

  “Not after what he made Dominy do!” Caleb screams. “He needs to pay!”

  “He is paying for it!”

  Arla’s voice brings everyone to a halt. It’s urgent and strong and commanding. When we
turn to look at her, we see that her face looks as anguished as Napoleon feels. It’s incredible; they really are connected.

  “Arla,” I say, “do you know how Napoleon feels?”

  She nods her head slightly, and from the look in her eyes I think she’s experiencing the worst emotional pain she ever has since she realized her mother didn’t only run from her father but abandoned her as well.

  “I don’t understand it,” she explains. “Ever since that night I’ve felt weird, moody, and I’ve heard snippets of voices and thoughts. Images keep popping up in my head that don’t belong to me, but I thought it was the headaches and stress—you know we’ve all been under a lot of stress lately.” She covers her face with her hands, laughing and crying at the same time. “But that isn’t it. My brain isn’t only mine anymore; it’s yours too. Isn’t it, Nap?”

  “I think so,” he replies.

  “Can you feel what I’m feeling?” she asks. “Or know what I’m thinking?”

  “I’ve been able to block it out, but lately it’s gotten stronger,” he adds. “It’s almost the way I used to be with Nadine when we were very young, before we knew what was expected of us . . . or at least before I knew. I think Nadine understood my grandmother’s plan before she could speak.”

  “You’ve sensed a link to Arla ever since that night Luba revealed to me that you and Nadine were her grandchildren?” I ask.

  “Yes,” Nap replies. “But since you didn’t say anything, Arla, I thought it was best to keep it to myself.”

  “Once again you were too scared to take action,” Caleb fumes.

  Napoleon’s mouth opens to speak, but except for a weak sigh, no sound comes out. He tries again, but fails the second time as well. He almost looks like he did when he and Nadine would chant together to cast a spell, but alone he looks like what he is, an ashamed young man trying to find the words to explain his actions and his emotions.

  “I’m not like you, Caleb,” he admits. “I’ve never . . . I’ve never had any friends who I could count on. I’ve never known any way to live other than the way my family’s taught me.”

  I finally understand what Jess originally saw in him: Napoleon’s a damaged spirit who needs guidance if not salvation.