The Turning

by Micky Neilson

  “Good evening, everyone!”

  He looked up and his pulse quickened. For a brief instant he forgot to breathe. She wore a black sequined dress—low on top, short on bottom—that hugged and accentuated every curve of her body. Blood-red lipstick set off her full lips, and her blonde hair tumbled and curled like the cascading petals of some exotic flora.

  Pleasantries were exchanged, food and drinks were ordered, and just as Brandon was about to ask Ginny more about herself, Vera beat him to the punch:

  “So what do you do for a living, sweetie?”

  Ginny shrugged almost imperceptibly and looked down at her wine glass. “I’m… an accounts manager at a small savings and loan near Seattle.” Ginny nodded. “Yes, it’s as boring as it sounds.”

  Vera leaned over to Sal’s ear. “She works at a savings and loan.”

  Sal nodded and asked: “How long?”

  “Too long.” Sal held up a hand behind his ear and leaned in. Ginny raised her voice. “I said, ‘too long.’ I should have made senior a long time ago, but apparently my boss doesn’t see it that way.”

  Sal wagged his fork in Ginny’s direction. “You should give your boss a good kick in the pants! Set him straight.”

  “Ha!” Ginny barked.

  Vera fidgeted with the stunning heirloom ring on her left hand. “Life has a way of surprising you. You just have to keep your eyes open, and when the right opportunity comes along, jump on it.”

  Brandon’s and Ginny’s eyes flickered to each other, and lingered.

  Sal placed a liver-spotted hand on Vera’s. “I was telling Eric the same thing just last night.”

  “Hm? Who’s Eric?” Ginny blurted.

  Brandon cleared his throat. Sal scrunched his face and turned what must have been his good ear toward her.

  “Ah, I’m kidding… kidding. I just wanted to give… Eric here a hard time.” Ginny looked at Brandon and cringed slightly, face scrunching as she mouthed “sorry.” Brandon smiled and stifled a laugh, shaking his head slightly.

  Ginny went on to speak of growing up in a small Oregon town, of her parents, high school sweethearts, and her older brother J.D., a bright kid with a speech impediment who went on to become a Captain in the U.S. Army and a veteran of the second Gulf War.

  Vera interrupted, leaning toward Brandon. “I never asked, were you in the military?”

  It seemed to Ginny that Brandon was slightly put off by the question. “No,” he answered curtly and returned to his food.

  Ginny continued talking about her brother, referring to him as a “polymath,” someone who excelled at seemingly everything he set his mind to. This was another area where Ginny and Celine shared a similarity; Celine had grown up with an older brother as well, Roland. He was no polymath, and he wasn’t religious, but Celine had often spoken of how her childhood felt like a constant comparison to him and to his accomplishments. Roland went on to run his own business, the Briar Green Funeral Home. He and Brandon had gotten along quite well, and Roland had provided a great deal of assistance following Celine’s death.

  When Vera asked how Ginny and her brother got along, it seemed as though it was her turn to feel uncomfortable. “Like any brother and sister, I suppose,” she answered and then changed the subject, asking how the elderly couple met.

  Sal and Vera Spears became acquainted by chance, when Sal dialed a wrong number and tried to sell Vera life insurance. When she told him to go to hell, he told her if he did, his family would be provided for because his insurance was so good. Thirty-six years later they had two kids, one grandson, and another grandkid on the way.

  “It was fate!” Sal exclaimed.

  By the end of dinner Ginny had downed two glasses of wine. Brandon had devoured two plates of filet mignon, three whole baked potatoes and two slices of cheesecake. He had devoured Ginny’s description of her life as well. She grew up in a stable, loving family… and he couldn’t help but wonder if his own life might have taken a different turn had he been raised under a similar set of circumstances. If he hadn’t run away from home, if he hadn’t drifted from one dead-end job to another, if he hadn’t been in the Alley Cat on that fateful night…

  Sal announced that he and Vera planned to have a nightcap at the piano bar and asked if Ginny and “Eric” would join them.

  ***

  The piano bar was located midships on deck 2, facing a seating area and a bank of three glass elevators that conveyed passengers to and from the upper levels.

  Once there, more drinks were ordered. Talk turned to the Spears’ grandson, and how disengaged he was from school, while the pianist played Elton John’s “Your Song.”

  “I did fine in high school,” Ginny confided. “Not like I was popular, so I had plenty of time to get schoolwork done. I enjoyed math and science and I was focused. College, however, college is a different story. That’s when I started to get… distracted.” Ginny’s now bloodshot eyes sought out Brandon.

  “Your Song” finished, and the pianist launched into a rendition of “I’ll Stand by You” by the Pretenders. Ginny popped up. “Ooh, let’s dance.”

  Brandon’s eyes widened. “This… isn’t one of the dance cl—” Ginny snatched his hand and yanked. An instant later the two were toe to toe in the open space before the elevators, Brandon’s hands on Ginny’s waist, her hands draped over his shoulders. They swayed as Ginny gazed dreamily into Brandon’s eyes and began to sing in a low but crystal clear voice:

  “When the night falls on you, you don’t know what to do. Nothin’ you confess, could make me love you less… I’ll stand by you. I'll stand by you. Won’t let nobody hurt you. I’ll stand by you…”

  Brandon smiled, impressed. “You didn’t say you could sing.”

  “Didn’t say I couldn’t,” she answered. “Ten years of drunken karaoke’s gotta be good for somethin’!”

  “You have a beautiful voice.”

  “You have beautiful eyes. And a beautiful face, and a beautiful body…”

  She kissed him then, with complete and total abandonment. They stayed that way for a long moment. When they stopped, she sang once again:

  “And when, when the night falls on you, baby, you’re feelin’ all alone, you won’t be on your own. I’ll stand by you. I’ll stand by you…”

  Ginny serenaded Brandon to the end. When the song was done, Vera and Sal clapped heartily. Ginny lay her head against Brandon’s chest and felt his heart beating in time with her own.

  ***

  What are you getting yourself into?

  Brandon stood at the railing on deck 10, his breath frosting in the air.

  Vera and Sal had stayed and talked until nine, when Vera announced it was Sal’s bedtime. Brandon and Ginny spent another two hours in each other’s company. Ginny had stopped drinking and though she was starting to sober up, she said she was tired. Brandon walked her to her cabin, where she kissed him again—a long, slow and deep kiss that ignited a primal hunger deep within him.

  He wanted, more than anything, to ask if he could come inside. But the time wasn’t right, for two reasons. One, she had been drinking, and if something were to happen between them, he didn’t want it to be because her judgment was impaired. Two, there was a task he had to complete, before he could move on.

  And so he stood now, holding the small cardboard box that contained Celine’s ashes, and he began to whisper.

  “I need to know that this is okay. If I could only talk to you right now… this girl, Ginny, I’m starting to feel something for her. I don’t know what to do. If you can hear me, send me a message. If you could talk to me right now, what would you say?”

  Brandon waited.

  Then, a break in the thick clouds revealed the three-quarter moon. It seemed as if Brandon was transported, to a time beyond memory, where roving packs of wolves who once walked as men and women stalked beneath the moonlight. They hunted tirelessly for the essence of life: blood. And behind it all Brandon gleaned the presence of a dark pagan god. It had been q
uite a long time since he had experienced visions or flashes like these.

  As quickly as the sensation began, it passed. Brandon was left staring out at the frigid, silvery waters, where tiny chunks of ice had begun to appear.

  Was this Celine’s message to him? To embrace the beast within? She had always felt that he denied his true nature. Maybe she was right. No matter what, though he intended to isolate himself from humanity, he would not awaken the wolf. He would never again risk the life of another because of what he was capable of becoming.

  And, just like that, his decision was made. He opened the box, dipped his hand in, and flung the ashes to the wind, where they scattered and disappeared into the dark. He did this three times more, then removed the plastic bag from inside, overturned it and emptied the last of the contents over the side.

  He wiped at the corners of his eyes and said, “I love you, Celine. I always will.”

  Chapter Four

  Shortly after “high tea” the previous day, Alexander was able to track down the two colored women who had witnessed the altercation in the gym. He used subtle techniques to coax data from them without arousing suspicion. The women had already shared information freely with several strangers on the ship, so it was doubtful that his subsequent actions would be traced back to him through their testimony.

  Armed with detailed descriptions of both the weightlifter and the unruly hooligans, Alexander initiated sweeps of the ship, focusing on the gym, arcade, and dinner lounge… consulting the map upon which he had begun logging the seating arrangements of various passengers.

  Outside it had grown cold enough that almost no one occupied the upper decks.

  It was after dinner, while he walked from the lounge to the arcade, that Alexander located the malcontents. Posing as a lawyer, he presented a scenario to the youths by which they might seek monetary compensation for what he termed “the assault.” The delinquents were only too happy to share every bit of information they possessed, most importantly the weightlifter’s name—Alonso—given during a statement provided to ship security.

  While giving the incident report, Alonso had been joined by a woman, whose description the thugs also provided. This did not align with Alexander’s target profile, but of course it was within reason that his quarry had wooed a female to take the place of his deceased paramour. In fact, Alexander’s next step would have been to widen his search to include couples.

  So it happened that early the next morning Alexander had narrowed the parameters of his pursuit, and on the third sweep of the buffet and seating area, his labors at last bore fruit.

  Alonso was a hulking brute of a man with narrow-set, dark eyes, a bronze tan and a long, black, panther-ish pelt of hair. Alonso’s girlfriend was a ragged wisp of a thing, with a stringy blonde mane, immense fake breasts and bulging blue eyes.

  Alexander sat at a table which granted an unobstructed view of the couple while he himself was outside their line of sight. There was of course no way to be certain if Alonso was his intended target simply by observation. More demonstrative methods were required. That would be where the colloidal silver would come in.

  The intent was not to kill the beast outright, certainly not in so prosaic a fashion. Thanks to the efforts of researchers at Network headquarters, the Complex, Alexander was aware of the precise dosage—enough to produce no ill effects in humans, but to spark an immediate and violent reaction in lycanthropes. Lycanthropic symptoms would mirror human poisoning and would include vomiting and difficulty breathing. The prey would remain ill but fit enough to disembark, and then… then the hunt could truly begin.

  Alonso had thus far only taken one sip from the small plastic cup of lemonade in front of him. Alexander removed an eyedropper with the prescribed amount of silver, palmed it, then stood and approached his mark.

  “Begging your pardon,” he began. “I was seated here earlier and misplaced my Sail Away card. I wonder if it may have slipped between the cushions.”

  The female turned and began probing. Alonso was quite obviously irritated at the intrusion. He glared at Alexander for a moment before turning his head, not to assist in the search, but to observe his companion as if tacitly compelling her to hurry so they might dismiss this interloper. Alexander took the opportunity to squeeze two drops into the lemonade. When the female declared her endeavor a failure, the hunter apologized for disturbing the couple and returned to his seat.

  He watched anxiously for several moments. His pulse quickened in anticipation. Alonso and the woman sat, eating in silence, but the weightlifter seemed completely disinterested in his beverage. Alexander was beginning to wonder if his efforts had been in vain when the muscle man at last lifted the cup, and sipped…

  Alexander was sitting forward, mouth slightly open, eyes fixed. Alonso swallowed, made a sour face at the cup in his hand and then handed it and his plate to a passing waiter. Seconds passed, with no adverse reaction. No retching or shortness of breath. Nothing. Alexander tarried longer but he already knew. Reactions in the test subjects were immediate. This was not his wolf.

  A righteous fury roiled within him. He would like nothing better, in that moment, than to rip Alonso open and extract his intestines one inch at a time for the affront of wasting precious hours with this useless diversion. He imagined different types of instruments he might use to make the first incision into that no-doubt hardened stomach. He imagined the flesh parting beneath the blade’s edge, and this spurred an immediate, insistent erection. Alexander glanced at his Movado, noting the time, ignoring the throbbing in his shoulder. He then reached beneath the table, repositioned his penis to minimize its conspicuousness, and set off for his quarters, where he would briefly but vigorously masturbate.

  After all, what good was life if one did not satisfy one’s impulses?

  ***

  The Rapture sailed into Tracy Arm Fjord around noon, and Ginny couldn’t have been more excited. This was one of the highlights she was most looking forward to. And what better way to experience it than with a fascinating, single, and, yes, incredibly hot man?

  She had blacked out bits and pieces of the previous night… except for the singing and slow dancing, something Brandon reminded her of when they had met for lunch. He had done so without a hint of embarrassment, too, which was a huge bonus. Not that serenading a man in a crowded bar was all that bad—comparatively. She’d done far worse things while drunk, and most times she was grateful she couldn’t remember them. Besides, her actions this time came from the heart. She knew herself well enough to know that she had already fallen for Brandon.

  Only vaguely did she remember the goodnight kiss, which was truly a shame. What impressed her more than anything, however, was that Brandon hadn’t tried to take advantage of her compromised state, which he certainly could have done. And she certainly would have let him. But he hadn’t. He might have secrets in his past, he might be mysterious, but this much she believed: Brandon Frye was a good man. He was a dream-man. A real catch.

  Which made her wonder all the more, What does he see in me? It was just too good to be true. Had to be.

  When Ginny had exited her room that morning, she looked down the hall, and who should she see, but Vera and Sal. Turned out their cabin was just a few doors down, near the end of the passage. Ginny had chatted with them for a few minutes. Sal asked how the evening went and winked. Vera backhanded him in the gut. Ginny had told them that everything went just fine, and that she was meeting Eric (she almost said Brandon) for breakfast. Sal had said, “Go get him, tiger,” and the two entered their room.

  Ginny and Brandon had talked over breakfast and then for a couple hours on all kinds of subjects: TV shows, books, music, art. Brandon never finished high school but he had traveled far and wide, and he read incessantly. Aside from that he was gifted with something too few people seemed to possess: common sense.

  After their conversation, they headed to deck 10 and joined a gathering crowd of onlookers as the Rapture scudded into Stephens Passage
en route to Tracy Arm.

  The fjord was thirty miles long, a giant scar carved by glacial flow. While planning for the trip, Ginny had read about the Tracy Arm Fjord, but words on a computer screen could not do it justice. The scenery was captivating. Waterfalls, deep blue icebergs that resembled fine art sculptures, rocky, forested outcroppings and buttressed cliffs, eagles and seals. Ginny stood with her arm around Brandon’s waist, sharing his warmth and thanking all her lucky stars for this breathtaking experience.

  The ship approached North Sawyer Glacier, angled with the starboard side facing the giant mountain of ice. Brandon and Ginny stood at the railing on the port side and waited. As the Rapture swung about, the Sawyer Glacier came into view. It was massive, ancient and indomitable. An unstoppable force. The ship lingered. Brandon looked down at Ginny and they kissed, and she couldn’t imagine a more perfect moment. Just then there was a great rumbling sound followed by a thudding boom. They turned to see a massive chunk of the glacier, almost in slow motion, slide off and into the emerald water with a magnificent splash.

  Even the glacier, that unstoppable force, was slowly falling apart one piece at a time.

  Ginny turned to Brandon. He seemed distracted, his eyes roving. He shut them for a moment, rubbed his temple.

  “You okay?”

  Brandon smiled. “Yeah, just a headache.”

  There was something that had been weighing on Ginny’s mind, and now seemed like as good a time as any to just come out with it.

  “So, hey… I’ve been meaning to ask. This… this. What we have, what we’re doing. I know you just lost someone. And… okay I’m just going to say it: are you really interested in me? Or is this a rebound? I want to know where I stand.”