Nightshatter

by L. E. Horn

  I nodded. “Anger or fear. Those would be strong emotions.” I paced around the desk. “Ace told us that emotional control was important. What if it’s linked to guiding the changes?”

  Danny looked up and I encouraged him with a nod. “So, if we get too emotional as we change, maybe we react more like an animal than a man.”

  “I guess we have to ask ourselves, are we still men, or are we now animals?” I sat on the desk. “What do you guys think?”

  “Men,” Travis said. “We’re men, first.” His eyes, so dark they were almost black, shone with intensity in his broad, flushed face.

  From the seat beside him, Lucas nodded.

  “We remain men,” Reese said. “Even if we look like an animal.” He met my eyes directly. The only other one here who did that regularly was Danny.

  “But if we can’t control our animal side, maybe we aren’t men any longer,” I argued.

  “So we control it.” Danny lifted his chin.

  “Maybe being an animal beats being human,” Keith argued. He was one messed up kid.

  Reese shook his head. “If you give in to the animal, there’s no going back. You’ll forget you were ever human. To stay human, we’ve got to manage the animal.”

  Keith glared at him, and Reese matched his stare, his face expressionless. The tension between them was palpable.

  I spoke up quickly. “So the question remains, how do we control the animal? Ace made that comment for a reason. Emotions might be the key.” I studied them for a moment. “So how do we control them?” I thought back to Chris and how he guided me through all this. I owed that man so much. “Can you control them if you don’t understand them?”

  “No.” The word rumbled from Nate. Everyone turned to look at him since it was the first time he’d spoken anything other than his name. I estimated him to be older than the others—late twenties, likely. He’d been so stoned when I first saw him under the bridge, he’d spent most of his time hunched in a ball. Now, his hazel eyes focused on me and I saw a spark of interest.

  “I think you’re right. You can’t control something you don’t understand.” I moved to the wall where I’d taped up a fresh sheet of paper. “We all have reasons for feeling as we do. To interpret our emotions, we must explore the reasons behind them.” I grabbed the marker and hesitated. This had to be real for these guys to buy in.

  I stretched an arm up to the page and wrote Foster Homes in large letters along the top. Then I turned to meet the suddenly intense gazes of six young men. “We all have our reasons for ending up on the streets.” I said. “I was raised in the foster-care system. Sometimes the adults in the home tried their best to do good by me. Sometimes they didn’t. Often the problem wasn’t them, but the other kids.” Keith hunched lower in his seat, and Danny’s mouth tightened into a line. Travis and Lucas glanced at each other, and Reese simply nodded. Nate stared at the paper as though I’d hooked it into his soul.

  I selected my red pen, drew a circle around the words, and spiked lines off it. “When you think of your home life, whether or not you were in foster care, what kinds of emotions do you experience?”

  I went for the strongest one in my repertoire, writing hate in all caps. “I hated some of the people I lived with, and I hated myself for not being able to cope with my life.”

  “Anger,” Keith snapped. “It made me mad.”

  I nodded and wrote anger down at the end of a line. “Anger is a powerful emotion,” I said.

  “Betrayed,” uttered Danny.

  “Sad.”

  “Afraid.”

  “Confused.”

  “Alone.”

  The words piled up, I scarcely had time to write one before another was provided. I did my best to show no emotion as I wrote them down.

  “Ashamed,” Nate said, his voice hoarse.

  I nodded and printed the word, my stomach twisting. Something about the redhead connected to a darkness I sensed within me. Afraid to examine it too closely, I stood back to get a look at my paper. Foster Homes now had a plethora of scary words written around it.

  “Anything positive we can associate with our experiences?” I asked. “I spent years living on my own before I recognized this one.” Choosing my black pen, I wrote resilience.

  Eyes fastened on the word and there were nods.

  “It made us tough,” agreed Reese.

  Other words flowed. Strong. Stoic. Smart. Capable. And surprisingly, compassionate, caring, and appreciative all surfaced as well.

  Man, where were these guys when I was growing up? Something stirred in my memory, and I moved on before it could surface.

  “So what I see here is that our emotions tie into our life experiences. Understanding their roots should help us control the reactions.”

  “Okay, so I know my foster dad pissed me off,” Keith said, with a roll of his eyes. “How does that help me control anything? Unless I can smack him back.”

  I smiled without acknowledging the hostility coming off the young man in waves. “Understanding where the anger comes from is only the first step, but it can help dampen the emotion. You also need to learn tools for control.” I scanned them. Only Keith looked resistant, the others seemed focused and intent. Even Nate’s eyes were on me.

  “I have an idea that might work. It’s been a while for me, but I used to find balance by meditating.”

  The expressions around the table ranged from scorn (Keith) to interest (Danny).

  “Meditation can help you find a calm center of balance, and even learning to control your breathing can help.

  I got everyone sitting on the floor, asked them to recall a memory that evoked a strong emotional response, and coached them through slowing their breathing to demonstrate how it helped calm them.

  I waited, and one by one, they acknowledged that it worked.

  “Okay, you can practice this on your own, anytime, anywhere. I find it helps to visualize something that relaxes you, like gazing into a fish tank or sitting in the park. Create a strong, pleasant memory to latch onto.” They looked back at me and everyone appeared more relaxed.

  “Meditation is a little different. The object is to clear your mind. You have to avoid distractions.” A few frowns, but I expected that as I guided them through their first meditation. I sensed the struggle to clear their minds, so I kept them at it for only a few minutes.

  Finally, Travis held his hands out to his sides, took a deep breath, and said, “Ahummm.”

  Lucas snorted and said something in Cree. It sounded derogatory.

  I noticed Reese’s eyebrows climb, and Travis opened his mouth to reply.

  I cut him off. “Oookay, it’s lunch time.” I rose. “Practice it a few times a day. If it helps to do this in a group, we can do that. I’d like to get together this afternoon to do the breathing in response to stronger emotion. Say, about three?”

  Heads nodded, all except Keith, who eyed me skeptically. The young man seemed so full of anger. Had he ever considered the reasons for it? Chris had shown me that trauma sometimes got buried so deep it was as though it never happened, but the emotions were left behind, cast adrift to ruin lives. Keith was poised for all kinds of trouble. And Nate—the big guy set off alarm bells, as well as making me uneasy.

  The group broke up for lunch. As he stood, Keith said, “If you know so much, Picasso, how’d you end up on the street?”

  “Hey, he doesn’t have to tell us that.” Danny shot Keith a dark look. “We all have our reasons.”

  “No, it’s okay.” Much as I appreciated Danny’s loyalty, how would he feel if he knew the truth? That I’d known they shouldn’t trust Noah? I didn’t want to lie to these men anymore. “I was lucky with my last foster home. They helped me get to university, and I landed a great job, had a great life.” I looked away from them. “Then there was an accident, and I lost it all. For a while, I didn’t want to live. I ended up on the streets because I thought I deserved it.”

  Not directly a lie, but not entirely the trut
h, either. Abandoning my job as a vet was like losing an essential part of me, and that carried through in my voice. By the look in their eyes, they believed me.

  “Let’s go eat,” I said.

  I wished I could tell them everything. I sighed and followed them out. We’d just sat down to eat when Ace appeared in the cafeteria.

  “After lunch, you will see the doctor for your first serum regulation shot. By tomorrow morning, you should all be feeling a lot better.”

  There was a marked lightening of mood at that comment. I cast my gaze around the other men, wondering how many would still be here a week from now.

  We had six days until the full moon.

  * * *

  When the others filed out of the cafeteria to the doctor’s room, I sidled up to the counter where the older wulfan cook cleared away the food. I handed him my tray and he nodded his thanks.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  He regarded me with a wary eye. “Sure. Might not give you an answer though. That’s Ace’s job.” I noticed that his voice was markedly different from Noah’s or Ace’s. He sounded American, perhaps southern.

  “Why don’t they recruit women?” I had a good idea why, but I wanted to hear what he had to say about it.

  He wrinkled his face up in a grimace. “They did. Not anymore. Didn’t go too well.”

  “They didn’t complete the training?” That would surprise me, thinking of Sam.

  He snorted. “No, many were better than the men. It was a control issue. The women worked well with the men. Not so much the other way around.”

  Even though I’d expected it, I winced, wondering how many women had become casualties of the male wulfleng insanity. I nodded, but the cook hadn’t finished.

  “Right upset The Lady, I tell ya. Wanted women on the team.” His eyes shot to something over my shoulder and his face lost all color. I turned to see Ace standing in the doorway.

  “Doc’s waiting on you.” The look he gave the cook sent the man scurrying into the back.

  I hurried past Ace and down the hall. As the doctor, annoyed at having to wait for me, jabbed me hard in the upper arm, my mind raced.

  The Lady? Could this be the organizer of this mess? And more importantly, how could I find her? Stuck on this level of the underground complex, I had no way of knowing whether the entire organization or just a branch of it resided in this building. The elevator had dropped us past a few levels, but personally, I had my doubts this was anything other than a training facility. The brains of the operation wouldn’t hang out anywhere near the potential chaos associated with the recruitment program.

  The only way to find those responsible was forward through the training. I retired to my cell and lay on the cot, feigning sleep. In reality, I reached for my link to sanity, hoping that even if I didn’t sense her, she’d feel me.

  As always, I sent an image of the Red Wolf Air sign and the four helicopters sitting on the bare ground. Then I gathered my energy and put everything behind one thought.

  Sam, love, I need more time.

  There was no answer.

  * * *

  It didn’t surprise me that Keith was absent from the afternoon session. Danny had worked hard to keep his friend in the loop, but I sensed his hold was failing. Belief was everything in getting through something like this, and whatever existed in Keith’s past had beaten it out of him. I doubted my ability to help him without it, and I didn’t have the time to build trust. I knew my decision might haunt me for the rest of my life, but I needed to concentrate on those I might be able to save.

  So I guided the five others through another breathing/meditation session. I asked everyone—even Nate—to contribute a brief story they were comfortable sharing and helped them talk about the emotions the story evoked. We did a refresher course on basic anatomy before I let them go.

  The wulfleng guard followed them out. Nate watched the guard leave and hung back. I sensed an opportunity. Pushing might frighten him away, but the countdown to full moon ticked in my brain. If Nate hit that night with all this stuff bottled up inside him, he wouldn’t survive his first change.

  “I forgot your name,” he confessed. “I-I wasn’t really listening, that first day.”

  The remark jolted a laugh out of me. “It’s Lee.” Well, sort of.

  “Lee,” he repeated, trying it out. His eyes met mine, then skittered away. “I wanted to thank you. When that guy changed into a monster, I thought we were screwed. The guys that left—what do ya think happened to them?”

  I kept my expression blank. “Ace said they’d go back to Winnipeg.”

  He shot me a look. His shorn scalp, now covered in the first regrowth of red hair, added emphasis to the hatchet-sharp bones of his cheek and jaw. “Do ya believe him?”

  “No.”

  His wide mouth twitched, and he nodded. Then he met my gaze full on and the impact of those shadowed hazel eyes hit me like a fist to the gut. “You’d make a great shrink. You’re better than any of the ones I’ve had.”

  I let him see my pleased reaction. “Well, thanks for that. Been to my fair share, myself. Maybe I picked up some tips.”

  He studied me, and I held my breath. “You’re lucky you got out.”

  “Well, I found my way right back in.” I pointed out.

  Nate shrugged. His huge frame had almost no muscle. Drugs had eaten him away until only the bones remained. “Life sucks,” he said.

  “It doesn’t have to,” I replied. “I chose to put myself back on the streets—to punish myself for something I now realize wasn’t my fault.”

  He considered and nodded. “Yeah. I might be doin’ that too. Took drugs to forget. Blamed myself for things that weren’t my doin’ at all.” He leaned against the desk. “My last shrink kept tryin’ to tell me not to feel guilty, but—”

  “You talked to someone? It’s hard to open up on that kind of stuff. I’m impressed you were able to.” I was trying to channel Chris. The enforcer was a master at getting people to spill about their pasts.

  Nate hesitated. “Didn’t really. Not about everything.” His jaw clenched, making the muscle jump along it. “If you haven’t been through it, no way you can understand.” His eyes returned to mine. “Got the feelin’ you’ve been through it. Right?”

  The question startled me, not that he would ask it, but that he sensed I’d been through something similar. Nate hadn’t yet told me his story, but I suspected abuse, likely sexual. I’d had narrow escapes, but they’d been escapes. And not just from the adults, but also from the other teens I’d lived with. So what is he sensing in me, to think I’ve been through what he has?

  “Don’t have to answer that,” he said quickly, recognising my turmoil. He rose and turned away.

  “No, Nate, don’t go. I have been through some things, but I can’t say if they compare to your experiences. But I’ve been lucky enough to have good people in my life, really good people, and they helped me to deal. If I can help you, I’d like to try.”

  Once again, those intense hazel eyes penetrated straight through to my soul. He measured me, then looked away. But he didn’t leave.

  “I kinda feel this serum’s givin’ me a second chance,” he said. “It’s cleanin’ me up, gettin’ me off the drugs. I’ve tried, but I get pulled right back in.”

  “Yeah, I get that.” To Nate, the serum would seem like a miracle, healing his body of the addiction without going through the agony of withdrawal. If only it didn’t come with such nasty side effects.

  He glanced at me and nodded. “Never told anyone everythin’,” he said. “Not the shrinks, no one. The cops suspected, I think, but it didn’t go to court, so it never came out.” He swallowed. “At the time I was grateful. But if I’d told it then, maybe . . . well, maybe I wouldn’t have gone to the streets.”

  “You don’t have to tell me, but if you believe it will help, I’m here.”

  “I want to.” He looked at his feet. “Wanted to for a while. Had to be someone who, yo
u know . . . understood.”

  I nodded, but again wondered what Nate sensed in me, to make him believe I’d understand. I wanted to close the door for privacy, but that might trigger the guards’ interest. Instead, I took the chair farthest from it and straddled it, resting my arms on the back. The relaxed pose was as deliberate as my lowered position. Unconsciously acknowledging my vulnerable stance, Nate sat on the desk.

  I’d made a hobby of studying animals and their body language. At the moment, the subtle language encouraged Nate, put him in control. Despite belief that our intellect rules, humans react to these subtle signals on an instinctive, subconscious level, just like any other animal. To deny it, denies an essential part of who we are. Our reactions to it are often pure, and primitive. It’s what we do with those reactions that distinguish us as human.

  I contemplated that as we sat in silence for a few minutes while Nate got his thoughts organized. Finally, he shifted on the desk and sighed. “My mom—she had a drug problem. Couldn’t look after me or my brother, so we ended up in foster care.”

  His gaze had gone unfocused as he recalled the past. “First foster home was great. Would have adopted us, but my mom kept gettin’ clean and tryin’ to get us back. After I turned twelve, the foster parents’ marriage broke up. Kelly, the mother, took us. Money got tight. I landed a paper route to help out.”

  He’d been one of the lucky ones to find a permanent foster situation with loving parents. But I sensed things were about to go south, and I wasn’t wrong.

  “Kelly got cancer and died when I was fourteen. Evan and I were moved to a farm family.”

  He paused. “Seemed all right at first. The wife made us go to church on Sundays and Wednesdays too. They had another foster kid, older—Riley was seventeen. He never talked to us. It was a big old farmhouse, so we each had our own room.”

  He stopped, rubbing a hand over his face. “We had lots of chores. The father, Jonathan, watched to make sure we did things right. Took Riley with him when he left to work the cattle or the cornfield.”

  He drummed one heel against the desk. “About a month after we got there, Riley took off. Left all his stuff. No one looked for him. They didn’t even tell social services, just kept takin’ the money. Two nights after Riley left, in the night, Jonathan came into my room.”