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Adventures In Living With The Mythical |
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A military veteran is adopted by a werewolf and brought into his pack. Insanity ensues. About "Life With A Werewolf" Life with a werewolf is a dramatic blog. As such the characters in this blog are not real but maybe loosely based on real people. The situations represented are not real but maybe loosely based on real things that have happened in my life. There are a multitude of ways to view life, this is simply one of the ways I have chosen to view mine. Updated Every Tuesday unless I can't or don't want to. If this is your first time reading this...start here: https://www.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/1040400-Welcome-To-The-Pack The first year is available as a compilation on Amazon Kindle: https://a.co/d/gBLLL7E Audio and print versions will be available in the future. My book, "Dreamers of The Sea" is available now on Amazon: https://a.co/d/0uz7xa3 |
| Crash's groans bordered on screams. I could tell the bullet was burning him alive form the inside out. It was like his body was trying to reject the very vile thing like poison, but just couldn't do it fast enough. For a werewolf, any standard bullet hurt like hell, yes. But it takes a lot more than a 9mm clip to put a werewolf down. One silver bullet though, and he was on the ground, his lips turning blue, his skin turning silver, writhing in pain. I was reminded of my first encounter with The Nobility, when I'd shot the werewolf on top of me. The bullet carved upwards, slicing through his skin and into his forearm. He had to bite his forearm off as some sort of precaution or something. Crash, couldn't exactly bite his shoulder off. The burning seemed to be getting worse, his groaning was changing into gasped whimpers and whines. I applaud Sean. He struggled to a crawling position, favoring an arm that looked broken and his ribs. With a staggered crawl that was half supported by Kris, they laid against Crash, unable to do much more than that. The sirens were growing louder, but I wasn't sure if they'd even get to us in time to save him. And what could they do for a werewolf, anyway? Would they even believe a werewolf existed? I had no idea, but I wasn't about to find out. Kris had earlier mentioned a knife. I didn't waste time looking for it. Reaching into my pocket next to my wallet, I pulled out my father's pocket knife. For this, I was going to have to disregard anything I'd been taught about combat life saving. Gritting my teeth and saying a short prayer to anyone who might be listening, I knelt down and got to work. The wound in Crash's shoulder had already started to close. His body seemed to be going haywire. He was gasping, his heart rate struggling. I knelt down, and told Crash "This is going to hurt." Then I started cutting. He didn't care if I cut into the wound around the bullet hole. But if I cut the bullet hole itself, he cried out, as if I was carving into infected flesh. The sirens were getting closer. The wound kept trying to close around the bullet. I cut deeper, hoping I wasn't doing permanent damage. Crash's breathing was getting shallow. His pale skin was glistening with sweat. He started shivering as if he was losing blood. Gritting my teeth in determination, I snarled "I can't be delicate. I'm sorry." The wound tried to close again. The sirens were blaring. I didn't look up. His breathing got ragged, more shallow, as if he had just seconds left. Like a man preparing to take his last gasp. I slashed with my knife, one way, then the other. Blood splattered in both directions, spraying over Kris and Sean, over the ground, over myself. I reached into the wound, and dug, slashing deeper, not being careful anymore. He cried out, begging in rushed syllables that failed to form words. The sirens had stopped. Reaching in, I felt around. The bullet slipped out of my fingers once. Twice. The hole closed a little more. But it gave me just enough leverage to snatch it out. I pulled the bullet up, gasping, a smile on my face. I looked up and saw three EMTs staring at me, in horrified shock. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" one of them snarled as he shoved me out of the way. I didn't see their faces as much as their uniforms and gurney. I collided with a grunt on the ground again. My leg, and hip was now completely numb. I sat there a moment, trying not to show pain. Crash's breath was shallow. The wound wasn't closing nearly as fast now, it looked more natural. I couldn't tell about his skin color. He whimpered, then whined like a dog. Coughing, he told the nearest EMT "Code silver...code silver..." They all looked at each other. One of them snatched the bullet from my grasp. "Silver." She said. They made a call on the radio after that, using a code word that I agreed to keep out of the blog. They looked at me, and the lead EMT, a tall man with thinning hair, said, "We can't take him in the ambulance. But someone will be along." I watched as they loaded Kris and Sean. The doors was about to swing closed, and they left. I sat there with Crash alone, talking inane banality while we waited for someone to arrive to help him. The wait felt like eternity. But in reality, it was probably less than ten minutes before Crash's boss stepped out of the shadows. As a werebear, whatever they're called, he was massive with brown and black fur, and eyes that looked as if they were ready to kill. "You got names," he snarled at me. He didn't look at Crash. It was like he couldn't. His round ears was folded in anger, a snarl on his face. "I do." He gave me a chuff, and wrinkled his muzzle. "Trust me human, it will be better if I do this. Let me be your justice." I pointed down at Crash. "He's what's left of my pack." I didn't know when I'd formed the tear of anger, when my hands were clenched into fists. Or even when I'd pulled my pistol. But I had done all three. "I'm doing this." His snarl grew. He threw Crash over his shoulder, and gently laid him in the back seat. "This discussion to be continued at your home." He turned and disappeared into the shadows from whence he came. *** The trip home was a long silent one. Every bump made Crash whimper and wince. I tried driving as carefully as possible, a growing rage simmering within me at each whimper and moan Crash made. At the thought of Kris, Sean, and Zack, all attacked for no other reason than existing. Existing near me and Crash. Crash's boss met us at the house. His brown and black fur barely visible under the thin lights of the street lamp. He gingerly picked up Crash, and carried him inside. He was careful to not bump Crash into any of the doorways or furniture, ducking through the small hallway before he gently laid Crash on his bed. "Vic is on his way," the boss said. "You were about to give me names so I didn't tear your head off the slow way." "As much fun as that sounds, I'm not." I crossed my arms, and glared up at him, feeling every bit like a six year old challenging 1980's Mike Tyson to a fist fight. Still, I couldn't back down now. "You can't do that to me. I'm not part of your jurisdiction." He growled, his hand like paws clenching into fists. The muscles beneath his dark fur rippled. "How about I have you hauled away for obstruction of justice, instead?!" "Wouldn't be my first time in jail," I replied. I pulled out my phone. "You want me to dial?" His eyes went wide. But there appeared to be some begrudging respect behind them. We stood there for a heartbeat, staring at each other. Him breathing so hard his entire body was moving, me holding the cell phone out to him, like a child giving a monster a peace offering. "What do you want," he snarled, finally. "I'm going to war," I told him. "I want the authority to do it legally." Again, we stared at each other for several more heartbeats. "You want Crash's job." "They die one way or another." After another long pause, he said, "you know, I've read your file. You were into some heavy shit a few years back." "Then, you know what I'm capable of," I replied. He stepped forward. Put his right paw over my heart. "You're the first human to get this in over a hundred fifty years." He closed his eyes as if trying to remember something, his round ears tilted forward, his face almost looked calm. "Do you swear to move alone by night? To be the sole protector of the innocent who walk in light? To guide our kind and guard your own?" "I do," I said, looking at his face. "This is a promise you've sworn over your very heart. It is now etched upon your soul." He tore away my shirt from my chest with his claws, then scratched my chest where my heart was, drawing blood. "If you betray your promise and betray human or us, if you fail to provide necessary service in course of your duties, your very life will be forfeit. Do you accept?" "I do." He looked down at me, his face getting close to mine. "This is serious human. This promise cannot be revoked. Do you promise to uphold and honor all our laws, as you know them. To protect the innocent and the weak. Do you promise as my deputy, to fulfill your duties or die trying?" "I do." "You start tomorrow night," he told me. "You have one night. Crash should be back and around then. You fail and I really will tear your head off the slow way." I gave him a single nod. "I fail, you'll be notifying my next of kin," I promised him. Then he melted into the shadows of the trees again. I had twenty four hours. Crash was moaning on his bed. Milton was out there somewhere, that meth-headed freak of a vampire was celebrating. I gritted my teeth harder. In situations like this, you have a singular moment to make a decision. To either mourn, or prepare. I'd chosen to mourn later. I was about to give those bastards something they haven't seen yet. I was going to war. |
| At first what Crash had told me didn't register. My entire brain had stopped and started again. Who would want to attack Zack? He's quiet and shy, kind to a fault, and says nothing to anyone. I had to ask Crash to repeat himself. "Yeah, two thugs jumped him outside of the factory. Didn't say a word to him. Several of his co-workers chased them off and called 9-1-1." Pain could wait. I stood, and grabbed my pistol. "What did they look like," I demanded. Crash shook his head. "No. No, Jason. This is for the police. I'm not even allowed to intervene, as much as I'd love to sink my teeth into those bastards, I can't." I wanted to punch the wall. I opted to throw down a pill bottle instead. The blue bottle with the label that promised to stop knee and back pain exploded and white pills scattered across the floor. Crash didn't look at me. He just glared down at the pills like me. He didn't say anything for a minute. He didn't have to. "Damn things don't work anyway," I snarled. His eyes raised up to me then, as if seeing my pain for the first time. "What happened, Jason?" "I was attacked in the store." I explained to Crash then about the greased up guy, about the pistol, the fight. "Damn tweaker," I snarled. "It's on TikTok. Cop watched the entire video, complete with laugh track and smiley faces over the heads." "Wait a minute," Crash said. His eyes were lit up as if he had a sudden revelation. "Tweakers?" My phone rang, interrupting him. When I answered, Kris began shouting frantically before I could even get a word out. It came out in a panicked mumble. It had all the echoes of someone stepping into a battlefield the first time without any experience or training. My own instincts kicked in. I spoke in even measured tones, while motioning to Crash. He leaned in to listen while I put the phone on speaker. "Take a deep breath. I know it's going to be hard, but try to calm down. Start at the beginning. What's going on?" "They're attacking Sean! They're trying to kill him!" "Where are you now?" I could hear the sounds of flesh impacting flesh. Of grunts and snarls that could only come from a violent fight. "Outside of Sean's work. We were gonna do a date night." "Where are you," I asked. "I'm in my car, doors locked." "Good, me and Crash are on the way. Call the cops." I started shuffling to the door while Crash bolted for his car. "are they tweakers?" "I think so, yeah. Skinny, meth mouthed guys." By the time I made it to Crash's car, he already had the engine running. "We're on our way. Keep the doors locked and call the cops." As we moved down the road, I checked my load out. Only magazine I had was the one I kept loaded in it. Was seventeen rounds of silver going to be enough to deal with what was going down over there? How much of an ambush was this? Would my fry grease tweaker be back with reinforcements? Perhaps one guy covered in burger grease and one covered in chocolate syrup? typically, it's about a twenty five minute drive to Sean's work. We made it in twelve. Sean worked in a locally owned T-shirt shop. It was in a prefab metal building with a gravel parking lot on the edge of the largest city nearby. Thick, old trees grew at the edges of the parking lot, hiding a large farmers field on one side. It had highway access on the other. The perfect spot to beat someone to death and then drive away without anyone seeing or stopping you if you weren't all that concerned with modern security cameras. Next to Kris' car was a beat up car of some kind that might have been one of the ones circling the block. But I didn't spend a lot of time, staring at it, I was more concerned with the three guys beating the crap out of Kris and Sean. By the time we got there, Sean was on the ground, covering his face, while two guys repeatedly kicking him. He was bruised and bloody. His face looked like Rocky's after a twelve round fight. Kris, not listening to anything I'd told him, had tried to use a tire iron to help his man, and was being beaten against the building by a third thug. The tire iron sat in the dirt behind the skinny thug, who kept wailing on his gut, while Kris was doubled over, trying to protect himself. They were all meth mouthed, with faces wrinkled and pitted, cheeks sunk in from years of abuse. Their arms thin, one guy was losing his hair, a ring of blond peppered the edges. He looked thirty going on eighty. The guy next to him, kicking the shit out of Sean, had no hair, opting to either shave it or it simply had fallen out from undernourishment and drug abuse. Either could have been true. The third had greasy, short brown hair. All three of the attackers were drug addicts of one kind or another. Pushers and users, with clothing in varying degrees of cleanliness. Blue jeans, battered sneakers and whatever T shirts they found for free or could steal from Goodwill. As Crash's car slid into the gravel parking lot, all three turned to look at us. Crash was out before it had even come to a stop. He zeroed in on the nearest tweaker, the skinny guy with greasy short brown hair that had been attacking Kris, and sprinted over to him in his human form with surprising speed. The guy stepped to Crash as if to box him, but Crash punched brown hair in the face, the gut, then uppercut him in rapid succession. The uppercut was so violent and hard, you could hear the crunch of his nose as his head flew backwards, and his body crashed into the ground. Blood sprayed out like a squashed tomato. The guy cried out, grabbing his face and holding his nose while he rolled on the ground. While that was going on, I stepped towards the two tweakers who had been kicking the shit out of Sean on the ground. There's a magical spot on your knee. If you hit it just right, your football career is over, and all those fancy commercials that you did when your the star running back of the NFL and star outfielder in Major League Baseball dries up faster than a spilled drink in death valley. Just ask Bo, he knows all too well. The balding blondie took a swing, the I side stepped, and I stomped on his knee in this magical spot as hard as I could. It snapped and crunched like someone breaking celery. Screams echoed through the parking lot as he hit the ground, clutching his knee. While the first guy was falling, the second guy got a lucky shot on my side that sent a jolt of pain up through my back. I couldn't do anymore. I was on the ground next to the first guy, staring up at the sky, effectively out of the fight. Crash literally took two steps, grabbed and pushed him. He went flying backwards, sliding several feet into the gravel. "Kris. Where are the cops," I asked, gasping through some of the pain. "I didn't get to call them. One of them pull a knife," he had limped over to Sean and laid down next to him, holding him tight. I looked back skyward, and saw Crash standing over me. "Are you going to cuddle me, too," I asked. He rolled his eyes. "You'll be fine," he snarled as he pulled out his phone, and began calling the fight in. Somewhere in the distance, I heard tires squeal as a car left the parking lot in a hurry. The three tweakers had managed to limp away and make their get away it seemed. Concentrating on the guys, I hadn't had a good look at the vehicle, but it felt vaguely familiar, like one of the vehicles that had been circling our house the entire time. I looked over at Sean, and he had pulled Kris into a hug. I turned my head and pretended to not hear what they whispered to each other through their shared pain as they tried to console each other. "Crash," I said on the ground. "I missed all the signs. I'm sorry. Everything, every one of them..." He knelt down next to me. "It's alright. I wrote them off, too. I think we were supposed to write them off." "Tweakers. I thought Milton was dead. This is our fight now, Crash." He didn't respond, just looked out towards the woods. I recognized that face. Milton soon would be dead. It felt like the police had taken their sweet time to arrive. But really, it was probably just a few minutes. The ambulance sirens were in the distance. Crash had stood, I think to shift and race into the woods. What happened next will forever be burned into my memory. He took a step towards the road. The car, the beat up brown piece of crap car that we had originally saw, sped by. The pistol was out the window and before crash could do anything, the shots rang out. Four shots. Three missed everything but the trees behind us. One struck Crash in the shoulder. There was a puff of blood, then the shot echoed out. Crash yelped then hit the ground, clutching his shoulder. All three of us stared at him stunned as Crash lay on the ground, crying about how much it burned. "Silver..." I whispered. By the time, I sat up and pulled my own pistol, they were gone. Crash had a silver bullet buried in his shoulder. I could hear the ambulance, but not see them. God only knew how far out they were, or if they could get there in time to save him. |
| Watching Valyur and his new love get aquainted was nice. It was a cute sort of sweetness that you only get from the best and cheesiest romantic comedies. The new lawn gnome was quite skittish of us, which I didn't blame her. The crack in her head that ran jagged down from her hair to her face told a story of cruelty she kept unspoken. I wasn't sure if her crack was healing, or if it was a scar, but it seemed rude to ask. We still had the same vehicles that kept rolling through town and kept the local PD busy. A Sentra from twenty or so years ago that looked as if it was more rust than metal. A Buick sedan from about ten years ago, and occasionally, a posh European sports coupe. German engineering at it's finest and most complicated. The kind of vehicle that someone who grew up without money would think was stylish and sporty when they came into money. Whoever they are, whatever drug or weapons deals they may have been involved with never caused us any trouble, so we did our best to ignore and avoid them. True occasionally they'd slow down near our property, but none of them would stop, none would stare too hard. All three vehicles had deeply tinted windows, so they could have been mooning us with sparklers in their butt cracks and we wouldn't have seen it. The Nissan's tint was bubbling badly, but the tint still did it's job. As much as I end up getting roped into trouble, I figured this was a job best left to local police. After all, I'm not a cop, and I was certain they wouldn't appreciate me defending my home from random people driving around it without even violating the speed limit. Having ultra dark window tint doesn't seem like a capital offense. So, you could argue I was ignoring the issues that was sparking up around us. I still feel bad about that. Like I should have been more vigilant in doing my job. Maybe things would have turned out differently had I been doing my job more. Of I had given those riding around with ultra dark window tint warning shots. Perhaps if I'd have been more careful and doing my self-appointed job in protecting this pack, maybe things wouldn't have turned out the way they did. Regrets. They're like ugly family heirlooms. You get them for free. You'd throw them out if you could, but you know you'll never be able to. They sit in the darkest corners, waiting on the right time for you to see them, and despair. But, I kept myself blissfully unaware of the goings on with excuses, an extra helping of "not my job" and a dose of "Crash doesn't seem upset." The first minor clue that I had been ignoring something big was when that snub nosed .38 was shoved in my face. It was in the evening. I was standing in the middle of the local grocery store looking at items for dinner. Our grocery store is the size of a large convenience store in some places. It has room for just about everything you need, but nothing you'd want but don't need. The isles feels crowded when you walk through them alone with your buggy. But apparently there's at least enough space on the floor to wrestle for your life. Over by the frozen burger patties was where everything started going sideways. The silver of the muzzle flashed in the corner of my eye. My next actions was entirely automatic, thanks to hours and hours of drilling and practice when I was in the mlitary.. I ducked, grabbed the guys arm. The next action was going to twist his arm then strike the elbow so he'd drop the weapon. However, that's not what happened. It was when I grabbed his wrist that I noticed something strange. He was a skinny man, wearing a dirty, once white colored wife beater and what I think was blue jeans, but they were so filthy God or the universe only knows what color they were supposed to be. His face as well as his arms were covered with the typical meth scabs, with his cheeks sunken in, his hair greasy, and his skin shiny from head to just about his toes. The shine was from fryer grease. It smelled like he had gone diving in a vat of used oil in the back of one of those fast food places. When I grabbed his wrist and pulled, the damn thing slipped right out. Before he could shove the pistol in my face again, I tackled him. Most of my military training in hand-to-hand combat was nearly foiled cause of how slick the bastard was. Everything I'd grab slipped out of my hand until I, too was covered in the disgusting fryer grease. He tried raising the pistol. I struck his hand with my elbow and punched him as hard as I could in the face. The pistol slid several feet across the floor. I dove for the gun, grabbed it and aimed. It was here that I found out or little ruckus had attracted a crowd. Five different people had started recording our strange encounter, no doubt to put on TikTok, complete with smiley face stickers over faces, stupid music blaring too loud, and cartoon sound effects. I couldn't shoot him for fear of hitting one of them. Not that the loss of a TikToker who thinks it's funny to record a guy fighting for his life would be tremendously devastating. But the law tends to look down on shooting innocent bystanders, no matter how much they deserve it. I sat on the floor, now covered in my own fry grease, waiting. The cameras' didn't go away. So, I gave them a wave. A one fingered salute sort of wave, but a wave. If I had more grease around, say if it was in a puddle, I would have thrown some on the TikTok jerks. Instead, I sat there on the floor until the police arrived. After questioning, and more questioning, after hearing witness statements and watching TikTok videos, one of which already had over 100,000 views, I was allowed to go home. Being the impromptu unwilling star of a TikTok video was strange and not surprising all at the same time. The only thing I really felt from it, was a numbness and tingling down my leg, that radiated itself into my brain and mood. By the time I finally made it home, I was snarling. Limping to the counter, I set the grocery bags on it. Seeing Crash preparing for his night shift routine, I told him, "Put those up please, I'll cook later." Then I stripped my greasy clothing off and laid down in my boxers. Crash stepped into the room with a panicked look on his face. I could tell he was about to force a shift into werewolf mode, which meant a lot more growling in pain, and painful pops emanating from him. "What," I asked. "Could be nothing," Crash said. "But Zack hasn't made it home." Suppressing a painful wince, I rolled up into a sitting position, and began to check my ammunition. "Should we call Rodriguez?" There was a snarl on Crash's face. Then it began to pop as it stretched, and I looked away. He I could hear him suppressing a moan. "No, they'll just start a war and we'll have to get Zack on our own, anyway. When Kris and Sean get home, tell them to stay inside and away from the windows." With a wince of my own, I laid back down, holding my pistol close to me. I rested my sore hip and back as best as I could, knees up to the sky, head staring straight at the ceiling, breathing low and slow through my mouth. I heard the door slam, and knew Crash had disappeared into the woods. My phone rang. It was a strange number. I answered it, then sat upright as quick as I could. Limping to the door, muttering a prayer that Crash hadn't gone so far he couldn't hear me, I shouted into the woods "Hospital!" Less than a minute later, Crash was back in the house, breathing hard, his ears folded back, a snarl on his muzzle. "What?!" "Zack is in the hospital. He got jumped outside of work." |
| Werewolf healing is strange. Stranger than us regular types. Even stranger than lawn gnomes. Valyur's new girlfriend, Auburn is timid of humans. But it's understandable. She has a scar on her that she won't talk about. It looks recent, and probably from a human. So, I get why she insists on staring at our front door on occasion, or staring at the neighbors as if they're going to go on a lawn gnome smashing spree. The thousand yard stare is one of trauma and survival, not necessarily one of combat. I saw it in her, and understood it immediately. She'll talk if she wants to. Otherwise, we're here for her in our own capacity. A werewolf though rarely has a scar when they heal. And it's done so fast. I understand how a werewolf can eat so much in a single sitting. Crash's paycheck is spent in large part on food. The man is an eating machine. Literally, werewolves are eating machines. It's like magic, they can turn a paycheck into literal crap in a matter of hours. All of that healing must get it's energy from somewhere. A fast metabolism is the perfect place to start. All of that shifting must get it's energy from somewhere, too. That somewhere is going to be a huge portion of food. Meat. Carbs. And of course, hunting. Werewolves seemed to hunt when money is tight. I know they enjoy it, but they do it more when the paycheck is low. At least this is what Crash does. There are times when he eats with us, all he has is vegetables. What I've picked up on is this: he's hunting more then. Knowing Crash, the reason he just eats four or five potatoes and almost a pound of steamed carrots isn't because he's dieting, it's because he's caught and devoured wild game already. Or a wild mythical criminal that I probably don't want to know about. His healing ability and metabolism had me thinking though. Could a werewolf get something stuck inside of them? Would their quickly healing bodies have an object that was healed over? It sometimes happens with people. A woman gets a BB stuck in their backside from a jealous boy. As she grows older, the BB is still there, grown into the skin. Then the boy, now a man has a list of things he wants to make up for, and finds out she's a courtroom sketch artist and....okay, maybe that's "My Name Is Earl". What about those cases of people sitting on a couch so long, they've literally grown into the furniture? Okay, that might be a bad example, too. After all, Jerry Springer wasn't exactly the bastion of intelligent television programming. The smartest thing to come from that show was the Weird Al parody song. Though it was entertaining, I'll give you that. With a werewolf's high pain tolerance and quick healing ability, I can see a case where a werewolf could have a rock, or perhaps a stick or something lodged inside of them, and not even know about it. Would any werewolf have something like that? It brings me back to a memory of one of the first weeks I was here. Crash had that bite taken out of his shoulder, the tooth stuck inside of it. I was able to get the tooth out. Then he healed. His body was trying to reject it somehow, push it out. Perhaps that's how werewolf healing really does work. It sees the foreign object, and begins to push it out. What would it take to scar a werewolf anyway? I mean besides seeing me in fishnet stockings and a Marilyn Monroe wig? That'd be enough to scar anyone. I suppose that's not the kind of scars we're talking about though. But I digress. Maybe severe damage of a kind that would take a human body weeks or months to recover from with an entire team of doctors. Maybe it'd be something so bad that we couldn't see it on regular streaming platforms. Many of a werewolf scars are the ones that dig deep below the surface. It's scars that they hide with a crass joke and a smile. The type of scars that makes regular people wince, tear up, and pat you on the shoulder. On our recent vacation, we did see some of Crash's scars. It had festered in his mind as he attempted to forget and move on. Thankfully, we were able to get him to forgive and let go, rather than forget and move on. Cause, much like rocks, or that BB, things in our own psyche that we try to forget and move on from just lay beneath the surface and fester. Our mind and personality has grown over the damage, but never been allowed to push the object out. The only real solution, even for werewolves, is to dig it out, to push the infection out, and to let go. That's what I see when I look at most werewolves these days. I suppose it's why I can now identify with them. They are, just like me, a collection of scars, hiding from the world with a bad joke and a smile. Perhaps, just like anyone. I guess that's why some werewolves, like Crash, like Mitch, are more human at times, than many regular people I've known. |
| The trip back was as beautiful as the trip out. We took alternate routes, explored roadside diners in small towns. Occasionally, we stopped to snap photos of local hot spots and attractions. There was no lingering though on this leg of the trip. We just kept going forward, pushing ahead to get back home. Crash had changed. A lot of his jokes after the trip home became more personal, but less biting. There had been a weight lifted off his shoulders, which seemed to seep through his personality and into his smile. It was visible to both me and Elouise. The jokes were the fun kind. Those short jabs that flies over and makes you laugh despite being the butt of it. Being the only human there, I got more than most. Considering my ranting nature, I think I deserved it though in some way. Besides, I write the blog, so I literally get the last word. Ha, beat that, Crash! When we got home, it was a relief and a disappointment, the way all the best vacations are. We kind of all wanted to be away at least one more day, but was glad to be able to sleep in our own beds. It's amazing how, when you leave for vacation all you want to do is be gone, but when you're coming home all you want to do is sleep in your own bed, surrounded by your own things. Escaping from stress can be a stress all it's own, I suppose. The house did look beautiful on our corner as we pulled up that evening, I will admit that. Elouise hopped out first. She grabbed her bag, gave me a chaste hug. Then she walked over to Crash and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Thank you both for the nice time," she said. Then she twisted Crash's ear. "And that's for trying to murder someone on vacation." Crash winced and hollered. "Only almost, only almost!" She twisted it a bit then let him go. "Only almost, I swear." Looking at me she said, "Take care of this fur ball." And with that, she headed home. I'm not sure if it was in relief or sadness, I wouldn't be surprised with either. Everything was about wrapped up. Everything save for one detail. Valyur. I had made a promise to our resident lawn gnome. He watch the house, and I come see him after. There was a favor that I owed to him. I didn't forget. Of course I wanted to go talk to him almost immediately, get the scoop on what had actually happened while we were away. But, I had to wait, cause of course, your neighbors will never believe you for some reason if you tell them your lawn gnome is alive and talks to you. So, it was about midnight when I finally got the chance. Valyur met it with the same dignity and understanding he always does. He glanced at me, then sneered, "So, the meatie finally graces me with his presence." "I wanted to come earlier, but the neighbors just see crazy guy sitting in his flower bed talking to statues. I don't want to be chased by guys with butterfly nets." He gave me a look as if to ask 'what are you talking about?'. I just shrugged. "Nevermind." "There's more important things going on then your weirdo meatie shenanigans. Something's brewing, meatie. We have strange vehicles roaming around. Dangerous looking meaties about. All marked up. Got other meaties nervous." There was no reference in my brain for what he was talking about. A dangerous meatie to a lawn gnome is a kid with a baseball bat. So, I made the tragic mistake of blowing off his warning. It could have been exhaustion from the trip. Or subconsciously I knew what threat was coming and was ready for it. For there to be an ending to something that I technically hadn't started. So, I just nodded to Valyur. "The police or Crash can handle them, I'm sure." "Also, I want a wife." That part caught me off guard. "So, I just go to the store and buy a female lawn gnome?" He shook his head. "No! I want to meet them first. Romance them, get to know them better. You don't just up and marry someone out the gate, do ya?" Great. So now he wanted me to take him into the store so he could meet the lawn gnome first. Like what...wander up and down the isle with a lawn gnome hidden under my jacket? Walk him down the isle and tell the statue 'pick out a good one'? Stand them next to each other, so they could talk and flirt in the middle of the isle of the store? "So...am I taking you to the store or..." He gave me the confused look again. I thought he was going to slap me. "No! I don't want no meatie chaperoning me, ya creepy weirdo!" This was getting very strange. "So, why are you..." "I already got a woman. I just need ya to agree to let her stay here. To let us build something." Oh. That made a lot more sense, and thankfully didn't require me to smuggle lawn gnomes into Wal-Mart. I stood and patted him on the head. "Don't take over the entire yard, and don't turn us into lawn gnomes. But sure, knock yourself out. You earned it." As I went inside, for the first time since Valyur had taken this self imposed job of guardian, I saw him smile. It was nice to see. I hope whoever that ceramic nutjob picks is able to keep him in line. He does need someone to talk to on those long nights. He don't think we notice, but we all see he's lonely. It's part of the reason I go out and talk to him. Despite being the crazy guy sitting in his flower garden talking to a statue. The vacation, as disastrous as the trip home for Crash was, was much needed. Vacations are their own stress it's true. But, it's a different kind of stress. The pressures of deadlines, people keeping up with you, having to perform rigorous standing or sitting while waiting. Sometimes a job can be all the bad parts of a Disney world vacation, but without the fun of Space Mountain. All in all, I was grateful to Crash for taking us, for showing us around. And though, he never said it directly, I know he's grateful to us for stopping him. Though, we've all agreed: next time we're just going to see the grand canyon. |
| It felt good to eat again. To laugh again. To have Crash at his normal, weird joking, teasing self. He was going for the jokes that only he'd go for. The strange near double entendre's. The types of humor that works for more mythical creatures but humans generally feel left out of unless you can lean into the joke. My military background is one long lesson in how to lean into a dark, awkward joke. However, things were slightly off. I could feel it, I was pretty sure Elouise could feel it too. It was as if Crash was making a conscious effort for us to have a good time. No joke was too far, no item too expensive. Though, to be honest, it wasn't that expensive of a menu in the first place. After all, it was still a diner. Call it serendipity, call it fate, but we were in the same booth Keith's family sat in when we first saw him. It put a thin pall over everything, that had drained the color temporarily from our lives. My burger was supposedly delicious, but I barely tasted it. Elouise looked as if she had barely tasted her own food. The emotion felt like a thin veneer of paint over an old rotted house. One that was soon to come down. Crash's heavy hand touched my shoulder and he gripped it. Looking me in the eye, there was a moisture there that I saw for a moment. "You know I'd die for you if I had to, right?" "You know you don't have to, though," I said. He turned to Elouise. I could see his hand on Elouise's shoulder as well. "I'm really glad I got to know you," he said. "Honey, you're talking like the condemned," Elouise answered him. Things had started to unravel as they do. Slowly, then all at once. Crash threw a wad of twenties down on the table, and grabbed us, ushering us outside before we could complain. We left, and then started driving towards the outskirts of town. "I love this town. But only to visit, heh. A terrible place to die in." The joke went over like a goose walking over your grave. We pressed North along the highway, pointing towards the interstate. At a scenic over look, perhaps the last one in the county, Crash yanked the wheel over, and stomped on the brake, skidding to a stop a yard from the protective fence. "Wait.....did you hear?" He started to get out. My heart was in my throat. I grabbed his shoulder. "No, Crash. Please." He smiled at me. "Won't take long, I promise. If I'm not back in an hour, follow this road to the interstate. Pull into the nearest gas station. I'll find ya." Then he was gone. "Son of a bitch just had his last supper," Elouise said. I pulled my pistol. "Like hell he did. We're going to find'em." I jumped into the drivers seat and threw the car into drive. It car threw gravel as I pulled a U-turn and began twisting back down the mountain, searching for Crash. It made no sense for Elouise to try and chase him as a Rougarou. In the water, she was far faster and deadlier than Crash ever thought of being. But on land? Crash outran her in his werewolf form. He was also slightly stronger too, and far more experienced stalking the woods. She'd never catch him and never be able to stop him if by some miracle she did catch him. So, we searched together going over every place we got to know in the last couple of days. We tried the park where Damian died. Nothing. We tried all the other haunts that Crash had mentioned or shown us. Nothing. Not at the motel, not at the diner. Not at the cemetery, either. The search was starting to confuse and frustrate me. There is a bit of poetic justice and irony in Crash. He knew I knew it and must have been purposely avoiding any place he'd ever shown us. Out of luck and ideas, we stopped at Crash's grandparents' grave; our spirits dragged down by our failure. Elouise knelt in prayer. Me? I'm not much for that sort of stuff, never have been. But even I in that moment muttered a a passionate request to Crash's grandparents asking for help. I guess that could be called a prayer. As lost and hopeless as we both felt, it seemed the right thing to do. I silently muttered my words. Elouise, finishing her own prayer, then tilted her head towards the woods. "About three quarters a mile due south. Think there’ll be a clearing from the sound of things, though I can't promise ya. I'm gonna take the car. Got an idea." "Okay. If you find bits of me scattered across the forest, beat Crash with a rolled up newspaper." I pulled the pistol, and began running towards the woods. Elouise jumped into the drivers seat and was gone before I ever reached the edge. It was what Elouise had called 'dark thirty'. The sun had set and the blue of the evening sky was steadily blackening like a worsening bruise. The brightest of stars were out already, waiting on their dimmer brethren to wake up. A half moon hung heavy in the sky, just starting it's rise. I silently wished it had been a full one as I crossed over to the woods in the distance. The extra light would have come in handy. It's hard to navigate through trees in such darkness. The daylight died in the forest long before it was done outside of it. I pushed forward, towards growls, snarls: the sounds of werewolf combat. My plan was simple. Stop Crash by any means possible. If need be, get him to attack me instead. Hope the shock of the attack shook out of him whatever the hell had gotten into him. The plan sucked. At best I got maimed, at worst I got ignored while Crash murdered a guy. Either way, I was hoping his heart would just come back from whatever darkness that had swallowed it. I didn't think there was much of a chance of that happening. But, the old saying goes 'a bad plan is better than no plan'. I couldn't stand by and watch, hoping Crash came out okay or that he came to his senses. I had to do something. I marched forward, the sounds of werewolf combat getting stronger, louder. Being as quick and careful as I could, I traversed a small stream, over roots and the occasional fallen tree. The sounds were almost larger than life now. They seemed to reverberate in my bones, telling me to turn back, to not get involved in werewolf business. I pulled my pistol, and steeled myself as I pushed forward, finding the clearing Elouise had talked about, and the results of their battle. Two werewolf warriors stood on opposite sides of the clearing. Crash snarled. His pitch black fur, his claws and teeth glistening with black blood in the thin light. His ear had been torn, his shoulder bitten badly. His back and belly slashed. He panted and bled, but looked better than the other wolf. The other wolf was more gray and a few splotches of brown in his fur pattern, but was mostly covered in blood. His chest, thighs had been slashed deep, his belly slashed. His body shivered in pain. His own teeth was exposed, an ear hung on for dear life on top of his head. They looked like boxers on the twelfth round of a long heavyweight championship fight. "This ends now," I shouted. They looked at me. Then they turned to each other. Crash pointed at Keith, and snarled at him. "Stop holding back, murderer, or it will cost you your life!" Keith gave him a bitter smile. "Aren't you threatening to kill me? When you survive this, it'll be you who's the murderer." I fired a shot in the ground. Neither one looked at me. They leapt. I screamed, I'd shoot. They were too fast. I couldn't shoot either one, cause I could hit Crash, Keith, both. Killing my friend whom I was trying to save and his mortal enemy who's death I was trying to prevent. There wasn't a more helpless feeling in my life standing there trying to stop a match between two creatures who moved, and fought far faster than I ever could. A slash, a swipe, a kick. A grab and a throw. Jaws snapped, bit. There was a headbutt. Knee, twist, and Crash was on top of Keith. Snarling down at him. Crash looked at me, and said. "Turn away." I stepped forward, kicking Crash as hard as I could in the chest. He stumbled back a moment, then leaped forward slamming me to the ground. The wind was knocked out of me. I panted slowly, looking up at Crash. His eyes were full of pain, anger. "Why the hell are you interfering?! This isn't your fight!" "Cause you'd do the same for me if I was fucking up! You wouldn't stand by and let me throw my life away! You didn't before, and damn it, I'm not gonna do that now!" There was a whole speech behind that. But I didn't get a chance to say it. Keith, as injured as he was, tackled Crash. A tackle, Crash easily reversed and pinned Keith to the ground again. Keith grunted softly, the fight leaving him for a moment. "Do it," Keith muttered. "Just do it." I leaped for my gun, Crash had his hand in the air. Clawed fingers splayed out, glistening with tacky blood in the thin light. I fired a shot into the ground. The round passed between Crash's hand and his head. "You'd really shoot me," Crash asked. "If I had to," I said. "Don't make me, Crash, I'm begging you." "You do what you have to," Crash said. Then looked down at Keith. "For Damian," he said. My finger was on the trigger. He was hand my sights, and for a moment, I thought. I'm going to do it, I'm really going to have to shoot my friend. My best friend, the man who saved my life. A tear trailed down my face as I put my finger to the trigger. Keith was looking up at Crash, his own muzzle twisted into a grim grin. his good ear standing upright. "For Damian," Keith answered back at Crash. "DAD!" My heart froze. Crash's muzzle dropped open in shock, his ears folded back as he looked behind me. There at the edge of the woods was Elouise and Keith's two children. His wife was right behind her. "Damian? Sophia?" The two kids nearly ran up between them, but their mother pulled them back. "Laura! What are you doing here?!" "You think I was about to let my husband march off and get himself killed?!" She shouted. Elouise was in full rougarou form, her gator skin was dark and glistening in the thin moonlight of the clearing. She stepped forward and picked Crash up. "This is what I want you to see! You think this is the end of anything?! Listen to your damn grandma! Vengeance never stops until you stop it! Look at him!" She pointed at his son who was now on the ground hugging his father tight. "You don't think he'll be back to kill you when he grows up?! Do you?!" Elouise and I dragged Crash back off of Keith and pushed him against a tree. Well okay, Elouise did most of the lifting on that, but I helped some, too! Crash sat on the ground, his back against the tree. His body was healing. Injuries that'd take me weeks to get healed up was knitting themselves together in minutes. Inside an hour and Crash would look as if he hadn't even been in a fight at all, much less one that was so violent and bloody. Despite all of the insanity and drama, it was stunning to witness. Crash hung his head. He sunk back on his haunches. "But Damian died. He has no children. No relatives. Nothing." "And that's what you're about to leave Damian, Keith's son! Nothing!" Elouise shouted. "You're not healing your pain, Crash. You're not helping yer friend! He's gone! You're just giving your pain to his children! Kids who will come looking for you! When does it end?!" Laura was helping Keith up. The children were doing what they could as well, trying to lift him and drag him away to safety. "Now what," Crash asked. He looked at me. "You know where I was. You know the type of shit I did. You know I've seen first hand the weight of vengeance. Villages and families torn apart for wrong doings that go back literal centuries. You kill him, and that kid will be after you. Where does it end? Is your family going to fight his until your both gone like Damian's?" I gripped Crash hard in a hug. I snarled in his ear "Live in Damian's memory, Crash. Don't kill in it. Your friend wouldn't have wanted that." Crash stood slowly. He walked over to Keith's family. They huddled around him now, and he tried to push them off of him, to get them clear. I could see the fear in Keith's eyes. Crash squatted down in front of him. "You took my friend from me. But more than that, you took his entire bloodline from this planet. He was the last one and I'm the only living soul to mourn him." Keith sighed, his ears twisted down in sadness as he looked to the ground. "You're not the only soul who mourns your friend. I live with the weight of my sin every single day." Crash held his hand out. A clawed, furred hand that was covered in both his and Keith's blood. He held it in front of him. "I forgive you. It's what Damian would have wanted. What the living Damian wants now." Keith looked down at it for a moment in surprise and shook it. Then a look of disappointment crossed Keith's face before he hid it with a smile. Keith took the offered hand, and shook it. Crash looked at Keith's family. Their faces haggard, weary. They had dirt and leaves in their hair from where they had been running through the woods. Some of their clothing was matted in mud from tripping and falling. "I hope you can forgive me one day," Crash said. Slowly, Damian stepped forward. He looked at Crash. Crash's face was drawn down in pain and sorrow, his ears folded back and his muzzle pointed to the ground. "Dad heals quick. Are you really going to spare him?" Crash nodded, a tear falling from his face. Both ears working now. Both folded down in pain. "I forgave him. You don't take back forgiveness." "Then, I forgive you too. It's what friends do." Crash hugged Damian tight. The child hugged him back. Though his mother looked shocked and terrified for a moment. Then he pushed Damian away and stood. We made our way back out of the clearing to the cemetery in silence. When we got back to the graveyard, a familiar SUV was parked near the Cadillac. Elouise nodded to Crash and began to explain. "Yeah, I got hold of yer friends, and then made them bring me to that couillion's family. When I knelt in prayer at ya grannie's grave, it was put on my heart that the only way to stop this was to show you what your anger was tossin away." Crash nodded. "Makes sense." He gave a small sad laugh and shook his head. "Grandma always said I had a hard head. 'Takes a lot of pounding to get something to sink through,' she'd tell me." Keith's family climbed into the SUV. The terrible trio looked at us as Keith's human family climbed into the vehicle. All three of those who threatened us was in werewolf form. They didn't say anything. Neither did I. They just climbed in after Keith's wife and kids, then waited. Keith himself wandered over to me and Elouise. "I suppose I should thank you," he said. "But you're not," I replied. Keith gritted his teeth. A lot can be said in a glance. Keith was still in pain yes, both physically and emotionally. A weight of a sin like his can cost a lot. "You don't know..." he began. "Save it." I said. It was time for tough love. I physically turned his head towards the SUV his children was in. "You live for them. No matter what the fuck happens. You live for them. And you sure as hell don't take a cowards way out of spinning up another werewolf to kill you." "You kill yerself, you're ripping a hole in their lives they ain't never gonna fill," Elouise said. Tears were in his eyes. He had a vicious snarl on his muzzle. "You don't know what it's like. To have to live every day and hear what a great person Damian was. What he did for others. To hear how much of an impact he had, and how big of a hole he left when he died. When I killed him! I do! I have to sit with that every. Single. Day. You don't have any idea the depth of my pain!" "So fucking what." He looked like I had just slapped him. His jaw dropped open. His ears splayed flat. I didn't give him a chance to answer me. "You chose to be hurt. No one told you to be hurt by those words and those stories. You chose it. You can choose to forgive yourself. Or you can choose to hold onto that weight until it crushes you." I forced him to look at the SUV one more time. "Just remember who you're leaving behind if you decide to get crushed." He walked with heavy feet towards the SUV. I know the look of the self-condemned. Those people who have chosen their lives to end but just don't know how to do it yet. Keith had that look about him. I wasn't certain any of mine or Elouise's words had sunk in. We both hoped it would. She prayed it would. I just climbed into the front seat of the Cadillac, and looked over at Crash. "You good?" "You were really going to shoot me," he asked. "In the arm. You could have bitten it off," I replied. He gave me a short laugh. Then started driving. "You know, I'm going to get you back." "You know, yer gonna have to shift back ya varmint. You still look like a reject from a bad eighties horror film!" Elouise shot back at him from the back seat. Crash laughed. "You mean a good film?" We continued the teasing almost as if it hadn't dropped off. We didn't know where we were going to stay that night. We just knew it wasn't going to be in that town. The car pointed north again. Out of the city limits. Out of regular civilization. On toward adventure. |
| The three individuals who picked us up began to "chat" as soon as we got in the SUV. It was the kind of conversation you prayed for long awkward pauses. One where it seemed to meander as much as their driving, but always managed to find it's way into a threat or a dark promise. They made sure not to tell us any names, so I came up with my own. The driver I named Damon cause he kind of looked like Matt Damon. If Matt Damon gained weight, went to the gym a lot, and grew a goatee that was sad in it's own "I wish the 90s were still cool" desperate sort of way. Behind him was a woman I called Hilton, cause she kind of reminded me of a buff version of Paris Hilton. And next to her was Rob. He was thinner than the other two, had a clear enjoyment of electronics, but had absolutely no people skills. The kind of person who would let people call him "Rob" without arguing. The kind of person who didn't understand the purpose of nicknames. Damon did much of the driving, Hilton, much of the threatening. That's what it was. Each story they told, of how the Nobility attempted a raid and they ended up shipping the heads of their soldiers back in boxes to their main headquarters in...well some small town in Europe. I remembered I couldn't pronounce it, didn't want to try, and the conversation kept rolling into their next veiled threat so there wasn't time to catch it. As we got to a picturesque view of their side of the Appalachian mountains, we also got the gruesome details of how they maintained the truce in their town. They drove up one side of the road, and then pulled over to scenic overview, the sort that would make you want to get your camera out. The mountain seemed to open up into a valley, with waves of trees rolling towards the horizon, and a sheer drop off at the cliffs edge. "You see that drop? Not even a werewolf can survive that if you throw them hard enough. We know, we've experimented more than a few times. Took us more than four times to get the drop just right, you believe that? But we now know just how to drop a werewolf right off this ridge right now, and have them both regret their decisions and bleed to death in the valley below before even our rapid healing can save them." Hilton laughed as we pulled away. "You should see the looks on their faces as their body begins to give out. Most of them praying for a quicker death, some of them praying for us to just shoot them." "Yeah," Damon jumped in. "When you're forced to keep the peace and keep trouble makers out, you find fun ways of doing it. We're not the only patrol either, we're just the ones who decided to talk to you." They drove down a highway that looped back around dumped back into the small town. "You see, Jason and Elouise. We have been watching you. We've been watching Crash. We know all about his little meet up. Keith, he's under our protection. The final standing order of Grandma. So, you do whatever you have to do. Convince him, knock him out and drag him. Whatever. Cause if Crash attempts to harm Keith, we'll find how fast a rougarou dies at our cliff on top of her werewolf wannabe boyfriend. And how high a human can bounce." At about this time, the motel rose into our sight. It would have been smarter to listen to their threat. But of course, it's me. I'm not that intelligent. "Eighteen inches," is what I said as they pulled into the parking lot. "Eighteen inches," Damon asked. "Yes," I said. "That's how far the blood splatter travels from the back of a werewolf's head after I've shot them with silver. It's my personal record, I'm proud of it. I'd like to try for nineteen. Any volunteers?" Rob spoke up for the first time. "Crash is standing around the rear of the motel. I think he's gazing into the woods again." Rob continued to play with his phone. "He's not very active right now, I bet he's thinking, worried about you two. He tried to look for you both, you know, after we picked you up. Sad to see a werewolf lose his pack." I did almost pull at that point, but Elouise gave me a look that made me pause. The SUV made a slow trip towards the back of the Motel, where a sad attempt had been made at a pool, one they clearly failed with. It was empty then, save for a small puddle of rainwater at the deep end that was filled with more moss and leaves than water. As we drove up, Crash snarled at the sight of the vehicle. Giving everyone a curt nod, we got out of the car followed by the terrible trio. "Crash, your friend may get everyone killed before you do," Damon said. I pulled my pistol in my typical fashion. All three of their eyes lit up in surprise. "I'm a shoot first, ask questions later kind of guy. Questions like, how long can a werewolf live with silver in their chest. Shall we find out?" Crash did try to step in front of my gun, but Elouise got there first. "Let's not do something fucking stupid." She turned to the three werewolves. "We get the message. Don't kill Keith." She turned to Crash. "You get that message?" Our friend gritted his teeth. You could tell he was warring with himself then. A war that he rarely let us in on. It was a war that Crash always held at bay with bad jokes, worse puns, and pranks. A war that looked as if it had been winning this entire trip. "I get the message. Leave my friends alone. They have nothing to do with this." "Neither do you," Hilton said. "Your own grandmother settled this years ago. Keith is under orders to not be killed. Ever. You harm him, you'll face our wrath, werewolf. You and your pack." As they began climbing into their vehicle, I lowered my weapon, slipping it back into my holster. "Yeah, bye. Please forget to write. Be a stranger. Don't come back now, ya hear?" None of them answered me as they got into their SUV and left. Elouise wanted to tear into me, but I rounded on Crash first. "Could you talk to me, instead of just shutting us both out of this private war of yours?! Since I'm now threatening strangers and being told my life will end if you act?!" Crash ran a hand through his hair, as he looked back into the woods. "I told Keith already. We've moved up the time table. It's happening tonight. You and Elouise get in the Cadillac and leave." I'd never pulled my weapon on Crash before. It was out of my holster before I knew what I was doing. "I'll fucking shoot you myself," I swore. The tear traveling down my face went almost unnoticed by me. "You're not ending yourself over a fucking vendetta! I swear to God, I'll shoot you in the leg, have Elouise bite it off, and we'll drag your crippled ass back home in the backseat!" Crash stepped to me and smiled. It was a smile weighted down with the pain he bore. "You are incredibly fast with that." He placed a heavy hand on my shoulder. "You'll do what you have to. You don't understand. Every where I see, I have memories. Every one of those memories are tainted with the his death. I watched him die in front of me, that's not something you just walk away from." He turned to the woods, his lip quivering, his chest heaving in pain and anguish. "You know what it's like?! Everywhere you look, you have a memory of him. You start asking yourself, 'did he some how know? Is that why he said what he said, and did what he did? Was something in his brain telling him of his fate?' And every fucking time I close my eyes, every time I look out into these woods, I see his face. His favorite beer in his hand. Then I see that bastard taking his head off for the crime of merely existing. There is no more of his family. No children. No relatives or cousins. Damian's entire bloodline is dead. And he gets to live with children. With a wife!" Crash turned on me. "That should be Damian's wife. That should be HIS KIDS! HE SHOULD HAVE PUPS OF HIS OWN! RAISING THEM RIGHT NOW IN PEACE INSTEAD OF RESTING IN IT!" My pistol faltered, then lowered. I took a breath as I holstered it, steadying myself. "Crash, do yourself a favor. Ask yourself this. Would Damian want you carrying around this pain? Or would he want you to let go of it? To live in the peace that he always wanted?" Crash didn't answer. Elouise stuck her own two cents in after. "You know, it's been my experience that retribution is just vengeance wearing church clothes." He looked at the ground for a moment then back into the woods. "I am sorry about how everything is going. Please, forgive me, Jason." "I'll forgive you for trying to get us killed," I said. "But I won't forgive you for us losing that barbecue! It smelled pretty good and those bastards have it in their SUV right now." Crash looked at me for a moment. Then he cracked a smile. "You forgot the barbecue?! How dare you?!" Then he laughed. "Let's go to the diner instead. We'll have a meal there. And then, we'll talk about what we're doing next." "Some vacation," I said. Elouise nodded. "Yeah, some vacation." Crash smiled. "Hey, could be worse. We could be fighting The Nobility." He got smacked in the back of the head for that one by me and Elouise. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that Crash was planning something. His attitude change came on too sudden. As if he had finally decided to do something. His actions seemed to be that of a man wanting his friends to have one last good memory before he did something terrible. Or maybe the actions of a condemned man sharing one last meal. |
| Elouise, Crash and I stood at the edge of the park, taking in the scene before us. Perhaps gathering courage we needed to proceed into the pristine, picturesque summer day. The park had a small lake pushed towards the back that rested against the backdrop of the forested mountain. A trail ran around the lake that wandered off through the trees, which must have been a popular walking trail when the heat got unbearable. A couple of families where already out and about when we arrived, a few children fishing in the lake with what must have been their father. A couple of women with the classic 'I want to see your manager' haircuts walked out along the trail into the woods. And of course, Keith and his family out at their barbecue as well, as if nothing was wrong. Below a large tree that looked like something of an oak to my untrained eye, his two kids played with a Frisbee. His wife stood by watching while a portable smoker sat on the edge of the picnic table Keith sat at. He appeared to be keeping an eye on the contents while watching his kids play as if it may be the last time he got to do so . His little girl and young boy laughed and smiled as they threw the Frisbee, occasionally teasing each other. They played as kids who are approaching their teenage years do, with the enthusiasm of those enjoying the last moments of the spring time of their lives. His wife almost pissed herself when she saw us. The initial fear gave way to frustration and anger that was quickly hidden behind a polite southern smile. We smiled back, trying to be as unassuming as we could. Which went over about as well as you'd expect. "So, you're the three here to kill my husband," she said almost congenially, though she never introduced herself to us. "He killed my friend," Crash said. The polite smile grew thin, wearied as fear and anger nearly won out on her face. But it came back with a vengeance, almost like a woman quietly reminding herself of a verbal battle that must be won. "You must be Crash," she said, and shook his hand. "We are sorry about the loss of your friend." Before Crash could say something snarky in response, Elouise handed her the tub of store bought potato salad we grabbed on the way over. "I'll take this on over with the other stuff," she said, looking relieved to be away from us. We made our way over to the picnic table. The tree, the table, everything about it seemed to anger Crash. Not just the family itself, but as if when Crash approached the tree, the table, a scene was playing out in his head. A vicious scene that part of me was glad I didn't have to witness, and part of me wished I could have been there for, with pistol at the ready. Keith smiled and motioned for us to sit down. "The choice wasn't on purpose, I assure you," he said to Crash. Crash could only nod in response. "Seems fitting, if you ask me." Keith turned and shouted at his son, "Damian! Come here." Crash looked as if he'd been struck. The child came running up, and sat down next to his father. "Yeah, dad?" Part of Crash appeared as if he wanted to touch the child's face, to ensure that the child was real or not. His breath caught, and then he inhaled again, reminding himself to breathe. He nodded to Crash. "Meet Crash." Damian's eyes went wide. He swallowed hard and looked down as if scolded. "Are you here to kill my daddy?" Keith ruffled the kids hair a bit, and said "Now, now, I told you not to say that." Damian whispered in his dad's ear. "Mommy said to say it." Keith hugged his child tight. "We won't be fighting today, Damian, I assure you." Turning his face back to Crash, his mask of politeness fell for a moment, revealing the shame and pain Keith must have been feeling. "Damian, tell Crash the story of your name." The child looked embarrassed. His little head ducked his head down. "Daddy did a bad thing," Damian said, his voice soft. Keith nodded, his eyes trained on Crash with the same shame, the same pain. "How bad a thing, big guy?" The child whispered. "Very bad. He hurt someone." Crash growled. Elouise put her hand on his for comfort. I patted his shoulder. "No, not hurt. Killed. In this very spot, Damian. What was his name?" "He was named Damian, too." He hugged his son, a tear slipping from his eye. Then he asked, "Why did I do it?" "Cause daddy wanted to get away from the mean wolves. The Nobility. They said the wolf who killed Damian and ended the poisonous bloodline would get whatever they asked." Crash gritted his teeth, his jaw bulging out from the effort. He took breaths hard and fast through his nose, as if he was on the verge of shifting. With eyes wide in fear, Damian pleaded "Please let me finish the story, mister Crash. Please don't hurt us!" Taking a few deep breaths, Crash nodded. Damian continued. "Daddy loved mommy. They called Mommy a mongrel, said she was part human. So, daddy wasn't supposed to love her. But daddy did anyway. The heart chases what it wants, we can't conquer it, just tame it. That's what daddy says, anyway." Damian took a couple of deep breaths, steeling himself. It looked as if he could almost see it happening. He said "So, daddy did the bad thing. Then, he went to The Nobility, barely alive after. The Nobility lied to daddy though. They said he couldn't leave them. He was going to be given an assignment far from mommy, instead. Live alone in exile." "Then what did I do," Keith asked. "Fought the bad wolves. Killed the one that lied. And ran." "That's right." He hugged his child tight, and kissed his head. "You're named after a noble wolf Damian. One who did not deserve the fate that I gave him." He turned face his son, his eyes holding unshed tears. "He didn't want to fight The Nobility. He wanted to live in peace. It's why you have his name. In honor of him, Damian. No matter what happens, live in peace." He looked up at Crash and said, "Don't continue old fights." Damian hugged his father tight. Then he walked over to Crash and gave him a hug. Crash went stiff, his whole body rigid, as if he was being hugged by a poisonous snake. His arm carefully went around the small child in a polite, gentle touch. Almost as if he was unsure of what to do. "I'm sorry daddy killed your friend. I'll be your friend if you want." Keith struggled to keep from both yelling at and clutching at his child. With careful, measured words he said, "Damian, go play." When Damian and his sister had wandered away from the tree, Crash said in a hushed snarl "what the hell was that?" Keith looked down at the table for a moment. Perhaps to gather the right words, or maybe to gather the strength to say them. "I did you wrong. For that, I am deeply ashamed. He was named in honor of your friend and to remind me daily that some duties are wrong to accept. The wolf who called for your friend's murder is dead. Killed with my own teeth and claws in partial penance. That marked me. This is the only sanctuary we have. If we venture out of this town, The Nobility will kill us. All of us." Crash stood up, his fists clenched and arms trembling from the effort. "This changes nothing. You still carried out the mission. By rights, you die. By grandma's law, you die!" The growl was loud enough, that everyone around our spot stopped and turned. The two children looked as if they'd been slapped and scolded. Crash looked at them, a touch of shame passed over his eyes before he stormed off. He jumped into his Cadillac and sped before anyone could stop him. I looked at Elouise. "That was new. He'd never just left before." She patted me on the shoulder in response and didn't say anything. Keith spoke up. "We can give you a ride, it's no problem." I gave a sharp bark of a surprised laugh. "Thanks, but I think it's best we keep you two separated right now. I don't even want you near our motel." He nodded and grumbled. "Yeah, Perhaps that's for the best." We watched the kids for a while. They were playing with that old Frisbee. But with far less gusto. As if they were forcing themselves to do it. "You aren't exactly fighting him off here," I said. His eyebrows went up, in surprise. "Oh? Having him meet my family, see my kids, hear the story from my child's mouth is not trying to change his mind?" Elouise's glare could cut through glass. "Where I'm sitting at, it's spinning him up. You don't act like a man trying to stop a fight. You act like a man spoiling to start one he wants to lose." She was right. Keith was acting like he was trying to start the fight, not trying to calm it down. Most other people would have called the cops, avoided the other person. Or God forbid, simply left town for awhile until the person who wants to kill them leaves. True, leaving town might not have been an option for him, but the other two certainly was. What was the plan of genius boy at the picnic table? He stepped right up to Crash, almost challenged him to bite his head off right there in the parking lot of our motel the day prior. Then he introduces his family and reminds Crash, in the very place his friend died mind you, of the violent act that had occurred, with a hang dog apologetic look on his face. Like a remorseful murder walking the last mile on death row. "Most people who kick a hornets nest run, not just stand there," I said. Keith's wife must have over heard us. It was right about then she stepped up, with a challenge in her eyes, and a polite smile on her face. "Well, it's almost time for food. Y'all gonna stick around?" Before I could say yes, Elouise jumped in. "No thanks, we better go check on our friend. Y'all have a good barbecue though. Nice meeting y'all." She smiled as if Elouise said the right answer. "Well bless your hearts, I'll fix you a plate to go." We walked over to the road. Keith walked up holding three paper plates, each one had another plate on top to try and keep the food warm. "Thanks for coming by." Of course, it's me. When have I ever let someone have the last word? "I've seen this before, in my previous job. Regret kills too, Keith. Kills more people than cancer." The older werewolf just nodded, and walked back towards his family, holding his head high like he was trying not to appear like the whipped pup he looked like just ten minutes prior. We turned away from the park and walked a while, Elouise and I. Neither of us had the feeling that we were being watched. Eventually though, our observers made themselves known. A large lifted SUV pulled up and drivers side window rolled down. "Hey furchaser. You and your Rougarou get in." There was three individuals inside it. Each one of them was of course, werewolves. They had the size for it, the shape of it, and the attitude. What could we do? Elouise and I climbed inside. We hoped we were just hearing them out, and not riding to our doom. |
| Elouise stood out by the road, her hand on her hip, a phone in her hand. Thumbs flew fast over her screen as she pulled up a ride sharing app, searching for a trip back to the hotel. The snarl on her face matched the snarl in her stance. She was a woman who wasn't prepared to stand by and watch her friend make a tragic mistake. Her protest, though silent, rang loud and clear in both mine and Crash's ears. She stood at the edge of the parking lot, glaring into the thick trees on the other side of it, almost daring them to say or do something. It was in the heat of the day. That meant you got the thick, wet, sticky humidity blanketing you with it's warm hug. A thin sheen of sweat was on all of us at that point, though tempers were running hotter: Elouise in her righteous anger, Crash in his righteous vendetta, and me in my own frustration. Crash ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He half walked, half stormed up to Elouise. It appeared as if he wanted to seem strong, but guilt pulled at his features, weakening the image. He looked down at her, as she continued to stare at the trees, refusing to look at him. "Get in the car, we're not going to abandon you down here." "No, I won't be a party to you throwing your damn life away over some blood feud. You want to murder someone, you're doing it alone," she snapped. He growled through gritted teeth and turned back towards the car to calm down. We were getting nowhere fast. We were hungry. Hot. Thirsty. And Crash did just threaten murder someone in a diner. We had gotten nowhere, and spent too long to get there. Figuring it was my turn, I tried to help. I walked up to her, and leaned in to speak in a conspiratorial whisper. "You know, you could always go along and try to change his mind." "Nothing will change my mind," Crash said from afar. "Stop listening in ya damn fuzzy eavesdropper," I snapped. She rolled her eyes, but gave the faintest whisper of a smile. Seizing on it, I whispered, "I don't want him to do it either. I need your help to change his mind." "Nothing will change my mind," Crash snapped from by the car. "STOP EAVESDROPPING!" we both shouted at him. Crash snarled something and sat in the car. He started it up, and began playing a punk song behind us. "Please? For the pack. You're practically our den mother, we need your help. You know what will happen to him if he goes through with this." She sighed, and snarled. "You bunch of hairless apes with that annoying fuzzbutt back there need a den mother." She looked at Crash. A look passed over her, as if she was warring with something. She looked back at me with an annoyed look I'd seen many times on Sarah when we were married. "If he doesn't change his mind, I'm biting his ass." She stormed back to the car and climbed in the passenger's seat. I climbed in the back and patted the seat in front of me. "We're good, dude." Crash turned the song down. He turned towards the road, and stopped at the exit of the parking lot. "You better not bite me, cause I'm not changing my mind." Elouise and my hand smacked down on his head as we both shouted "STOP EAVESDROPPING!" The car pulled down the highway. Every memory he had of his friend being there was cast in a dark cloud by the presence of the stranger in the restaurant. Elouise was still angry at him, but seemed to have come around to my way of thinking on things. I understood where she was coming from. Sometimes it's best to stand up to your friends when they're doing something wrong, even if standing up to them means walking away. But, it appeared she saw where I was coming from too: sometimes it's better to show them there's a better way, then walking away. Though my way was going to be much harder. The tour through the town turned sour, and many of the places went unspoken of. We could see the pain and anger on Crash's face. He almost seemed to be wondering, how many of the places him and Damian, a wolf that was like a brother to him, was now being enjoyed by the wolf that killed him? The shadow that covered Crash began to cover all of us. The wandering started to become a bit aimless, roaming more towards main highways than small side roads we were taking in the search of food. We eventually found a drive thru, and headed back to the motel, hungry, road weary, hot, and more than a little annoyed. When we got back to the motel, Crash's target stood out by the shade of a tree, away from security cameras. His van was parked next to him near the edge of the cracked parking lot, his arms crossed, his head down. A soft smirk was on his face. It was the quiet smirk of one who is pretending they're in control. The Caddy rolled towards the man, parking next to him. Before me or Elouise could stop him, Crash was out of the car, his chest pressing into the man, a snarl on his face. The smirk on the stranger grew wider. "Crash, you still have a taste for American boats I see." A low growl began to rise in Crash's throat. Crash was three inches taller than the stranger. The man grabbed him by the collar and pulled him towards his level. "Careful pup, I may not be part of The Nobility anymore, but I am still quite skilled." My weapon was out faster than I'd ever pulled it. It had surprised the new werewolf into dropping his practiced smirk for a moment. "Get your claws off him, or I'm sending your kids a new wolf pelt." Elouise stepped in front of my shot. "Stop it! Stop it all of you! What in the hell is wrong with every one of you? Out in broad daylight no less, doing this madness." The new guy smiled and released Crash. "Rougarou. I thought I smelled your kind around here. Name's Keith." Elouise held out a hand. "Hell must be frozen over and Satan's selling sleigh rides. I never thought I'd see the day a member of The Nobility would stoop to shaking claws with a Rougarou." Keith laughed. "Yeah. Me and the Werewolf Confederation have parted ways a long time ago. A difference of opinions. If Crash took my head like he wants, he'd be doing a lot in The Nobility a great favor." Closing the small distance between the two, Crash said, "I'd be doing Damian a favor too, wolf." Keith's eyes went wide for a moment, and he backed up a small step. The smirk did not return, and the pain that had replaced it felt and looked real. "That was a regret. Do you care to hear a tale?" The growl in Crash's throat surprised everyone, even me. "No." "When," Kieth asked. "You die three days. You know where." "Midnight then," Keith said. "On one condition," he added, almost as an afterthought. "What," Crash snarled. "Tomorrow. Noon. We meet at your grandmother's park. You will look my family in the eye. Since you are determined to leave them without a father, you must look them in the eye first. And listen to my story." For a moment, I didn't think Crash would take up Keith's proposal. I know, I wouldn't. Of all the people I've had to kill in my previous occupation, I didn't ever go to see any of their families, before or after. Something felt off about it. But Crash surprised me a second time when he snarled "fine," and turned back to the motel room before anyone could reply. Looking at Keith, I said, "You expected to die here." He snorted. "You have a talent for the obvious, human." With a practiced and careful move, I slid my pistol back into it's holster, and hid it beneath my shirt again. "And a talent for observation. Any member of The Nobility, current or former, don't call them 'The Nobility'. In fact, only those who disdain their existence calls them 'The Nobility'. What happened?" Keith arched an eyebrow. "Well detective, come with your friend tomorrow. Find out. Bring a dish, we're having a barbecue!" As Keith got into his car, I looked to Elouise. She shrugged, "Guess we're going to a barbecue for a guilt trip. I'll grab some potato salad." I watched his car leave with Elouise at my side. When he pulled out of the parking lot, I said, "I know I'm not as experienced with all of this stuff as you two, but I've never seen a member of The Nobility just leave them." She shrugged. "Normally, they don't. They're executed as traitors if they manage to get that far. Most, if they stop believing in the cause, just find a cushy small area somewhere with little Nobility influence and live almost like regular werewolves. Occasionally being forced to pull an odd job or two for them." "Makes sense, which makes this so much stranger," I said. "Why's that," She asked, turning back towards the motel. I followed her. "He didn't just take a small cushy assignment somewhere. He left." "You think that's going to change what Crash wants to do to him," Elouise asked. "No," I answered. "But it does complicate things. I just don't know how." |
| We had been into the trip for about a day when the fight started. The fight had come out of no where, and felt like it was a big one. A dam of emotion that was holding back so much wreckage had finally broken free, and we couldn't help but be swept away by it. The first day was filled with friendly banter between us three. Jokes and jabs filled the old Cadillac as much as song lyrics. Elouise taught us some newer country songs and old rap tunes neither of us had known. Crash and I taught her a few rock songs he hadn't heard before. Before long, we all three where rocking and swaying along with the beat in the car, belting out lyrics till we were nearly hoarse, each one of us feeling fifteen years younger. Somewhere in Tennessee, where the mountains broke into their picturesque vistas painted with the setting suns delicate brush, an argument had begun about who was the stronger mythical: gator or wolf. This contest of course had to be settled. So, we were off on our first detour, chasing down frozen watermelons. Cause, according to both, they were the cheapest and best proximity to the density of a human human head one can find without having human heads. "Why don't we have a contest we can all participate in," I grumbled as the detour entered its second hour. "Why sugah, you can always volunteer as the test subject," Elouise smirked. "Just brush your teeth first," I shrugged. "Gator breath will kill me before the bite will." That earned me a punch in the arm. But she did laugh. We ended up around one in the morning in a town near the Tennessee border, a town I've been told to not reveal the name of. This town made Crash gasp. "We're staying here for a day," he said. Then it was off to find a hotel or motel for the night. Motels are always iffy and never on my first or second or even third choice of accommodations. For me, a motel ranks right above sleeping on the street and below sleeping in your car. At that motel we had chosen last night, the rats and roaches took the room charges for us, carried our luggage and demanded a tip. Dust and neglect needed to be evicted from the room before we could settle down. Though, at least the mold had been kept to a single corner in the shower. To be fair, I had stayed in worse places. At least that Motel had a complete roof. Some places I'd stayed in I could literally sleep under the stars if the bed was in the right spot. It had a bed that didn't squeak too much, a shower that at least had hot water, and clean sheets. There was a breakfast buffet too, but none of us wanted to brave it. Elouise summed up our feelings best when she said "Whatever the hell they made in there will probably come bursting out of our chests like in that damn alien movie." We wove through town, searching for breakfast, and still hunting for frozen watermelons. Or just a place we could rent with a freezer to freeze them. The large Cadillac rolled slow, as it rolled back in time for Crash. He didn't see a small town with it's people, pleasures and problems. He saw a life once lived. Large trees and old houses held the shadows of memories running across their lawns. Friendly faces who had long ago grown up, moved away, or just died out came alive. "I lived here three years," he exclaimed. "Then we had to move again." He told us tales, many of which I agreed to keep out of the blog. Tales of friends, of meeting neighbors. When we came to the town square, he pulled the Cadillac to a stop near an old building that looked as if it had been bought by a couple of old hippies and turned into an herbal shop. Large plants hung over the windows, and a vine of some kind was allowed to grow wild over the wall of the old gas station. The two rusty old pumps sat out front, but in the globes where gasoline had once been there was now an atrium of some kind built. The small grass and flowers grew up while the top was covered in moisture, pulling the drops down into it. "This used to be an old cafe," Crash said. "Me and Damien, we'd come here after school." The memory grew dark for him for some reason. I didn't ask him why. I put a hand on his shoulder, while Elouise pulled him into a soft hug. "Damien, he had this way. I didn't know how he did it, but every day he'd come here, and he'd get us free sodas. Sometimes he'd talk the owner into a slice of pie too, though, that wasn't often." He smiled into the memory a bit, and you could see his eyes chasing shadows of himself and Damien across the old cafe. "Come on," Crash said, after a moment breaking from the memory. "I got someone I want y'all to meet." The road wound through the mountain, passing by old businesses and new. The prefab pop up construction of corrugated steel and the old wood and brick. As we wound by a Wal-Mart, we crested a hill and dove down, towards a large old church, with an older cemetery. Crash walked us both up the hill, towards a very old Grave. I promised not to reveal where the grave is or what is written on it, but I can reveal what was printed on it. On the tombstone of the couple in eternal slumber, one had a wolf sitting over her, as if it was in mourning under a moonlit night. The other had an old engraving of a cross. Between them was the words "Vengeance does not live here." "This," Crash said. "Is my grandmother, and grandfather. They founded this town. It was founded on a simple promise. The wars of Europe does not come to this place." We stared at the grave stone a while, letting the somberness settle upon us like a warm hug. The breeze blew gentle through the tree in the distance shading the cemetery. Eventually, Elouise asked, "Why the slogan? Vengeance does not live here?" "Because," Crash said. "My family suffered the most during the civil wars in Europe. When she came back here, refugees from both sides settled in. The fighting, well, it could have easily sparked right back up. And instead of the peace everyone was searching for, we'd have the same old wars, just on new shores." "Very poetic, dude," I said. Crash gave me a look, then continued. "They fought with that singular promise. That this community could be a place of peace no matter where you came from, what your lineage was, or your species. That everyone could find a home." The words written in stone held a promise of some kind and a wisdom. The cryptic message hiding a greater truth from our very souls. As we left the cemetery, the thought of lunch came up. Crash had known this diner on the edge of town, where him and Damien had apparently had plenty of meals as kids. We were in good spirits when we approached, the laughter suspended in air with our teasing. "You gonna ask for a pound of meat this time," I nudged crash. "Heck, I'm gonna ask for two," Elouise smirked. I couldn't help it, I had to say it. "You gonna do a couple laps in the pool first, and have them toss it at you?" She punched me in the arm then. That girl can hit. The fist seemed to find the bone in the right spot to make me cry out in pain. Crash laughed at my joke, and the punch. "If you do, I'll get my meal in a doggie bowl." The smile and bravado on him stopped the moment he opened the door to the diner. Sitting in the back in a corner booth with his wife and two kids was some unassuming guy. No one I'd ever seen before. He looked to be the polo shirts and driving range type of person. In the military they'd be 'the soft spoken church on Sunday and NCO club or Officer's club on Friday night' type of person. A growl built up in Crash's throat at his sight. Elouise's hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him out of the diner. "I don't know what the hell you're lookin at, but if'n you wolf out here, we're all cooked." For a moment, Crash looked as if he was going to shuck her hand and fight the guy anyway. But eventually, he pulled back, storming off to the edge of the parking lot and glared at the front door of the diner. I stood in front of him. "Talk." Crash looked between the two of us. "That guy is responsible for the death of my best friend. A werewolf. He's nobility. And he doesn't belong here." Elouise crossed her arms, and stood on her back foot. A look I've come to know as meaning you're in trouble. "Oh really now? What the hell happened to 'vengeance don't live here' and all that bullshit?" "It'd be a mistake," I told Crash. "Killing him would be retribution," Crash snarled. "You weren't there. That asshole tore his head off, clear off his shoulders, in front of all of us. None of us attacked. None of us was going to attack. He died because of who his parents were." Elouise spat back "Yeah? That sure as hell sounds like vengeance to me. But what do I know?" He snapped back, his fingernails looking more like claws. "Nothing! Cause you're not a wolf!" The glare between the two of them could have frozen the sun. She finally snarled "You're right. I'm not." Storming off, she grabbed her bag from the back of his Cadillac, and then got on the phone to call an Uber. I turned to Crash. "You know I'll back your play. But, maybe this is a bad idea. We came down here to get away from this shit for a few days. What say we blow the nostalgia tour and head to the beach?" "No," Crash snarled. "He's dying before I leave here. Either your helping, or your walking." He stormed away, leaving me stunned. I'd never seen Crash this upset at one person before. Something terrible had happened, a terrible thing he'd harbored a secret grudge for all these years. Me, nor Elouise knew how to stop him. And I wasn't even sure if she wanted to try. |
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