Lycanthropy: Charlotte's Story chpt 9

I woke up at about five o’clock and I opened my eyes facing the bedside table. Facing that long, narrow package. It was wrapped exquisitely, silver paper with bright pink ribbon. Slowly I reached for it and laid it on the sheet beside me. I teased the ribbon out until it collapsed, allowing the paper to fall away, no sticky tape held it together. Inside was a dark wooden box, the catch a bright, brilliant silver. With mounting anticipation and confusion, I opened the box to reveal something that dazzled me. A fantastically crafted blade shone up at me, its point razor sharp. The actual blade was about twelve inches long, the grip about four inches. Holding my breath, I picked it up, my hand closing around the crafted handle like it was made for me. There was a hole at the top of the handle for my index finger to slip through. Everything about it was perfect- it was the right weight and length in my hand and it just felt- right.
I spun off the bed and made my way to the busy kitchen, the gleaming knife snug in my right hand, the silver paper clutched in my left. When I entered, it was a little busier than I had imagined- Jerry and Taylor were both there, seated with Penny and Niko, Harriet pouring coffee.
I hesitated.
“Um. Did you-?” I held up the silver paper to Harriet who only looked confused and stared at me.
Niko looked up. “What’s going on?”
It seemed he was talking to me again. I held up the silver paper again, now regretting bringing the knife with me. I addressed the room.
“Did someone buy me something?” I asked quietly, now dreading the answer.
Jerry looked up sharply, waiting for an answer. People shifted uneasily, slightly embarrassed, muttering “no”.
“Did you get a present?” Jerry asked slowly, watching my face carefully.
I nodded.
“No card?” he prodded. He reached out and took the paper from me.
I shook my head. He shook his own in response.
“It’s from him, isn’t it?” I asked softly, knowing already.
Jerry nodded. “I would think so.” He said. He searched the folds of paper. “What did he give you?”
I help up my hand bearing the great blade and Penny gasped, dropping her spoon. Jerry pursed his lips while Taylor gaped.
“Where was it?” Niko asked in a low voice.
I glanced at him. “It was on my bedside table.”
“He’s been inside your room?” Penny yelped, shuddering.
Harriet threw her tea towel down. “Jerry! What’s going on?” Her face was anxious, but there was a certain tone of blame in her voice.
Jerry sighed, looking at me. He bit his lip then coughed. “I’ve heard of this only once before, about- a different Wolf King.”
I blinked at him in confusion. “There have been others?”
“There have been very few, but yes, there have been others.”
There was a brief silence while we digested the news.
“Why haven’t you ever told us this?” Niko’s exasperated voice cut through the tension.
“It doesn’t matter! Jerry- it’s happened before?” Penny’s soft voice visibly calmed the men; Niko turned and smiled at her appreciatively, taking her hand.
Jerry glanced at me before beginning. “It has, only once that I know of. The Wolf King Sitius- he was from Italy- was known to deliver presents to his most prized- victims.” He glanced at me guiltily when he said the last word. “He would give them twisted presents- dead flowers, jewelry with gems missing- I believe he once gave one of his conquests an old fashioned musket before he killed her.”
“Conquests?” Penny repeated, shuddering again.
She was ignored by the group.
“So you think he gave Charlotte the knife to rub it in that she won’t win, no matter what she has?” Niko asked, his voice shaking with anger.
“It’s a pride thing, a taunt?” Taylor asked with interest.
Niko glared at him but he didn’t seem to notice.
“Sort of,” Jerry mused. “I think it’s up to the individual, some like to mark their victims, to frighten them- almost to warn them. It makes the victim feel even more helpless; by leaving the gifts in places they thought they couldn’t possibly get to. Like Charlotte’s bedside table. He obviously had to enter the room to leave it there- a place she considered private, even safe.” He cast me a disapproving look. “You obviously sleep with your window open?”
“It’s summer!” I replied, indignant.
He sighed. “Of course.”
The heat had been insufferable again. The house seemed to have become a furnace over night.
Taylor was still gazing intently at Jerry. “So, tell me. There were other Kings?”
Jerry glanced at him distractedly. “Yes,” he looked back at me, worry in his face. “What will you do now?” he asked me.
“This Sitius fellow- how was he defeated?”
“Mr. Taylor! May I bring you back to the present?” Jerry shot an impatient glare across the table. “We have a serious situation!”
Taylor looked bashful and kept silent.
In answer to his question, I raised the blade and admired it. “The way I see it- it’s just another weapon. I’ll go looking again tonight; maybe I’ll get lucky.”
“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” Penny asked me, glancing at Niko. “Doesn’t it kind of seem like he’s, well, luring you out?”
Jerry nodded. “It’s definitely a taunt of some kind.”
Harriet had said nothing. “I think it’s a good idea to stick to routine. Go out again tonight, like normal, show him you’re not afraid if he’s watching.”
“I think she’s right.” Niko looked at me, his expression hard.
“Niko!” Penny’s voice was disapproving. “She might get hurt!”
“I don’t think so.” I said, lying through my teeth. “I feel braver with this thing in my hand.”
“I thought you said it was just another weapon.” Harriet remarked quietly, watching her hands clasped tightly on the table. Again, I couldn’t tell what she was thinking.
It was just another weapon, but a beautiful one. It was true I couldn’t stop looking at the blade- the way it reflected the light was dazzling. Saying I felt braver having it with me was a bit of a corny exaggeration. I was kidding myself if I really believed that- it was going to take a lot more to make me feel brave.
“I’m glad we came over.” Jerry said quietly. “Would you like to do some practice before you leave?”
I smiled gratefully, anything to take my mind of what was coming. “Sure.”
“But you normally leave now.” Niko said, glancing at the clock. I couldn’t work out his tone, but I think he thought I was trying to put off leaving.
I brushed him off. “I don’t think he’d show up early, anyway. If anything, he’ll come late, when I’m tired. It won’t matter if I don’t leave for another few hours.”
“What makes you so sure you’ll find him?” he asked. I caught the suspicion in his tone this time.
I shook my head thoughtfully. “Somehow I don’t think he’ll be too hard to find.”

After
Sparing with Jerry had left me feeling pumped up and excited. I should have been scared shitless, in know. It was a warm night, fairly still; the moon was like a big yellow incomplete dish in the sky, not quite full. I remember staring at it in wonderment before sliding down my windowsill, stumbling a little as usual when I hit the crackling grass below.
I stood there for a moment and thought back over the day. I hadn’t done a lot. What if it had been the last one? I had considered calling Mum, but that was almost an act of defeat, so I didn’t do it. Maybe I should have. Kept her in the loop, you know.
I walked the path slowly, my nerves building the closer I got. My palms were itching when I finally stopped and searched the clearing carefully.
“I thought you might not come.” His voice sang out to me from behind. As I turned, he fell gracefully from a high tree branch to land squarely on his feet beside me.
His hair was lank and dirty, framing his face and giving him the appearance of a homeless man. He hadn’t shaved for the occasion either, the stubble dark along his jaw. His eyes were slightly mad as they gazed at me.
But he was very still. Quiet and still, watching me intently. The way his body was angled, the way he looked at me, was full of hostility. There was no mistaking the anger, it was marked in every line of his body.
He stared up carelessly at the moon, but I couldn’t help but only stare at him. He was absolutely captivating- scary and breathtaking at the same time. The clearing was bathed in the moon’s glow so I could see perfectly well- my fear of the dark vanished.
He suddenly pulled his gaze away and locked eyes with me; I had just enough time to see a flash of bright green in his eyes and then he punched me hard in the stomach.
I soared across the clearing, the wind knocked from me. I had the last second advantage of spinning my body to land correctly the way I’d been taught, but I still hit the ground with a painful thump, wincing. He was there before I’d even risen to my knees. He lifted me up by the shoulders only to punch me full in the face. I copped a few more before my body even seemed to process what was happening to it. The blows were powerful and staggering. Then they stopped for a split second and my brain finally kicked in.
His next assault was stopped with my own arm, held up horizontally like a baton. I caught his punch in the forearm which felt like it snapped on the impact; I had no breath to scream. Before he could react, I swung my body to the right and slammed my left fist across his face with all the force I could muster. It was like hitting wet sand. I felt the flesh beneath my skin was soft, but the overall effect wasn’t there- his head didn’t snap back and he didn’t cry out.
I must admit I stared in shock for a moment. Too long. He threw another club fist at my head and I spun to the left just in time. I was too slow. The blow caught me on the shoulder and I fell to my knees, facing away from him into the trees. Blood was flowing freely from my nose, and it was coming down my face from somewhere in my hair, too. Pain shot up my arm.
I turned my head to see him stride forward, black anger on his face as he rose his hand again. I turned my head away; I was in a prime position. It seemed to happen in slow motion. I could hear him coming- hear his boots thudding on the grass. I reached for the silver blade as I was turning to face him, and he was right there, my left arm reaching to grip his hip as my right arm swung up forcefully to bury the blade up to the hilt in his stomach.
He flinched. Blood gushed out over my hand and I let go with a mutter of disgust and shock. As I let go, I gave the blade one last push, to try to get him away from me. He didn’t even sway. His mouth was open in semi-surprise and he raised his hands awkwardly to grip the knife’s shining handle. He made a small choking sound when he yanked it out, the blood pumping out freely now.
His eyes flashed that bright, metallic green, like a cat’s eyes when you shine a light on them in the dark. He didn’t fall, or stumble.
I gaped in horror as I watched the wound repair itself, the blade now held firm in his hand.
I recovered just as he took a swipe at me- I heard the thwang of the knife in the air as I rolled to the left, pushing myself to my feet as I went. I turned, raising my right foot into a rounded kick which he caught, holding my foot in mid-air. He leant in close and slashed at my throat. I pulled away awkwardly, a scream of fright escaping my lips. I felt the knife slice through the flesh on my upper arm, but then I was braking away. Both feet now firmly on the ground I threw another kick which caught his wrist in just the right spot, sending my blade flying toward me. I took a roll and caught it easily- for a second I marveled at my own training and reflexes.
I stood and hurried to find him. I turned a full three-hundred and sixty degrees until I saw him, standing directly behind me, waiting. The blow to my face was the most powerful yet, sending me straight to the ground, gasping for air, my hand against my cheek. I could feel the blood leaking through my fingers, dripping to my shirt. I was losing.
With a groan I sat up, gazing at him with a certain lacking of fear. I was in too much pain to care. He came and knelt beside me, gently pushing me back against the grass. He looked at my swollen face and then my arms quietly, detachedly. I must admit I began to cry. No sobs, just silent tears. I think I closed my eyes, just waiting. Nothing came. I opened them awhile later to see him walking away. My blade lay beside me. I struggled to make my throat work.
“Wait.” I murmured, startled at the pain it took to speak.
He turned and walked back to me, gazing down. I was satisfied to see he had a cut on his cheekbone and a black eye, though he didn’t look too fussed about it.
“Wait.” I said again, gasping. He pulled me to my knees and I swayed and cried out in pain. My arm was on fire, and my chest felt like it was slowly being crushed. My face was numb, which I was thankful for.
I tried to sound determined, fierce. “We’re not finished yet.”
He tilted his head like he didn’t understand. He reached out and poked me, hard, in the shoulder. I screamed. He turned to leave again.
“No!” I cried. He smiled at me, waiting.
I decided to taunt him, and I made my voice scathing as I said, “You can’t even finish it.”
He snarled, charging back to me. I cried out as he yanked me mercilessly to my feet and dragged me to a nearby tree, holding my against its trunk by pressing on my throat with his hand. I had managed to snatch up the knife and held it now, tight against my side out of his sight.
His face was black was rage, his nose screwed up and his mouth a bitter twist, revealing glistening white teeth. Snarls were erupting from his chest as he glared at me. I could barely hold his eye contact- the pain was grabbing at me, blaring inside me, screaming to be heard. My hands were desperately tugging at his around my neck, but for all the good it did, I may as well have been painting his fingernails.
“Do it,” I muttered through gritted teeth, barely breathing.
His own breathing was hard, deep breaths sucked into his lungs in between snarls. He shook me violently with his hand so my whole body trembled. My throat was on fire.
He suddenly released his grip and I collapsed to the ground. I gasped for air, my chest heaving. Sweet, fresh air filled my lungs as I greedily gulped. He watched me closely, his snarls settling.
He crouched beside me.
“You shouldn’t have let me go,” I slurred. “Should have killed me when you had the chance.”
His face was clouded with something, I couldn’t tell what. He bent closer to hear me, and I pulled my hand up a second time. With surprising strength, I buried that blade once more, this time in his chest. I’d aimed for his lungs, in the hope that a puncture as well as a bleeding wound might be enough.
He gasped as it went in, his face filled with shock.
His eyes flickered from the blade’s hilt to my face.
“This was a gift.” He whispered, his eyebrows were pulled close together, his confused eyes focused back on the blade.
I didn’t know what to say. I was barely breathing, staring up at him on my side as he knelt beside me.
“Gift…” he said again, looking into the sky. The moon was high above us, just looking down, completely in partial. His fingers fumbled on the hilt, but he didn’t have enough strength to pull it out. He made a horrible gurgling sound and lay flat, fallen beside me. My pain was dimmed as I watched him. I was focusing on his chest, the way it rose and fell in that strange, jerky way. I lost consciousness soon after that, as I watched him die.

I don’t know how long we lay like that, our bodies bleeding beside our greatest enemy in the dark. When my eyes fluttered open, it seemed not a minute had gone by. The clearing was still lit up by that gigantic moon, the trees around us still hidden in shadows. I rolled to my right and a shrill scream escaped me.
Gasping in pain, I looked down at my arm. It had felt as though it had been shattered when I took his punch, and it was. I could see shiny, pearl white bone through my broken flesh, and my stomach rolled. I felt faint, and I wondered how much blood I’d lost. My other arm hardly looked any better, and a thought crossed my mind that made me laugh a little hysterically- how would I get up if I didn’t have any working arms?
To sober myself, I looked across at my fallen foe. His face was ashen, and he was still. I sighed with regret and sadness. What had I done?
Whimpering, I crawled closer to him, being extremely careful not to knock my body unnecessarily. I leant across and took his cold hand in mine. It was then that I saw his chest move, the movement was so slight that I thought I might have imagined it. I blinked and then stared, holding my breath for what seemed like minutes until I saw it again. He was breathing. He wasn’t dead.
I could hear him, too. I think the pain I was feeling had dulled my senses, and I couldn’t hear him. I heard him now- it was a rasping, sucking sound that made me shudder. I lay there, listening to him die and I felt the tears run down my cheeks. I couldn’t do it. How could both of us die? What good would that do? Because I knew there was no way I would survive to tell the story- I wouldn’t make it back to Harriet’s house, I wouldn’t even make it to the hospital, not unless they found me right now. And they wouldn’t. It was probably only a few hours since I’d left the house. They’d wait until dawn to search for me. My body.
The tears were flowing steadily now, and what’s funny is they felt like they were cleaning my face- washing the blood and dirt from my cheeks. It was all becoming peaceful, and it occurred to me- what a beautiful place to die. The moon was so awesome above us; laying on the grass with those ghostly trees surrounding us. I wasn’t even alone. I turned to look at him again. That noise he was making was ghastly. It made my stomach clench it was so awful. I shuddered again.
I lay, not as peacefully as I had thought, because the pain still gripped me. I couldn’t find a comfortable position for my arms- they wouldn’t lie flat and screamed when they were elevated. In the end, I settled for them to lay across my chest. It wasn’t much better, but I had run out of options for them. I felt sick, like I might throw up. I was cold; I shivered. My eyelids fluttered as I watched him, but I made myself stay awake.
That noise! I couldn’t bare it. He was so white. I couldn’t bare for him to feel so much pain- the pain I felt was bad enough without knowing he felt it too. I could see my knife’s hilt protruding obscenely from his body. I stared at it for such a long time, watching his chest give that tiny jerk every now and again to show he was still breathing. I agonized over it, I thought out all the scenarios; what would happen if I did it?
I squeezed his hand with as much strength as I could muster, watching his face. There was no sign of life there; his injury had been worse than mine. That sucking noise again.
Suck, suck. I groaned, listening to it. It reminded me of fishing, when the fish was flapping wildly on the line when you brought it out of the water- and then it lost the fight and it just gasped a lot. You’d think it was dead, and then it would give another desperate gasp. And it would be longer and longer until the next gasp until it didn’t do it again and it was finally dead. I dreaded that happening to him. His face was so pale, and looked even whiter next to his dark hair. His perfectly carved lips were parted slightly, and they too were drained of colour. Suck, suck.
I groaned and leant over with my better hand to grasp the blade. I screamed in agony with the movement, my silent tears becoming sobs. I lay half across his chest, gasping, trying not to scream out again. Suck. I took a few deep breaths, watching the silver of the blade and then I pulled it out. It made a horrible slick sound as it slid from his body, and the nausea welled up inside me again. I clamped my lips closed so I wouldn’t be sick, collapsing onto his chest, heaving. The pain was unbearable. I shivered.
It happened within seconds, just like it had the last time. The first I knew it had worked, was when I felt and saw his chest fully expand beneath me. A big, deep breath was taken into his repaired lungs, fuelling his body.
I gave his hand a feeble squeeze. God if it couldn’t be me, let it be him, I thought. I would have smiled if I could have, feeling his chest rise like that. I closed my eyes and thought of sleep. Peaceful, painless sleep.

His body jerked and half rose beneath me and I gasped with pain. The jerking stopped. I heard his breath, felt his hand grip mine. With one last effort to communicate how I was feeling, I whispered his name, in the hopes that he would hear. I don’t remember anything after that.