Consequences (33 page)

“Do you promise to show me the men that
killed her? Once, I would have been able to see them in your mind …
but I can’t see anything, anymore. I can still hear that everything
you’ve told me is the truth; but the truth can be subjective … I
wish I understood why I can’t see into your memories.” Christopher
holds back his frustration very well … good thing, too, because I
am not about to let down my block on Cassandra’s mind, or her
visions.

If he’s weakened … I wonder how powerful he
is at full strength. He knows that there is something odd
surrounding Cassandra’s mind, something impenetrable, something not
to be trusted. His perceptiveness gives me an odd sensation in my
nerves. What he fears is strange too; not something I can mimic
physically, nor can I easily manipulate it mentally. His fear isn’t
for himself at all. Cassandra is wrong; he’s not afraid of a life
without Ellie … He’s afraid of himself without Ellie in his life.
Every ounce of his energy is focused on not hurting strangers …
that can’t be right.

I can’t remember when I have ever felt this
way before: the confusion, and the inexplicable adrenalin begging
for me to run. I’m fighting my own body, forcing myself to stay
still under the window.

I can’t stop my mind from buzzing inside my
skull; and the more I try to remain calm, the more my muscles and
joints ache to move. I don’t know how much time has passed before I
hear a vehicle pull up in front of the building. The chances of my
discovery are multiplying by the second, and I feel a purely
irrational pain cut into my abdomen. As the stabbing ache starts
pulsing out across my ribs with every rabid beat of my heart, I
resituate my position, preparing to flee.

The muscles in my legs start to jump, trying
to push me forward out of my crouch. Ignoring the twitching, I
press my stomach hard against the ground. One car door slams and
then another; the sound ricochets in my ears, making my heart skip
painfully. Shifting my ears to tune in the noises from all
directions, I distinctly hear the scratching of claws running
across the floor in the room behind me. By the time I hear the
crash against the bedroom widow, I am already on my paws and
running. One quick glance over my shoulder, and into the eyes I
find watching me from the cabin, almost stops me in my tracks. She
is so bright that she makes my eyes hurt; and when she starts
barking, the sound reverberates through the ground, touching my
soul, inside the ethereal mist. I know at that moment, that white
wolf is going to taint my nightmares forever.

“Time to hide, time to disappear … maybe it
is time to return to hibernation.” Fear, panic, and a complete loss
of control … I’ve never felt this from my own being. Insanity,
utter madness, I think I may have left a piece of my heart back
with Christopher. And that hellhound will never let me get close
enough to touch him. Trembling, I’m overcome by the yearning to
touch him. Whatever is wrong with me, I can’t let this win, or it
will lead to my annihilation.

Focusing on the pine needles that are poking
into the pads of my paws, while trying to forget the fire in my
muscles, I run. Exhaustion sucks at my breath in great panting
gulps, and my tongue feels as though it is going to crack from
thirst. I don’t know how much distance I cover, but it feels good
to run the anxious energy out of my system. After the initial panic
attack passes … I still press forward; and as I come to a stream
the urgent need to drink is the only thing to stop me. Sticking my
front paws and my muzzle into the ice-cold water, soothing my sore
pads and my tongue, quenching my desire; but in losing my forward
momentum, I also lose the will to stand. Crashing down, splashing
and soaking every inch of my fur, I fight the current until I
remember to relax, allowing my soul to pass back through the veil,
where I can fly.

**~~**

**~~**

After climbing out of the truck, I walk
around and offer a hand to Ann. She looks at it like it's a snake,
but grabs it nonetheless, and even smiles a little as she pulls
herself out through the door. Leaning around her to reach in for
Lune, I can feel the pressure of her touch as she runs her hand
down my side while ducking out of the way. A smile forms on my face
at the prospect of my mind recording every trivial contact made
with Ann … I’m becoming a Silly Putty moron, in her hands.

My mind is swimming with Ann’s fragrance so
that I barely notice Lune’s weight in my arms. As I turn to face
her, a number of things hit my senses all at once, which
immediately pulls my head out of the clouds. Ann’s expression turns
perplexed as she tilts her head trying to see around the corner of
the cabin. From my angle, I can’t see what has caught her
attention. I can only make out the square of light, from
Christopher’s bedroom window, shining on the dark ground. Paranoia
turns to shock, and I almost drop Lune, when I hear the loud thump
from inside the cabin. The sound is quickly followed by claws
scratching on glass, and Artemis barking out a baritone threat.
Slamming the truck door awkwardly with my knee, I turn and run past
the edge of the cabin, afraid of what I might find. I clumsily skid
to a stop at the sight of a large, black wolf sprinting away
towards the woods. Lune starts rumbling against my chest when he
sees the wolf's head turn to look back, and its eyes reflect the
light from the window momentarily. The eyes are scarlet, not merely
reflecting red … they are on fire, generating heat. Its fur stands
on end as it focuses momentarily on Artemis, but it keeps running.
Faster than any wolf I’ve ever seen, it disappears into the
trees.

In awe, I whisper, “What the hell was
that?”

“I don’t know what it was, but I do know it
wasn’t V … could it have been a member of a local pack?”

I jump at her answer; still edgy from the
strange wolf’s appearance, I hadn’t realized that Ann had moved to
my side. “No … I’ve seen, and helped tag, all the local wolves. We
don’t have any that look like that one. Its head was too broad, the
eyes were set too far apart … black with a red undercoat, white
diamond on its chest. No; it definitely wasn’t from around here. I
guess it could have migrated from up north, but it would be an
idiot to cross into Ursa’s hunting area.”

I don’t feel comfortable mentioning the
wolf’s extraordinary eyes, just in case what I saw was a trick of
the light … or my mind. Even as I am writing off what I’ve seen,
some part of my mind is reminding me of the Inuit Ijiraat folklore.
Stories that state, those evil creatures could be identified by
their red eyes; no matter how hard they tried, they could never
hide their burning eyes.

Trying to conceal an involuntary gulp, I
mentally berate myself for jumping to conclusions about our odd
visitor. I don’t want Ann to think that her world is too much for
me. I’m becoming attached to her; and I never want her to think, I
can’t handle being a part of her life.

Having my own reasons for not mentioning what
I saw, doesn’t stop me from wanting to know more. “How do you know
that wasn’t V?”

“Simple … you could see it.” I scoff at her
matter-of-fact tone. She is right; maybe being alien to her world
has its benefits.

Shaking my head at the irony of my
inadequacies actually being helpful, especially when I’ve never
felt more helpless, I walk into the cabin, so that I can put Lune
to bed. Ann follows close behind, placing the bag with Lune’s pills
on the table. Without looking at her, I can tell she is studying
me. After releasing my burden onto the pillow closest to the wood
burning stove, I scratch behind his ears and go to the kitchen to
find something to make him more comfortable. Grabbing the paper
sack off the table, and the jar of peanut butter off the counter, I
prepare Lune’s medicine, and try to avoid looking directly at Ann’s
probing eyes. Hiding two tablets in a spoonful of the gooey paste,
I return to Lune and casually scoop the treat into his mouth. He
thumps his tail on the floor as a show of thanks, while swallowing
the glob of peanut butter whole. Standing up, watching him try to
lick the last little bits off his lips and the roof of his mouth, I
stretch my arms and try to rub the soreness out of my biceps. In
the intensity of the moment outside, I hadn’t noticed the strain of
the big dog’s weight … now though, I am starting to ache.

“Here, let me help you with that … I was
wondering how long you could hold a hundred pounds of awkward dead
weight, before it took its toll on you.” Ann motions for me to sit
at the table with her.

As I take a seat in the chair across from
her, Ann pulls my arms out in front of me and starts to gently dig
her thumbs into the muscles of my forearms. It feels good, and my
arms start to loosen up relatively quickly, but I still avoid
looking into her eyes. I think that if I give into the questions on
her face, she’ll become insulted and leave.

Questions hang in the air: why are you
suddenly so withdrawn? Why did you scoff outside, did I say
something insulting? What did you see out there, anyway? What
aren’t you telling me? How can someone diplomatically say: your
world is driving me nuts, and I believe that I'm starting to
hallucinate -- because being exposed to you, and your kind, would
drive any sane person into the loony bin. No; I am not going to say
that to her. So I close my eyes and focus on the sensation of her
fingers touching my skin.

She must have understood that my reaction
means I don’t want to talk, because she doesn’t ask; even though, I
can still feel the questions dangling between us. Ann’s soothing
massage must have been unwinding more than my arms, because when
Christopher surprises us by opening his door, neither of us
responds by jumping.

Coming over to the table, he flops down in
one of the chairs, and casually drapes his arm over the back. No
matter what he is trying to project in his forced, relaxed posture
… we can easily see the strain on his face. He glances over to the
sleeping dog, and sorrow crosses his expression, “Lune? Is he going
to be okay?”

Ann is the first to answer, and explains
everything in detail. Christopher nods seemingly pleased … I can
see the relief washing over his tense shoulders. Today, he only has
to deal with losing one friend … and what a loss. For a moment we
all sit sobered, looking at the giant husky as he sleeps
peacefully.

Without saying a word to Christopher, I get
up and raid his freezer, looking for frozen soup broth. Finding
what I am after, I dump it into a pot on the stove … he is going to
eat whether he likes it or not. Giving the broth a chance to melt
and warm through, I think it will be a good time to ask what we are
going to do now. Apparently, I am not the only one that sees this
as the opportunity to plot our next move.

As I move back toward the table, I notice Ann
pushing out the fourth chair in such a way that I am sure she is
offering the seat to Cassandra. I am caught in the middle of the
feeling of belonging to this unusual family, and the discomfort of
being the odd man out. Ann must have picked up on my uneasiness,
because I hear her voice echoing on the inside of my eardrums,
“Sit, we need your input, your unique insight … I’ll speak for her,
like before.”

I nod and retake my seat, thinking how
incredible it feels to be needed and wanted by this unlikely
threesome. Christopher snorts and starts to shake his head,
“Michael, man … you kept me alive so that I could fight another day
… not only do we need and want you, we won’t be able to survive
without you. I believe that, with every fiber of my being … so
please, stop thinking that you’re an outsider, because frankly
you’re depressing me.”

I join in on his snicker; looking into his
sunken eyes with their red rims, the sarcasm about me depressing
him, is an irony that almost reminds me of the old Christopher ...
almost. The light I’ve seen in his eyes, when he and Artemis found
Ellie in their dreams, is almost completely gone. Instinctually, I
recognize in him, a character trait that scares even the most
hardened, law-enforcement official … he wholeheartedly believes he
has nothing left to lose. And a man with nothing else to lose is
extremely dangerous, to everyone around them.

Everything suddenly becomes very clear as I
look at his sullen expression … he woke up out of his comatose
condition and came out of his room for one reason: he is going to
avenge Ellie. When he said “we won’t survive”, he meant Ann and
Cassandra; his survival isn't even on the table. He thinks he is
already lost, not suicidal necessarily, just mortally wounded with
only enough energy left to do one last thing … hunt down those
responsible for Ellie’s murder.

He is reading my expression as intently as I
am analyzing his, and as I come to my conclusion, he nods his head.
In some way, we have struck an agreement: I am to look after Ann,
protect her … while he disappears. I don’t agree with that
contract, and I emphatically shake my head in response. He smiles
weakly, and I remember his immediate need for sustenance. Silent
discussion abandoned, I get up to fill a bowl with soup, and grab a
couple pieces of bread.

Setting the food down in front of
Christopher, I turn to ask Ann if she would like some, too. “No
thanks … I would take another beer if you have one.” Then with a
sly look, sliding her eyes between Christopher and me, she
continues, “If you two are done flirting … could we, please,
discuss what happened today?”

Throwing her a look of mock insult, I break
into a snort at the innocent expression on her face. Grabbing a
couple beers from the fridge, I sit down and hand Ann one. “All
right, back to business … first things first; do we think that V is
going to return?”