Starfall (26 page)

I look at the boy and then the girl, and both of them have the mark of Orion, three stars just above their hips. Except for their gender the children are identical, until I see another marking on the boy's foot. It's almost invisible, but my wolf's vision can see that he bears another birthmark, this one in the shape of a golden sun, this one a gift from my friend. This small imperfection on the boy's skin is a message from Jess showing me that he will remain protected by the spirit of the Omikami while being raised by Nadine. Once again and maybe for the last time, Jess has crossed dimensions to help me, to guide me when I need her most.

Crying for myself and for the baby girl that I'm holding, I offer the child to Vera. Just as she takes the girl, the transformation overwhelms me, and I crash to the floor. I can hear Winston screaming in the distance, so I know that I'm changing before their eyes. Despite the pain, I've got to reach out once more to Vera before she vanishes with Nadine's daughter! She must hear me.

“Please . . . protect . . . her!”

I don't know if I'm hearing Vera's words or if I'm listening to her thoughts, but she promises me that she will. She also promises me that I will be repaid for restoring balance and carrying out Orion's wishes. I don't care about any of that right now; I just want to get out of here. A hospital room is no place for a wolf.

Luba couldn't agree more.

“Listen to me,
animal,
” she silently speaks. “Get out of here. Get out of here now before I forget that we have a truce!”

Trust me, Luba, you'll never forget!
Just like Jess will never let that child be harmed!

Outside I gulp down the air, and it tastes as sweet as the freshest carcass. I'm about to run off to lose myself in Robin's Park when two smells wrap themselves around my snout; the scents are dissimilar, but both are familiar. One is alive and luscious and vigorous, and the other is decaying and bitter and harsh. I lift my head, and in the distance I see two humans whose faces I instantly recognize.

The girl with skin the color of mud speaks first.

“Dominy?” she asks. “It's me, Arla. Do you recognize me?”

It takes a moment for the memory to burrow its way through my fur, but yes, yes, I do. I breathe deeply and recognize her clean scent, pure and good. But I choke when the pale-skinned boy walks toward me, and my paws claw at the dirt; I want to dig a hole, cover my body with the cold earth to escape the foul odor that clings to his body. There's something wrong inside of him; I can smell it. He's like a diseased animal.

“Dom, it's me, Archie,” he says.

No, it isn't! You're an imposter; you've become something different. You're trying to hide from it, you're trying to disguise yourself, but looking at you now with wolf eyes, I can see through you; I can see through the masquerade. My howl is plaintive and sad and a warning to this boy and those around him that everything is about to change, even more so than it already has. Not everyone pays attention to my message.

“I don't care if you run this facility, Winston. I want you gone!”

I know this woman too, the older one with the blond hair. There's a foul odor clinging to her too, but hers is stale; it's been a part of her since her birth. Not like Archie's; his scent is new, and he has chosen this repugnant fragrance.

“Melinda, p-please,” Winston stutters. “N-not with that thing out there.”

His cowardly voice is pathetic. I have to prevent myself from racing through the air and pouncing on his back, digging my claws into his flesh, and ripping out his throat so I don't have to hear his whining any longer.

“Oh sometimes you make me sick, Winston,” Melinda replies. “Look at it; it's nothing more than a harmless girl playing dress up.”

The immoral are always such idiots.

“I-I've seen what she c-can do,” he continues. “L-let me protect you.”

A bemused smirk lights up her face. “Do you actually think I need
your
protection?”

Winston takes a step closer to Melinda, but she moves away so her back is pressing against the front door. “B-but I l-love you,” he says.

The sound of the woman's laughter is deafening; it roars through the air like a snowstorm, widespread and strong and touching everything in its path, the trees, the ground, the air, until there's nothing left to listen to.

“Are you that stupid to think that I care that you love me?” she asks. “Or that I could ever love you?”

“B-but you said . . .”

“I said I needed you, that we needed to work together,” she clarifies. “In the beginning you were a diversion, but seriously, Winston, you disgust me. I had so hoped that after we got rid of Napoleon I would never have to see you again.”

I can see the black roots grow slowly in Archie's hair, sucking away some of the pure white. A similar change takes place in his eyes, a black line runs the circumference of his violet irises, round and round until all the color is replaced with darkness. Arla can't see any of this; she can only see Archie's body bend forward like the weight of Melinda's words is resting on his back.

“Archie, what's wrong?” she asks. “Are you all right?”

Finally, Melinda notices that they have company.

“Oh dear God, you two again!” she exclaims. “Stop stalking us! Napoleon's dead. There's no reason for you to keep coming around!”

My growl is meant to be a warning, but all it does is get them angrier. Listen to me, you fools! I'm trying to save you! Get inside!

“Oh shut up!” Winston screams. “I've had enough of you!”

“Don't talk to my friend like that,” Archie says.

His voice is like two pieces of rough sandpaper rubbing together. He doesn't sound anything like the Archie I remember.

“Now you're going to give me orders?” Winston asks. He's trying to cover up his cowardice with bravado, and all it's doing is getting Archie angrier. “Let's hope Nadine's boy doesn't grow up to be like Napoleon, right, Melinda?”

The woman doesn't answer because she's ignoring him; she's much more interested in watching Archie allow the beast that's been hibernating within him become unleashed. Just like her daughter moments earlier, Archie is about to give birth to another living creature.

“I mean, let's be honest,” Winston says. “We w-wouldn't want the newest member of the family to be another f-faggot, would we?”

Winston is still looking at Melinda for approval or positive reinforcement or just a glance, so he doesn't see Archie leap through the air like a torpedo, but he definitely feels Archie's fists slam into his chest. The impact is so strong it hurtles Winston backwards onto the front steps of The Retreat.

“Archie, no!” Arla cries.

But Archie can't be stopped, not now that he's allowed the evil within him to breathe, to come alive, to control him. It's ironic that he's infused with Nadine's power, because the same power that killed Napoleon is now the power that is defending him. Life really is all about balance.

“Get . . . off . . . me!”

I can hear Winston's bones break every time Archie punches him. I can hear the blood start to gurgle in his throat. I can hear his spirit struggle to remain attached to his body.

Lunging forward, I clasp my mouth around Archie's ankle, not too harshly, not even to draw blood, but enough to pull him off of Winston. Archie, however, is determined to do more damage, and he shakes his leg wildly until I lose my grip. By the time I make contact with him again, he's grabbed Winston, lifted him up, and thrown him several yards away so he lands headfirst into the sign in front of the facility.

I can hear a faint sigh coming from the man's unmoving body, but no one rushes to his side to try and bring him back to life, because another soul has returned from the grave.

“Archie.”

The boy's voice is coming from the girl's body, but it seems completely natural to everyone except the boy's mother.

“Napoleon?” Melinda asks, stumbling backward and grabbing hold of the railing on the front steps. “Napoleon, is that you?”

“Does it matter?” the girl/boy asks.

Through the darkness the woman's face begins to shine as if whatever goodness is still lying stagnant in her soul has rushed to the surface, and for a moment it looks like she is going to run toward the girl and hug her, squeeze her so tight that the boy trapped inside of her pops out and joins the rest of us, but just as quickly the shadow returns; darkness has once again melded into the contours of the woman's face.

“No,” she replies. “I guess it really doesn't matter any longer.”

“Just as well,” the boy says. “I've nothing to say to you, Mother. I've come to speak with Archie. And please don't act insulted; I know you're relieved.”

Arla walks up to Archie and grabs him by the shoulders so he can't look away.

“Archie, look at me. Please walk back into the light.”

“I can't see any light, Nap,” Archie replies, shaking his head. “Only darkness.”

“Because you're not trying hard enough,” Napoleon replies. “You're giving in to what's easy, what makes the hurt go away.”

Archie grabs the girl's face with his hands roughly, tenderly, but he's looking into the soul of Napoleon.

“It doesn't ever go away. Don't you understand?” he cries. “The only time it gets better is when I give in and lose myself, when I let the blackness take over.”

“But you can't do that, Archie! Please trust me, if you do give in, you'll lose yourself forever.”

Suddenly Archie pushes the girl away from him.

“Maybe that's what I want,” he says. “To lose myself and forget everything.”

Arla reaches out and grabs Archie's hand; she lifts it to her lips and kisses his skin softly. “I can't forget the guy I fell in love with, and neither can you.”

Holding onto Arla's hand desperately, like a lifeline, Archie begins to cry. “I'm afraid, Nap,” he says through his tears. “Without you I'm so alone that sometimes I don't want to survive. I just want to lie down and fall asleep and never wake up.”

“Oh, Archie, please don't talk like that,” Nap begs. “You have so much life ahead of you, so much light and goodness and joy, but if you give in to this . . . if you give in to what my sister did to you, you'll be just like her.”

But he already is. Winston's stopped breathing.

I don't know if Archie can see the man's spirit rise out of his body, but he suddenly turns away from Napoleon to stare at the fresh corpse. When Archie's expression changes from interest to fear to horror, I know that he is fully aware of what he's just done.

“Oh my God . . . no!” Archie cries. “I killed him! I killed Winston!”

The stillness in the air is interrupted by the odd, unnatural sound of applause.

“And finally,” Melinda declares, “one of you children has done something that I can applaud.”

And Archie has done something that he may never be able to forgive himself for.

I can smell Archie, but I can't see him.

Turning left I follow the scent. My snout twitches uncomfortably because I want to push the odor away. I'd much rather bury my face in the snow patches that cover the ground and revel in their freshness, roll my body around in their unstained, clean scent, but I can't; I need to follow the other smell, the one that reminds me of fragrant violets that have begun to rot from being in the sun too long. The violets bend, giving in, letting decay take over because they don't realize salvation is only a rainstorm away. Archie needs to know that it's about to rain.

I know that he wants to be left alone, that he wants the entire world to forget that he exists, that even he wants to forget that he exists, but forgetting doesn't change anything; I know that all too well. Ignoring the past, wishing that it didn't exist, convincing yourself that it was nothing more than a dream doesn't erase it; it only delays the inevitable, the day when the memory returns and refuses to be pushed aside. I need to find my friend and make him understand that running is not a solution, it's just an interruption.

A gust of wind throws the foul stench into my face, and an involuntary growl attacks the unseen assailant. My neck twists, cranes to the left, the right; my snout pushes against the offensive air before I can control my body, get it to stop and let the rancid smell wash over me, let it pass to reveal what it's covering, the fragrance of a blooming violet. Fresh and alive and hopeful. The scent is still there; it's just shrouded in noxious fumes.

The howl that pierces the cold night is not impulsive, it's deliberate. I want my voice to be heard not only by Archie, but by the moon and the stars that are shining madly in the sky as well. I want them all to know that they are not alone; there is someone here who will never give up fighting, who will no longer run out of fear, who refuses to remain silent. This creature, this wolf, this girl has had enough with destruction and havoc and death. It's time for the healing to begin.

I still can't see Archie, but I can hear him. His breathing sounds quicker than his movement, so his body may be trying to convince him to stop running, reminding him that the world is too vast a place to be outrun.
Listen to your body, Archie; let go of your fear and be still; let the world catch up to you so it can help you heal.

Gracefully I step over a cluster of rocks and then sidestep the sharp edges of a hollowed out tree that must have fallen to its death decades ago. Injury will not prevent me from reaching Archie; nothing will, not even his desire to remain unfound.

“Leave me alone!”

The childlike fear in his voice makes me lose my footing, and I slip on a piece of ice, sliding to the right until the trunk of a particularly large tree stops me. I don't know if Archie is shouting at me or at the demons in his brain, the dark black energy that Nadine unleashed into his body, the energy that won't settle for anything less than total domination. But it doesn't matter why he's shouting. I have to reach him.

With renewed determination he's on the move again, and I hear the snow crunch underneath his footsteps and the snap of weak branches, but I have his scent in my nostrils and his sound in my ears, so it's only a matter of seconds before I will have his body in my sight. A few moments later when that finally happens, when Archie has finally given in and stopped moving, I'm not prepared for that sight. Even covered in fur, underneath the armor of a merciless hunter, I feel pity.

He is crouched on all fours, his hands and knees buried in snow, and I see his head dangling from his neck, a stream of sandy-colored vomit pouring from his mouth. When the foul-smelling liquid stops flowing from deep within Archie's gut, a tremor grips his body, making him shake so badly that his hands slide forward and his head dips closer to the vomit-stained ground. Whimpering and moaning, he swings his head from side to side like a pendulum, but the movement is interrupted when another wave of nausea rips through him. His neck bulges and widens; I can see the veins pop out on his flesh as his mouth opens as wide as it possibly can, as if he wants to scream so the entire universe will hear him, but no sound emerges, only another stream of vile-smelling liquid.

His chest heaving, Archie sits back on his haunches exhausted. I can see the sweat trickle down the side of his face, and a long string of bile that is latched onto the corner of his mouth rests on his chin until a sudden wind lifts it so it ripples in the air until it finally breaks free from its host and soars away on its own. Archie's tear-stained eyes watch it with envy as it rises higher and higher until it disappears from view. I know he wishes they could trade places; I know he wishes he could fly away and melt into the sky, become part of the unseen tapestry of the world. But he can't; he's still back here on earth with me.

I circle Archie, and he doesn't even notice me. His vision is too blurred by his tears, and I'm sure his mind is too confused by images of Winston's dead body. He's staring straight ahead, but seeing nothing, only the past, only the moment when he gave in and stepped over the line to join Nadine in her world. I have to connect with him; I have to let him know that he can still step back. But is it too late? Has his time finally run out? Has Nadine actually won in recruiting another member to join her army? It would be somehow poetic; on the same night that she lost one child to Orion, she's gained another. No! I can't accept that; I will not accept the fact that I've lost one of my best friends forever, not to her!

My growl sounds more menacing than I want it to be, but that's okay, if it'll just get Archie's attention. Make him turn and face me. But nothing; he's still watching the loop in his mind, how he sprang forward and attacked Winston, how he didn't let go until Winston's body went limp and fell to the ground, how we all watched the life seep out of Winston's body like air wheezing out of a balloon until it was a lifeless mass of flesh.

The third time I circle Archie, his eyes blink. I take it as a sign, and I stop in front of him; maybe my physical presence can block the mental images ravaging through his mind. Slowly, I see the haze lift, and Archie's eyes focus on mine. He's still confused and afraid and ashamed, but he's present. I'll accept it. I refuse, however, to accept his request.

“Kill me.”

Never!

“Do it, Dominy,” he pleads. “Please.”

His voice is barely a whisper, but it's strong. Despite his weakened condition, despite the fact that he looks as if Winston was the victor in their deadly skirmish, Archie's voice is filled with conviction. I need to get him to reverse this power, make him use it for his survival, not his destruction.

Shaking my snout from side to side, I bump my head into his knees, just to make some sort of physical connection. He doesn't flinch; he doesn't reach out to touch my luxurious fur or strike me; he wants to die, but he doesn't want to be a willing participant. I take that as a good sign.

“Archie, I'm not sure if you can hear me,” I say. “But you've got to fight.”

Silence and wind rush into the space between us. I've got to fill the void with something more, something that Archie can hold on to. Something that he can grab on to that he'd never want to let go of. Found it!

“Napoleon!” I cry. “Remember how much Napoleon loves you, remember how much he believes in you!”

A frigid breeze passes through me, dancing on top of my fur. I know the same icy sensation is spreading itself over Archie's skin, but he doesn't move; he doesn't shiver; he doesn't feel anything.

“Archie! Try to hear me!” I cry from within the body of the wolf. “Napoleon wants you to live!”

The noisy cacophony of my growls and howls must be drowning out my words. Archie isn't responding to anything I'm saying, and no matter how despondent he may be, how deeply resolute in his determination to die, if he heard Napoleon's name, it would make some sort of a difference. But wait! If he can't hear Napoleon's name, he can still see it.

I drag my paw in the snow to create a vertical line, then a slash mark, and then another vertical line to create an
N.
I continue writing in the snow, another slash connected to another one pointing in the opposite direction and then a horizontal line in the middle of them to make an
A.
By the time I'm finished with the third letter, I can see the tears fall from Archie's eyes. He recognizes the name; he knows that I'm trying to tell him that Nap wouldn't want this.

“Nap.”

Archie's voice is filled with bewilderment and wonder. When he speaks again his voice only contains shame.

“I'm so . . . sorry!”

There's nothing left for me to do except press my warm body next to Archie's and let him hold on to me for support. His cold hands now tremble with freedom; he doesn't have to hide his fear and pain and sorrow; he can unleash it. I can feel his tears wet my fur, stinging my flesh with their scorching heat. When he presses his mouth into my back and screams, I camouflage the sound because he's not yet brave enough to share his agony and turmoil with the rest of the world. For now it's only ours. Two creatures who know what it's like to kill, and two creatures who have to deal with the pain of that everlasting memory.

 

The next morning in my bedroom the pain hasn't softened; it's still as strong as it was last night. But at least now I've transformed back, and Arla is with us, so Archie is surrounded by friends. Left to his own devices, I'm not sure what he would do. The only thing I'm sure that he wants to do is speak with Napoleon, but it doesn't sound like that's going to happen unless Nap also wants to have a conversation.

“I told you, Archie. It doesn't work that way,” Arla says. “I have no control over when Nap uses me as a cross-dimensional microphone.”

“But you're connected,” he replies.

“Yes, we're connected,” she confirms. “But that doesn't mean it's an equal partnership. Nap calls all the shots. I've just begged him not to take over my body when I'm at the wheel of a car or taking a test. I'd rather not crash on the road or academically, and thus far he seems to be holding up his end of the bargain.”

Arla's presented her argument, but Archie won't take no for an answer.

“But if he's meeting your demands on those counts,” he counters, “he must be listening to you. Please, Arla, ask him to talk to me.”

“What do you think I've been doing all morning?!” she blurts out.

Sounds like sometimes Arla isn't in control of her own voice even when Nap isn't taking over.

“So he just doesn't want to speak with me,” Archie declares.

“I don't know, Arch,” Arla explains. “I honestly don't know how our connection works. You guys hear his voice; I don't. In fact, I don't remember anything about the conversations he has with you, so I'm just guessing that he's heard my request. It could be nothing more than dumb luck.”

“Or it could be that he's disgusted with me for killing Lundgarden,” Archie states.

I may not know anything about psychic connections, but I do know a thing or two about killing. It's my turn to interject.

“First thing that you have to remember, Archie,” I say, “is that you didn't
kill
anyone.”

Jumping off of my bed, Archie grabs Jess's old Hello Kitty pillow and squeezes it so tight that I'm afraid she's going to start screaming a string of Japanese obscenities.

“I know you were in wolf form last night, Dom, but I also know that you were witness to everything,” he states. “I most certainly
killed
Winston Lundgarden.”

“No, you didn't!”

Arla's and my voices conjoin to create one outraged sound.

“Then who did?” Archie asks.

Once again, Arla and I reply in unison. “Nadine!”

Archie slams the pillow onto the floor with such force that Kitty rocks back and forth a few times before stopping, her impish smile never leaving her face.

“Nadine might have started all of this, but I'm the one who gave in,” Archie begins. “I'm the one who attacked an innocent man and didn't stop punching and clawing at him until he was dead!”

He turns away from us so he doesn't have to look at our faces any longer and winds up facing his own reflection in the mirror. Wolflexes take over, and I leap off of the bed to grab Archie's fist before he smashes it into the mirror, saving Kitty and the rest of us from being showered by flying fragments of glass.

“You didn't give in, Archie; you didn't
want
to kill,” I explain. “Nadine's black energy took over. It's the same exact thing that happened to me . . . when I . . .”

After all this time it's still hard for me to just say the words. I take a deep breath and try again.

“When I . . . when I killed Jess.”

There, I've said it, but the problem is I don't one hundred percent believe in the comparison. I was cursed; I still am cursed, but in the beginning I had absolutely no idea what was happening to me. I wasn't really even aware that anything was happening to me. Archie, however, has had warnings. He's known that he has both Jess's golden light and Nadine's dark energy flowing through his veins in equal measure. He's known for quite some time now that all he has to do is make a choice, decide to fight against the darkness that has unnaturally been placed within him. He did make a choice, but unfortunately, it was the wrong one.

I don't want to bring all this up now. I don't want to discuss it because it's only going to appear as if I'm judging him. I mean, it took me a while to corral my primal instincts; it took my almost blinding Arla for me to truly understand that I had to somehow find the strength to fight back and take control of who I am away from the devilish forces living inside of me. Guess I should cut Archie some slack since he's on a similar journey. But looking into his eyes now, my instinct is telling me that our journeys are going to be completely different.