Over the past two months, Christopher, Lune, and Artemis have become more and more distant from the outside world; preparing, I think, for the pending battle. On Monday, I stopped by to find everyone was still in bed at three in the afternoon. I thought maybe this was similar to the trance between Artemis and Christopher that I’d witnessed in the past. Jokingly, I tossed water over the group, but only got a response from the dogs … I could see a distinct difference in the wax figure that used to be my friend. As the week wore on, Christopher refused to get out of bed, refused to eat, and wouldn’t drink anything.
Yesterday, not knowing what else to do, I started an I.V.; he didn’t even flinch when I slid the needle into his arm. I don’t know who to contact; and taking him to the hospital, without having any idea what’s wrong, or who could be causing this, seemed like a bad idea. I’ve learned enough about V over the past two months, since Christopher finished telling me about his time in Vegas, to understand that introducing V's presence to a hospital, would be disastrous.
Now sitting vigil by Christopher’s bed, and caring for the dogs, seems like my only course of action. Delirium settled in on Christopher quicker than I expected, and it is obvious that there is more going on than simple dehydration. While I watch, he'll scream out for Ellie, and then Artemis will howl in response. I’m starting to think I’m delirious, too, because I see Artemis as if she is yelling at Christopher, instead of wailing with him. She wouldn’t leave his side at first, but now she’s becoming impatient with his depression: forcing her nose under his hand, and trying to encourage a connection … but he won’t let her in.
After being ignored yet again, she leaves the room with her tail tucked between her legs, nudges Lune and then goes to sit impatiently by the front door. I get up to let them out; and when I brush by Lune, he rubs his muzzle across my leg.
“I know, buddy … I know … but what am I supposed to do? He’s given up … he’s dying.” I scratch behind his ear and he presses his face harder into the side of my leg. He is telling me not to give up, and that he has faith in my abilities … or maybe he is saying it feels really good to have his ear scratched. I’m never going to get used to this talking-to-animals stuff.
Transfixed by the sight of watching the two run out into the trees, I’m surprised by how attached to the animals I’ve become. I have a family here, a brother here; something that I don’t think Christopher or I have ever had … or at least something we had resigned ourselves to living without. The dogs just about run me over as they wrestle their way back through the door. And, I can smell the change of the season on their coats. The ozone scent is becoming stronger the closer we creep toward winter.
I’m pulled out of my thoughts of the weather, when I hear Christopher’s muffled screams come from his bedroom.
“Ellie … wake up … please…” The tears, that ran dry a couple days ago, are running again with rehydration. He is staring at the ceiling, but there is no life behind the intense gaze.
“Ann, you have to find out what happened to her … please, Ann, one last request…” Christopher is still moaning, but for the first time I understand what he is saying.
Ann … of course! Why didn’t I think of her before; she might know what to do. Now, I just have to figure out how to find her.
I have not only learned the taste of the young one; I can see her trails stretching out across my mind. Sweet, like the blood sucked hot from a living liver; she has filled my brain with thoughts I haven’t enjoyed in a very long time. The craving for her immature energy, tasted in the memory of my last hunt, is only intensified by the ancient one’s bitter flavoring. My dry mouth began to drool as the ancient's power opened the door of my mind, and allowed the child to walk in.
For as far back as I can remember I’ve hated the taste of the ancient one. Cassandra? Yes, I remember; I’ve known her name forever … damn my sluggish thoughts. I must feed and soon; I need to be in peak fighting condition to take on the adolescent with the bright green aura. Cassandra will be easy enough to destroy. She has never presented much of a problem before now; always trapped in her mind, trying to avoid her visions, grieving for eternity as if she was a banshee.
Running my hands down my arms, elbows crooked under my chest, I grope with my fingertips at the lowest rib. I can feel the sinewy line of my diaphragm. Tearing away at my abdomen, I wish I could have removed my heart … just push my way up through the flimsy lining separating my lungs and my innards.
“I am superior to those caustic insects that imagine they rule this world. They are so weak … victims of their lust, savaged by their pathetic bodies long before I would grant them death. They try and thwart me at every opportunity … killing my babies! What gives them the right? Does an ant presume to have the right to hunt down and kill a human? No! No! No!” The screaming hurts my throat, and ears.
The slick, gray rocks of my sanctuary hold snatches of my tissue from years of tantrums. Purple, burnt red, and putrid yellow globules of fat … flesh hangs in petrified strands that looks as if the rocks are shedding skin like a snake.
“I feel … I feel … Hungry!” Looking down at my eternal companions, I watch their coiled bodies slithering around one another, trying to escape the sound of my dry, aged voice. As I reach out and grab one, the snake strikes in surprise. I bite it in half; each one of its vertebrae crunch between my teeth. Angered even further by my insatiable hunger, I throw the still writhing body against the wall.
“This is entirely your fault!” The spiders scurry from one massive web to another. “Now look at what you made me do … consuming my friends.”
My hysterical laughter echoes off the stone walls of my asylum … my prison. “A teacher being consumed by their student! These masters of ancient fears taught me what shape to take to cultivate terror in my prey… now in the end, even they fear me."
Oh, I knew instinctually, even before my death, fear forms in the imagination. Manipulate the imagination, control the mind. I can’t even remember what I looked like once; so many lifetimes of mutating my image for the sake of my hunger, has destroyed my memory. I can taste fear, instinctively knowing what one fears, and how to take advantage of their plight. My greatest gift was being reborn into this world, where I can do whatever, and be whatever, I want. Few have tested me over the lifetimes; human and monster alike, they all fail.
Always their greatest weakness is lust for gold, power, esteem … they walk eagerly into my arms. Loneliness drives me to my own lust, for offspring. Who knew the coupling would produce terror that struck cords of fear, even in me. Oh, how I loved my babies. Killed, killed by their fathers … now, the only way to feed my hunger is with the deaths of children. Watching the fear in their fathers’ eyes, the gut-wrenching panic in the mothers’ screams … I feed off the disgust as much as the gore. If humans thought I was a monster before that fool Beowulf came to my home, they can’t even conceive of what I am now. Their tiny, ignorant minds can only create folklore, tales of incredible monsters. Their nightmares are too horrible for them to believe that their monsters could be one individual. I thank their stupidity; for they just give me more monsters to recreate, more terrors to touch.
My mouth is watering at the prospect of hunting again. People just aren’t afraid of monsters like they used to be, I need to expose myself to the new fears of man. Hunting has always been easy enough; I am sure that there are always plenty of opportunities to bring horror to light, especially with children.
In the past fifty years older children’s fear, once sharp and ragged, is now dulled and full of doubt. I can still sense the terror, but it’s not the same … now mind games, beyond mythical monsters, must be played. The thoughts that bring terror to a young child’s mind are still primal, based out of a need to survive … human infants are still, and will always be, the neediest of species. When nurturing an infant, the parents' bond is usually very strong … If I am going to feed; I have to find young families to hunt.
The shock of a shift in my connection to the mist startles me. The ancient one is moving? I’ve never known her to travel so far from home. She is aggravated, full of dread … deliciously strong, her emotions give me strength. Walking out into the sunlight for the first time in a half of a century … the light burns my eyes. My compulsion to find Cassandra is too strong to care about the pain.
“Misery … sweet anguish!” I call back into my subterranean home, as if the spiders and snakes know, or care, about what is pulling me from their company. I find myself in hysterics again as I give into the enticing pressure of finding my old friend.
The air is cold, and the soil under my feet is damp from a recent snow… dead leaves stick to the bottom of my soles as I shift from partially intangible to touchable. Stretching out my form, flexing the muscles that have become weak from decades of neglect, I’m starting to feel the power of being fully reawakened, coursing through my veins. Cassandra may never be this vulnerable again … I don’t believe I’ve ever felt her, this close to emotional collapse before. Always in control, resolutely holding onto her guilt and depression … but never exposing the tiniest imperfection in her armor. Oh, the meal I could absorb from her ancient, terrified mind. Feeling her defensive walls crumbling like this … is making my stomach rumble. One phrase in her mind, screaming and projecting the sound, I can hear each syllable, “Christopher!” I don’t care who that is, or why she is calling that name … I need to feed, need to find her. I will follow her to the end of the earth if necessary.
As meticulous as Christopher is, I know I will never find anything around the cabin that could possibly be traced back to Ann. Since I already know about Ann, all I have to do is look up her information on the internet. So much for trying to hide from the world; she still works as a messenger of the dead, and runs her new age shop in Vegas. Christopher has said she loved her work too much to give it up after she became a millionaire. I have to scoff at the thought of calling a fake medium to help a dying kid … but I’ve seen too much to turn away from the idea now.
Typing in the name of her shop brings up all kinds of spam on the occult, “If people only knew how close these jokers are to the truth.” Hearing my voice, Lune comes over and settles beside me, leaving Artemis to continue sulking on her pillow.
“Heavenly Messages? Where in the world did she come up with that name?” Lune responds to my one-way conversation by shoving my leg with his nose.
“Okay, Okay … I get it; you like the name … and I shouldn't insult people that obviously know more than I do.” He confirms by sneezing all over my lap.
Ann’s site isn’t flashy; it has a simple elegance to the design. She only volunteers pertinent information, nothing that will divulge any kind of personal knowledge, but it still feels very welcoming. I scan the page closely and finally find what I am after … a business number. Respecting hers and Christopher’s wishes for secrecy, I decide to use my work cell and leave a message that, hopefully, she will understand. When the phone stops ringing and her message begins, I suddenly become very nervous … she has a beautiful voice; a soft and rich, extremely inviting voice.
Stuttering for a second when I hear the beep, I force the words out in a rush. “I’m not sure if I dialed the right number … I found a dog with a tag and this number. I think I may have your dog … um, Lune. Could you please call me back?” After prattling off the digits for my cell, I hang up.
Lune is looking at me with a raised eyebrow, “I know … very smooth, huh … don’t know why I’m still single, right?”
I thought I was going to have to wait for at least a couple hours before hearing from her, but my cell rings after only couple minutes. I see the blocked number and know it must be Ann. Trying desperately to calm my nerves, I know from experience that the stuttering will only get worse if I don’t compose myself. I haven’t felt like this since high school … maybe it’s because I'm dealing with unknown variables, like dangerous, ethereal creatures. Accepting my excuse that my nerves have nothing to do with Ann, I answer the phone.
There is that voice again … I know I must sound meek compared to the defensive, business-like tone in her voice. She asks briskly if I understand the seriousness of contacting her directly … obviously understanding the ruse over finding her lost dog. “I understand. Do you understand why a friend would need to contact you?”
She pauses for a moment, and when I hear her voice this time, it is tainted with doubt and concern. She also obviously understands why I called, and that it doesn’t have anything to do with Lune. “How bad is it?”
“Very bad … I don’t know if he’ll survive much longer.” The serious subject of our conversation pushes my jumpiness to the back of my head.
“I’m on my way.” She hangs up the phone without saying another word.
On her way? I feel the anxiety coming back, crushing me. I hadn’t realize how attached I’d become to this mysterious woman. Now, faced with the prospect of meeting her … I’m forced to admit that I’ve fallen for a daydream, one that I created around Christopher’s stories.
“I think, perhaps … I may have commitment issues.” The vulnerability must have been evident in my sarcastic statement, because Artemis joins Lune in consoling me.
Speaking to the dogs, I explain, "Even if she can get a flight out today, she’ll probably be held over in Seattle before she can fly into Kalispell. She most likely won’t be here until tomorrow, but if she does somehow make it today … I need to get this place cleaned up."
Flying around the cabin, picking up stray clothes and towels, and then moving Christopher so that I can strip his bed and put on clean sheets, I have to catch my breath when I stop long enough to load the washing machine. The kitchen is relatively clean, since I’ve only been feeding myself and the dogs, but I give it a quick once over with bleach just to make sure. Ann is going to need a place to sleep while she’s here, and we obviously can’t share the loft. I stop my mind from wandering into places I can’t afford for it to go. Running upstairs, not sure why I am rushing, I pick up the guestroom and make the bed with fresh sheets. After picking up the guest bathroom, I finally settle down in a chair by the stove.
Lune and Artemis watch me the entire time with unreadable expressions. Now they come and sit at my feet. “You think I’m acting like an ass, don’t you?”
Artemis nudges my hand with her muzzle, gently forcing her face under my palm. Rubbing her ears, I can feel the stress of the past week slowly fading. I have noticed Artemis’s talent for changing the mood of a room just by walking in … but for the sake of my ideals, I’ve made an effort to write it off to her sweet temperament and wolfish beauty. I can’t deny the effect she is having on me now, though. I may not communicate like Christopher, but she and I do have a connection. Right now, she’s telling me to relax … and, whether I like it or not, my body will listen to her.
**~~**
My stomach wakes me with a loud growl, and sitting up becomes a chorus of cracking joints and moans from my stiff muscles. I fell asleep in the chair again. I don’t know why I even bothered cleaning the guestroom … I never sleep up there. As my mind mentions the guestroom, the memory of why I cleaned it, flashes into my head. "Ah hell, what time is it?"
Artemis tilts her head, as if to ask why, and then proceeds to get up and stretch. With her furry butt straight up in the air, she pokes Lune with her front paws as they slide forward on the wooden floor. He growls sleepily, and then grudgingly joins her as she prances toward the door. I can almost hear him saying, “Damn kids, what do they have against sleeping in?”
Chuckling to myself, I let them outside. As soon as I open the door, I realize it is morning … “Ann!”
I turn and walk directly to the bathroom, where I can get cleaned up … nerves bubbling up in my stomach again. After washing my face, brushing my teeth, and shaving, I almost feel presentable. Checking on Christopher, I find that he’s been up at some point during the night and pulled out his I.V. … well, at least he didn’t go far. Slumped on the floor, in front of the window, on his knees with his forehead pressed against the glass, it looks like he fell asleep while watching the tree line. Blood, from where he tore out the needle, is crusted on his arm, leaving a sticky pool in his hand. I can smell the metallic aroma coming from the trail of blood he has dripped around the room. By the looks of it, he has been pacing frantically. Like sucking on a penny, I have to cringe as the scent entered my mouth. He is pale and cold from sitting under the window; but he has a pulse … he is still alive.
“Come on man, enough of this …” I bend down and pick him up over my shoulder. “… We need to clean you up.”
I take him into the bathroom, and as gently as I can, I lower him into the bathtub. Leaving all of his clothes on, I decide they can use a cleaning, too. Starting up the shower, and making sure it is good and hot, I adjust the spray nozzle so it drenches Christopher’s chest; then I leave him alone, to go make some coffee.
After about ten minutes, I check on him. He is waking up, but he still isn’t lucid. He's warm though, and while the water is still running hot, I decide to let in the dogs. Artemis’s claws slide on the floor as she runs past, spins, and then playfully attacks Lune’s neck. Lune tilts his nose up towards the bedroom; moving cautiously, he is drawn by either the smell of blood or the sound of the shower. Artemis, who is still worked up and playful, runs past her wary father and barges into the room. Before I can even make it to the doorway of the bedroom, I hear her crashing through the bathroom. The loud grunt tells me she has found her mark. Entering the bathroom, I find the white wolf sitting on Christopher’s lap, under the pouring shower, licking the water droplets off his chin. He has his hands on her sides, but he isn’t stopping her affectionate attack … either too exhausted or just not caring, he lets her clean his entire face. I move forward to pull her out of the tub, right as he puts his arms around her and presses his face into her neck. The way his shoulders are shaking, I know he is crying, and needs some privacy.
Walking back into the bedroom, I am accosted by loud, urgent pounding on the door. Lune is pacing and antsy, his tail wagging hard enough to shake his entire body. Not even thinking about why he would be reacting that way, I stride over to the door and roughly pull it open.
“What do you want?” The boldness catches in my throat as I look into doe-shaped, amber eyes. “Ann?”
“And you must be the meathead that called about Christopher.” I am not sure, but I think I detect a touch of playfulness in her tight voice. She is extremely concerned, that much is obvious by her expression, but her tone is still very detached. She doesn’t know me, and therefore, doesn’t trust me.
She brushes past me and strides into the living room, looks down at the computer, and then walks over to the window that faces the tree line. Turning around she briskly removes her coat, and after tossing it on the couch, she strides into the kitchen and picks up my freshly-poured cup of coffee. Taking a big gulp and licking her full lips, she continues to walk around, giving herself the tour. Working her way back from the wood burning stove, still holding the mug with both hands, to either warm her fingers or to hide that her hands are shaking, she stops at Christopher’s bedroom door.
“Why does it smell like blood, and wet dog, in here?”
“Christopher ripped out his I.V. at some point last night, and made a mess. And the dogs’ smell, well, you should probably see that for yourself.” I slide past her petite frame and enter the bedroom. Holding open Christopher’s bathroom door, I motion for her to cross the threshold.
The Shower is starting to cool down, however neither Christopher nor Artemis notice. While Ann kneels down next to the tub, I shut off the water. He still has his arms around the white, furry shoulders, and his face semi-buried in her neck, but it looks as if he has lost consciousness again. Artemis looks cautiously at our guest, and as Ann compassionately brushes her hand against Christopher’s cheek, the young wolf licks her fingers.
Looking into Artemis’s eyes, Ann speaks in a soft, easy tone, “I won’t hurt him, I promise.” Then looking back at me she continues, “She’s beautiful … is she Lune’s?”
I nod in response, and she tentatively reaches up and strokes Artemis’s cheek. When she speaks again, the business tone has returned, “We need to get him out of here before he gets too cold. Could you, please, carry him into the bedroom?”
Ann persuades Artemis to climb out of the tub, and then wraps her up in a towel. Rubbing roughly she manages to get most of the water out of the dog’s coat, while I struggle to lift Christopher back up onto my shoulder. Carrying him like a sack of potatoes, I maneuver back into his bedroom and set him on the bed. Ann follows with a fresh towel, and asks if I will help her get him into some dry clothes. Moving together like old pros at a nursing school, we manage to get him changed and back under the covers. Curled up with Artemis, on the bed next to Christopher, Ann watches as I reinsert the I.V. into his arm and hang a new bag of saline solution.
Ann is so small compared to Christopher’s lanky frame, but I can tell her personality more than makes up for her size. Dark chocolate hair cascades over her shoulders, and hangs in loose curls around her face. I have the sudden urge to pull one of the strands away from her eyes, but think better of it, when I notice the way she is looking at Christopher. There is love in that determined gaze, and I am surprised that I feel jealous. I watch her eyes shift from beneath thick lashes; she is studying his face, the way one does when they’re in the middle of a deep conversation. Then I remember what Ann’s talent is … she can project her voice into people’s minds. She is having a conversation with Christopher, a one-sided conversation … but maybe she can reach him. So I decide to give the girls some privacy alone with Christopher.
Walking into the kitchen, I set to work making a new batch of coffee in the French press. With a fresh, steaming mug in hand, I take Lune outside for a walk. The air is cool enough for the mug to fog up my sunglasses when I take a drink, giving the tree line a paranormal haze. As I watch, Lune passes behind one of the trees, cautiously stalking an unseen presence. His tail is down, but the hair on his back doesn’t prickle; even in his careful posture, there isn’t any sign of a pending threat.
“If you have come to visit us, there is no need to hide. I can’t hear, see, or sense you; therefore I assume you’re a very special kind of visitor. There are people in the cabin that are better suited to greet you. If you come out of the trees, I’ll bring someone out here to meet with you.” I try to keep my voice level, but in hearing it waver a little … I have to admit how unnerved I am at the thought that V may have followed Ann here from Vegas. Although after reading Lune’s posture, I am pretty sure this is a new guest, one he has never met. One, who doesn't seem to be a threat.
Smoothly turning, to hide my paranoia, I head back into the cabin. I can hear Ann’s voice from the bedroom … it appears that her silent, one-sided conversation, has become a loud pleading for Christopher to wake up. Tentatively opening the door enough to stick my head into the room, I ask her to join me in the kitchen. Shaking her head at Christopher, she slides off the bed, and grabs her empty mug off the nightstand.
I offer to take her mug and refill it, and she gladly hands it over and then distractedly mouths a quiet thank you. As she sits down at the table, I notice that her eyebrows are pressed together; the expression of deep thought is actually very attractive on her. Wait, you can’t allow yourself to be distracted, there is too much we need to discuss … plus, she doesn’t even know you’re alive.
“Did you make any progress with finding out what is tormenting him?” I place the mug down in front of her and join her at the table.
“No … like you said, he’s in a bad way. He seems to have simply given up. This has to be about Ellie … Tell me, has she been back?” My heart skips a beat as she looks in my eyes, clearly trying to read what has been happening since she talked to Christopher last.
“Not physically, but he’s been visiting her with Artemis’s help.” I answer her questioning expression before she can speak. “Christopher thinks that Artemis can pass through the veil between the ethereal mist and our own. She has a special connection to Christopher, and takes him on these journeys to see Ellie while they sleep. Going on, about ten days ago now; he didn’t wholly return from their last trip. Something has happened to Ellie; I’ve gathered that much from his ramblings … and whatever it was … it broke him, and buried part of his soul across the bridge to their world. I’m just a normal guy with no clue how to help … that’s why I called you. I’m sorry to have dragged you into this.”
Holding my stare, she reaches out and takes my hand. “I’m glad you called; he never would have. I’m not sure what I can do either … I don’t have the same kind of talent as Christopher. I don’t know of anyone who is as powerful, is as connected to the mist, as he is … except maybe, other than Artemis, and I can’t talk to her. Damn it … the helplessness is stifling. I just wish there was some way … or someone who could help us find out what happened to Ellie.”
I don’t want to let go of her hand, small and delicate, it feels so soft against my callused fingers. What she has said about finding someone … perhaps another creature like Ellie, who could help us, suddenly I remember our guest outside. “Ann, there is someone outside that I think you should meet. Lune found them earlier, and well, let’s just say they are the kind of visitor that only you and the dogs can see. Lune didn’t act like they were a threat, but I’ll leave that decision up to you.”
“I made sure no one followed me … especially not V! He has been fixated on paying Christopher back. If V found him in this condition, he’d take great delight in ripping Christopher to shreds.” Panic seeps into her words and her eyes become large with fear.
“No, no … I don’t think it's V. Lune acted like it was someone new, someone he’d never met before.”
“You don’t think!?! Well, that right there would be our problem.”
As she stands she shoves the chair back and it topples over. Stomping her feet, she walks over and grabs her coat. Shoving her hands into the sleeves, she looks back at me expectantly. “Are you coming?”
