by Kody Boye
“Oaklynn—“
“No!” I cry, standing. “This was supposed to be the end of our problems! The end of our conflict! It was supposed to be my time to shine!”
“You’re not letting me—“
“It’s all my fault,” I say, reaching up to tug at my hair. “It’s all my fault and I can’t do anything to stop it.”
“Oaklynn!” Zachariah snaps. “Stop!”
I cease my protests.
The man—who, up until now, has been relatively calm—exhales through his teeth, and tightens his hold on his cane.
“Are you… mad at me?” I ask.
“I can’t be mad at you,” Zachariah says. “For all we know, they could’ve seen you all turn.”
“But do we even know if they saw her shift?” Bernard asks.
“I’d say there’s a pretty good chance they did.”
“So what do we do now?” Jackson asks. “It’s not like we can go to the police with this. They’ll ask questions. Want to see the brick. The note.”
“We’re not going to the police,” Zachariah says. “We’re going to handle this on our own.”
“How?”
He tilts his head to the side and points out the window. “See that camera?” he asks. “The one mounted on the corner of the roof?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I see it.”
“That’s how we’re going to handle this.”
“What do you mean handle this?” Bernard asks. “You’re not thinking—“
“I’m thinking we have to do what we must, Bernard. We can’t have people going around and saying we’re wolf-men.”
“While that may be true, we also can’t go around killing people who might pose a threat to us.”
“Wait,” I say. “Killing?”
The two older men turn their heads to look at me.
Unable to articulate a further response, I merely gawk at them—eyes wide, mouth agape.
Jackson sighs, turns to his father, and says, “Do we have to leave town?”
“Leave town?” I ask. “Why would we—“
“If even one crazy person catches wind that we’re shifters,” Jackson continues, “then that’s it. Game over.”
“But they’re not going to find out,” Zachariah replies, “because we’re going to find them first.”
“Who’s we?” I ask.
Zachariah turns to Bernard.
Bernard frowns, but nods and says, “Okay.”
“But first thing’s first. Kids—go to your rooms.”
“But we—“ Jackson begins.
Zachariah shakes his head. “Do as I say.”
Though he is obviously hesitant to obey, Jackson takes his plate of pizza, says, “Come on, Oaklynn,” then begins to make his way down the hall.
The only thing I can do is follow.
We wait in the darkness of my room for what feels like hours. Trembling with nerves, and unsure what to do, I pick at my food slowly, and eat even though I do not have much of an appetite.
Only one thought runs through my mind.
It’s gonna happen again.
Zachariah and Bernard will track down the perpetrator. Find them. Kill them.
And once more the cycle of the wolf will continue.
A sigh escapes me—and though I want nothing more than for there to be quiet, I know that Jackson will soon speak.
He asks, “Are you all right?”
To which I reply by saying, “Not really.”
“It isn’t your fault, you know?”
“I know.”
“So… stop beating yourself up over it.”
“How do you know I’m beating myself up?”
“Because you’re you.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You feel like you hold the world on your shoulders. Like… like that man in Greek mythology.”
“You mean… Atlas?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t think I’m anything like him.”
“But you’re acting like you are.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re carrying the burden of everything that’s happened. Your mom’s shop. Your house. Your parents. My… my grandma. You feel like everything’s your fault because one action sparked a domino effect. But it isn’t your fault, Oaklynn. We all know what happened, and why it happened. It’s all Easton Wells’ fault.”
“I hope they get him,” I say, lowering my eyes so that Jackson can’t see my fear, my unease, my insecurity.
“They will.”
While I want to believe that, a part of me wonders if that will truly be the case.
So many horrible things have happened.
How much more can a girl like me take?
Chapter Eleven
I am awakened by the sound of the door opening, then closing.
The voices that follow are what truly chill me, though.
“I can’t believe it,” Bernard says.
“Now’s not the time to worry,” Zachariah replies. “Just remember: remain calm.”
“Calm? You want me to remain calm? What the hell are you talking about?”
“I said—“ Zachariah starts.
“I heard what you said, dammit! But this is a problem. A big problem.”
“You’re gonna wake the kids.”
“Maybe they should be awake for this!”
“Bernard—“
“Don’t Bernard me, Zach. Sooner or later they’re going to find out that we couldn’t find them.”
My heart slams against my ribcage.
They couldn’t find them? Even with their enhanced senses?
My panic—which had died down to a manageable level in the hours after they’d left—flares into motion. Chaotic like the sun, and radiating enough energy to turn a landscape into a wasteland, it swallows me whole, and threatens to hold me captive.
The sound of Jackson’s snoring is what knocks me out of my thoughts.
“Jackson!” I hiss. “Jackson!”
“Wha?” he manages as startles awake. “Oaklynn? What’s going on?”
“They couldn’t find who threw the brick.”
“What’re you—“
A knock comes at the door, silencing Jackson mid-sentence.
“Oaklynn?” Bernard asks. “Are you awake?”
“We’re fine!” I call. “I mean, I—“
The door slowly cracks open.
Bernard peers in.
Zachariah looks on with a slight frown.
Jackson asks, “What’s going on?”
“We couldn’t find the perp,” Zachariah replies, confirming what I’d heard for fact.
“So what happens now?”
“I don’t know, guys. I just don’t know.”
Jackson stands, though hesitantly at that. He turns to face me and asks, “Should we talk?”
We are all in the living room in less than a minute.
“So,” Jackson says, crossing his arms over his chest. “What are we supposed to do now that someone knows what we are?”
“Supposedly knows,” Bernard offers. “We’re still not sure what they were referring to.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” I ask. “Someone saw me shift. That’s the only plausible explanation for this.”
“They could have suspected something else,” the man says.
“Like what?”
“Like… your involvement with what happened down at—“
“That was the Dark Wolf,” Zachariah interjects, “and a slight on all of our parts.”
“Still,” Bernard offers, averting his gaze, “we don’t know what they know, and that is the most frustrating thing of all.”
“But, again,” Jackson says. “What do we do?”
“I think we just have to lie low and see what happens. That includes the two of you.”
“I didn’t intend on doing anything. Did you, Oaklynn?”
“I—“ I start.
Bernard’s gaze silences me.
“I didn’t,” I say, and sigh. I’d been looking forward to hanging out with J’vonte outside of the this house.
Guess that’s not happening anytime soon, I think.
Bernard straightens his posture and says, “I think I’ve had excitement for tonight.”
“Same here,” Zachariah says.
“I guess I’ll bid you all goodnight then.”
“Night, Uncle B,” Jackson says.
“Goodnight, Jackson, Zachariah. Oaklynn.”
“Goodnight,” I offer, a bit sheepishly at that.
As Bernard walks toward, then exits out the front door, I turn my head to regard the window that has since been covered with tarp, and ask, “What are you going to do about that?”
“I’ll say a bird slammed into it,” Zachariah offers. “It’s not like the windows didn’t need to eventually be replaced anyway.”
“Okay,” I say, and turn toward my bedroom door.
“Oaklynn?” Zachariah asks.
“Yes, sir?”
“Try not to worry too much. We’ll resolve this, someway or another.”
“Thank you. And goodnight.”
I slip into my bedroom, close the door behind me, then lean back against it and sigh.
Though a part of me knows that things will eventually work out, that nagging portion of my conscience can’t help but plague me with doubt and insecurity.
I wanted my life to go back to normal.
I guess, in the end, that I should’ve known better than ask for that.
The following morning is met with apprehension. On this cold and unfortunate day, during which I feel as though everything is likely to come crashing down, I awaken to a freezing room, and a glacial conscience.
It’ll work out, I remember Jackson saying. It has to.
Has to, I think, and sigh.
I find myself shivering despite the fact that the heat has kicked on in the old house.
A knock comes at the door, startling me from thought.
“Hello?” Jackson asks. “Oaklynn? Are you awake”
“How did you know I was awake?” I ask.
“I heard your breathing change,” he replies, but doesn’t clarify further. Rather, he sighs and says, “Could you come to the kitchen?”
“Yeah. Give me a second to dress.”
In a few moments, I am standing in the kitchen—not only with Jackson, but his father.
“What’s going on?” I ask, lifting my eyes to face him.
“We’re trying to formulate a plan,” he says. “Especially since we’re still trying to uncover who might have seen you.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” I ask.
Both Jackson and his father frown.
“What do you mean?” Jackson asks.
“Someone throws a brick, into the house, not long after Easton is thrown in jail?” I cross my arms over my chest. “I’d say we have our culprit.”
“We don’t want to go pointing fingers,” Jackson says. “Especially since we don’t know who did it.”
“Do we?” I ask, turning my eyes on Zachariah.
The man frowns as he looks at me with his impenetrable eyes. “If you’re asking if I found anything on the tapes,” he says, “then yes, I did. But—“ he then adds, and lifts his hand to stop me from speaking “—it was simply someone in dark clothes and a ski-mask.”
“And you couldn’t find were they went,” I reply. “Even though you had them on camera.”
“We couldn’t find where they went because they covered themselves in pheromones.”
“Wait. What?”
“You heard me,” Zachariah says. “They covered themselves in pheromones.”
“What kind of pheromones though?”
“Deer.”
“Deer?”
“Yeah. Deer.”
“I don’t—“
A knock comes at the door, cutting me off before I can question him further.
“Who is it?” Zachariah calls.
“It’s me!” Bernard replies.
A twist of a deadbolt later, the red-headed man is standing in the kitchen, and looking rather grim as I recap everything that’s been said.
“Okay… yeah,” he says, nodding, as if to confirm that what I say is true. “I can understand why you would be concerned. But just because you think you have a culprit doesn’t mean you do.”
“But they had pheromones! Wells Hunting and Fishing carries them!”
“Those pheromones could’ve been purchased by anyone, Oaklynn.”
“Well, yeah, but I—they—“
“It’s better to go off evidence than speculation,” Bernard offers. “I mean… it’s not as if you know it was Paxton Wells. Right?”
“Everything points to him.”
“Look,” Bernard continues. “I’m not saying you’re wrong to think this, Oaklynn. For all we know, it could have been them. But we shouldn’t jump to conclusions yet—not without more evidence.”
“I… I guess,” I say, and sigh, defeated.
Though every part of me wants to leave the pheromone thing behind, if only to satisfy the men around me, the inkling that it could have been the Wells family leaves me with a bitter ache in my gut.
Rather than question it further, though, I simply rise and say, “I think I’m going back to bed.”
“I was just about to make breakfast,” Zachariah says.
“I’ll eat it later.”
I close my bedroom door without another word.
And though I don’t want to believe it, I know, deep down, that I am right.
Someone associated with the Wells family is responsible for throwing the brick through Mister Meadows’ window.
Worst of all:
They know.
Chapter Twelve
The knowledge that something bad might happen haunts me throughout the early part of the day. Plaguing me incessantly, and infecting my every thought, it buries itself deep inside me, promising to inflict suffering that I could never even begin to imagine.
Come time I awaken later that morning, it is to daylight filtering in through my window, and motes of light dancing about the room.
Everything seems fine—peaceful, even.
But I know that is not the case.
Inside, a rage builds—so intolerable that at first I believe I will burn.
The first thought I think is: I have to do something.
What, though, is that something?
I try my hardest to conjure the idea into my brain—to coax from within me the knowledge that I must use in order to solve the problem at bay—but find that absolutely nothing comes to mind.
Sighing, I pull my feet out from under Belle’s sleeping form, roll my feet off the bed, then prepare myself for the day.
By the time I step out of the bathroom, I know that something is wrong.
Voices are drifting down the hall—and worst of all: they are urgent.
“We knew this might happen,” Bernard says.
“But it shouldn’t be happening,” Zachariah responds. “We should’ve caught them the other night.”
“But we didn’t, and now we have to pay the price.”
“What price?” I ask, stepping out from the hall.
Zachariah and Bernard turn to look at me. Both stare, and both appear to be at a loss for words.
The first words out of Zachariah’s mouth is, “Sit, Oaklynn.”
I do, and look on at the two men with eyes wide and unsure, my heart flickering doubt upon my ribcage like a rabbit thumping its feet on the ground.
With a frown, Bernard turns his head to the fixed window, and says, “There was a note left on the door this afternoon.”
“What kind of note?” I ask.
Zachariah pulls a piece of paper from his sweatpants pocket and places it before me.
Scrawled, in choppy handwriting, are the words: THE GIRL GOES FIRST.
It’s like I’ve been shot all over again, but run over by a truck and then set ablaze on top of it.<
br />
“What—“ I start. “How did they—“
“This is proof enough that they know,” Bernard says.
“And you didn’t plan on telling me this?”
“We thought we would discuss what it is we’re going to do.”
“About what?”
“About where you’re going.”
“I’m not leaving,” I say, standing, suddenly emboldened by the idea that I will once again be pushed from my home. “You can’t make me.”
“Oaklynn—“
“Just because they know doesn’t mean we can’t fight back.”
“And bring more of them down upon us?” Zachariah asks. He shakes his head. “That’s ridiculous. We need to preserve ourselves as best as we can, and sending you away might be the best way to do it.”
“Is that it? You want me gone?”
“No! I—“
“I guess it makes sense,” I offer, cutting him off before he can continue. “I did ruin your tranquil return to town, after all.”
“Oaklynn—“
“It’s only the truth!” I cry.
“What’s going on?” Jackson asks as he comes down the hall, half-dressed and with his hair hanging in his eyes. “Why are you yelling?”
“Because of this!” I say, and slam my hand on top of the paper. The impact stings my palm, flushing heat into my system and burning even more hatred through my brain.
Jackson can only stare.
Bernard sighs.
Zachariah shakes his head and reaches up to press a hand to his chin.
When Jackson finally does speak, it’s to say, “You… you want her gone?”
“I don’t want her gone,” Zachariah replies. “I just think it might be easier if she were.”
“Where are you going to send me? Huh?” I ask. “You want to send me off on my own? When I don’t even know what my future holds? Or what I’m going to do?”
“The idea would be to get you into a university—“
“Fat chance of that happening now that I’m not in school.”
“I could pay for you to stay in an apartment,” Zachariah explains. “I could make sure that you’re safe.”
“And what about food? My safety? What if they find me?”
To this, Zachariah has no reply. Instead, he merely turns his attention back to Bernard and says, “Will you take her?”
“Me?” Bernard asks, pressing a hand to his chest. “You want me to take her?”