by Chase Connor
Of course, Jason was done being patient. He had been waiting for Lucas to emerge from the showers. At first, all Lucas could think was that he was grateful that Jason had not come into the showers after him. At least he had been patient enough to wait to have this exchange with him when they were both adequately covered up.
“I’m telling you, man.” Jason laughed bitterly. “This isn’t a choice. Eventually, we all gotta sign up.”
“Sign up?” Lucas gasped, his hands clutching at Jason’s forearm as he ground his teeth in pain.
“Bloody Bones, man.” Jason grinned evilly, pushing his forearm harder into Lucas’ throat.
Lucas’ hands scratched at Jason’s forearm, desperately trying to break free, or at least catch a breath of air.
“He’s coming soon, man.” Jason chuckled deeply. “And he needs us. You’re either on his side…or you’re against him.”
“There are other ways.” Lucas managed to gasp.
He didn’t want to tell Jason what he felt in his gut, the things he just knew, but Lucas knew that Bloody Bones wasn’t his only option. Somehow…he just knew it.
“Are you saying ‘no’?” Jason growled, his jaw seemingly lengthening as Lucas struggled against the locker, his feet slipping and sliding on the floor.
Lucas’ eyes bugged as Jason’s forearm dug deeper into his throat, cutting off his oxygen. He watched through blurry eyes as Jason’s jaw stretched, slight tufts of fur sprouting around what could only be described as a muzzle. Fang-like teeth slowly grew from Jason’s mouth. The teeth of a wolf. Lucas struggled and slipped and slid as Jason’s eyes turned red. Then his muzzle lowered to Lucas’ arm.
Pain.
“Does it hurt?” Jackson Barkley asked as he knelt in front of Lucas, who was perched on the side of his bed rigidly. “Looks nasty.”
“A little, I guess.” Lucas’ eyes were on the floor, by his grandfather’s feet.
“That bruise ‘round your neck is gonna be nasty.” Lucas’ grandfather sighed. “You gotta learned to stand up for yourself, Lukie.”
Lucas looked up at his grandfather disdainfully.
“He’s two years older, nearly a foot taller, and has fifty pounds on me, grandpa.” Lucas snapped pitifully. “How am I supposed to stand up to him?”
Most people would expect a grandfather to bark back, to tell his grandson to ‘be a man’ or some other nonsense. Jackson Barkley was not that type of man—or grandfather.
“Lukie,” Jackson reached out and laid a hand on Lucas’ knee, “he’s gonna see that you are immune. If you don’t go changing into a wolf within a few moons, he’s gonna know. That’s all’s I’m saying.”
“I know.” Lucas looked down.
Jackson rubbed Lucas’ knee.
“He mentioned Bloody Bones,” Lucas whispered.
“Don’t say that name none,” Jackson whispered back, but he was not cross with his grandson.
“I thought I had forgotten,” Lucas said. “You told me to forget.”
“I did.”
“I remembered everything when he said that name.” Lucas looked up into his father’s eyes.
Jackson Barkley groaned and rose from his crouched position and sat down on the bed next to his grandson. He took Lucas’ arm in hand and brought it closer to inspect.
“You’ll just forget again,” Jackson said.
“But maybe if I use—”
“No.” Jackson snapped, and there was heat in his voice this time as he let Lucas’ arm fall from his grip. “You forget everything you know again. Push it to the back of your mind. Never speak of it.”
“But grandpa—”
“This conversation is over.” Jackson Barkley stood from the bed abruptly and marched toward the door of Lucas’ bedroom. “And another thing—”
Jackson turned to find Lucas looked down at his feet, his bitten arm cradled in his other.
“Aw, Christ.” Jackson reached up to rub the back of his neck. “Look, Lukie…”
“What?”
“Your day is coming, son,” Jackson stated lowly. “You aren’t meant for what them powers was given to you for by…him. Your destiny is bigger than that. Better. Your destiny is good. I told you what you’d be one day if you just wait. Be patient. Forget.”
“Jason will just keep trying, Grandpa.” Lucas looked up. “I believe you. I trust you. But Jason won’t give up. What am I supposed to do?”
For the longest of moments, Jackson Barkley stared at his grandson. Finally, as if he had made up his mind about something, he straightened up in the doorway of the bedroom.
“Maybe you need a friend?” Jackson suggested. “Then you won’t be alone and worrying all the time?”
“Everyone at school sucks.” Lucas groaned and kicked at the floorboards with the toe of his shoe. “I mean, the people I’m supposed to hang with suck. The guys in football…well, ya’ know. They’re like Jason. The girls are dumb, and everyone else has their own thing going on. No one seems to want to really like me unless it’s about being on the football team.”
Jackson Barkley smiled.
“Well, most teenagers…suck, I suppose.” He chuckled. “Maybe you need to find a friend who has different interests than yourself then?”
“Like who?” Lucas rolled his eyes but smiled. “Justin McCafferty? He picks his nose and eats it. We’re in high school for crying out loud.”
Jackson Barkley laughed.
“Well,” Jackson said as his laughter tapered off, “I got a friend out there on the lake. Maybe you’d like her grandson? You go to school together, anyway.”
“Who?” Lucas perked up, though he was cautious about any suggestions his grandfather might have about how to make friends.
“Bobby...nah, Robbie Wagner?”
Lucas felt his breath leave his lungs.
“Rob?” He whispered.
“If that’s what he goes by, sure.” Jackson shrugged and leaned against the doorjamb. “Esther Jean—his grandmother—was tellin’ me that he gets lonely out there on the far edge of town out by the lake. Guess he ain’t got a lot of kids—ahem, young men—who live out by him either. Maybe you could make friends with him?”
“He’s,” Lucas felt his cheeks warm at the thought of Rob Wagner, “kind of…weird.”
Lucas didn’t mean “weird.” He meant to say something entirely different that would have led to a discussion he wasn’t ready to have with his parents or grandfather yet.
“Well, weird’s okay.” Jackson shrugged with a grin. “As long as it ain’t the booger picking kind, right?”
Lucas grinned and looked down at his shoes so that his rosy cheeks would be hidden by the shadows.
“Well,” Mrs. Wagner stood at the kitchen counter as Rob and Lucas sat across from each other at the kitchen table, “ain’t this a cute little playdate?”
Rob smiled at Lucas and turned his eyes to his grandmother.
“What?” Mrs. Wagner shrugged as Lucas sank into his chair, completely out of his element and with nothing to say.
“Oma.” Rob shook his head in a playfully reprimanding way. “Go away.”
“It’s my house.” She demanded, though there was no power in her words. “Fine. Fine. I’ll go dust the fuckin’ bookcases or somethin’, I spose.”
“Thank you.” Rob chuckled nervously as his grandmother marched out of the room, pretending to be upset.
Lucas frowned, noticing that Mrs. Wagner hadn’t bothered to find a feather duster or cloth with which to do her chores. Of course, he had always heard that Esther Jean Wagner was…odd…so he decided to not let it bother him any. Instead, he picked up the can of soda—or “sodey pop” as Mrs. Wagner had called it—and brought it to his lips. Rob mimicked his actions. The two boys sat in silence, only the sounds of effervescent bubbles in the cans as a soundtrack.
“So,” Rob finally spoke, luckily before the silence had grown too thick, “you’re on the football team, right?”
“Yeah,” Lucas answered eagerly,
glad to have something, anything, to talk about. “Uh, yeah. Um, I tried out. I’m a running back.”
“Kind of cool for a freshman to be on the team.” Rob smiled, trying to think of a way to direct the conversation.
“I mean,” Lucas blushed slightly, “I guess. I’m just small and fast, so…”
“Easy for you to sneak the ball by other players?” Rob smiled.
“Yeah.” Lucas agreed. “Season’s over, though, so we’re just stuck in practices now. Maybe I can actually get off the bench next year.”
“I feel like I know you.” Rob blurted out suddenly, then looked down. “I mean, obviously that’s stupid. We go to the same school, so of course, you’d seem, uh, familiar and stuff, right?”
“Right.” Lucas’ face was stuck between a smile and a frown. “But, I, uh, know what you mean. I feel like we’ve hung out before or something.”
Rob shrugged.
“Did you go to CARNAVAL last year?” Rob asked. “I think I went to that. Around Halloween? It seems so long ago.”
Rob gave a nervous chuckle as Lucas shrugged.
“I don’t remember going,” Lucas replied. “I mean…it was such a big deal, right? It seems like I was there. Everyone was talking about it, anyway. Maybe that’s why?”
“Yeah.” Rob agreed. “Maybe.”
The two boys took sips of their sodas again, looking anywhere but at each other. Suddenly, Rob got a curious grin on his face, then leaned in conspiratorially.
“It’s like I can remember the taste of the popcorn and cotton candy.”
Lucas smiled. “Right? All popcorn and cotton candy from carnivals tastes the same, though, right?”
“Yeah.” Rob relented. “Wish I had gone. People wouldn’t shut up about that for forever.”
Lucas laughed at the way Rob rolled his eyes and sunk down in his chair as though he had been through war.
“CARNAVAL this, CARNAVAL that.” Rob groaned comically. “I bet no one’s parents let ‘em go anyway. And it was gone the next day, so…”
“Right?” Lucas laughed. “I mean, Jason and—the guys on the team—they all probably went. I heard them talking about it a lot. But…”
“What?” Rob leaned in, grinning. “What were you going to say?”
“Nothing.” Lucas shook his head with a smile.
“Nah.” Rob shook his head with an impish grin. “You can’t leave me hanging like that. You started a sentence; you have to finish it.”
“Is that how that works?” Lucas laughed.
“Yep.” Rob nodded as he grabbed his soda. “House rules.”
“Fine.” Lucas rolled his eyes, though he was amused. “Jason and the other guys on the team are kind of liars. That’s all. They probably didn’t go either. Just them wanting to be cool and stuff.”
Rob grinned widely.
“I don’t really tell anybody anything worth hearing.” He said. “So, they’ll never find out what you think of them.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.” Rob made a cross over his heart with a fingertip. “Not a word to a single person.”
“Cool.” Lucas grabbed his soda.
Rob leaned in his chair so that he could look through the kitchen door to the other part of the house where, presumably, Mrs. Wagner was dusting.
“Do you want to see something cool?” Rob asked. “A secret of mine?”
Lucas chewed at his lip.
He wanted Rob to tell him or show him anything he wanted.
And he would take any secret to his grave if he had to.
“Yeah, man.” Lucas nodded slowly.
“Come on.” Rob stood from the table, grabbing his soda as he whispered. “I want you to meet Ernst.”
“Ernst?” Lucas frowned as he followed Rob’s lead.
“Shhh.” Rob held a finger to his lips. “It’s a secret, remember?”
Lucas laughed nervously, then turned his voice to a whisper. “Okay.”
“Up in my room.” Rob jerked his head towards the other part of the house. “But you can’t tell anyone. Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Like, for real.” Rob turned to Lucas, still grinning, though he looked unsure.
Lucas’ eyes met Rob’s. Another flash of lightning in his gut.
And Lucas suddenly knew something else.
He knew why he had told Jason there were other ways besides Bloody Bones.
“Promise.” Lucas breathed out.
Rob smiled. “Come on.”
He winked and exited the kitchen. Lucas followed right at his heels.
Chapter 11
My mother was sprawled on the kitchen floor, the cast iron skillet, and the pancakes it once held on the stove was at her feet. Her eyes were wide open, and her mouth hung slack—she saw nothing and had no more words to say. Standing there, my small fists clenched at my sides, tears streaming down my face, I waited for my father to return. When the man in the dark hood had burst through the kitchen door and…did…what he did…to my mother…my dad had not been close behind him. Flashes of light had filled the kitchen and what I could only call “war screams” poured from my father’s mouth as he…fought?...with the man who had hurt my mother.
As I waited for my father, I shuffled tentatively towards my mother, wondering if I should try to wake her up. Why wouldn’t she get up off of the floor instead of lying there next to the ruined breakfast? Dad had chased off the scary man with the dark hood, so there was no reason for my mother not to move now. When I got close to my mother, I jerkily reached down, my hand slowly uncurling, reaching for her arm.
“Muh-mommy?” I had whispered.
My hand had barely had time to connect with her cooling flesh before my father had come soaring through the backdoor once again. Fury was painted his face. Until his eyes landed on mine, and he saw me touching my mother’s arm. He came to me swiftly and scooped me up, burying my face in his chest, holding me to him. I didn’t know how to ask him…was my mom dead?
What happened to my mom between the moment I touched her arm, and my dad put me to bed, I didn’t know. We never went back into the kitchen. Dad and I spent the day in the house, refusing to turn on lights, even after the sun went down. He held me in his lap, his arms wrapped around me, not letting go unless I needed to eat or use the bathroom. Dad stayed by my side all day long, whispering to me how much he loved me, telling me stories about my birth, the first years of my life, what I meant to him and my mother. How I would be okay, and he would never let anyone harm me. His lips pressed against my forehead and top of my head more times than I could count in those hours between breakfast and bedtime.
Finally, when the moon was high in the sky, Dad took me upstairs and changed me into my pajamas. Then he tucked me into bed snuggly, the odd smile on his face illuminated by the sliver of moonlight that peeked through the blinds in my room. He whispered to me that he had to “take care of something,” but if he wasn’t able to come back, I would have someone to take care of me instead. Someone who would protect me just as fiercely as he and my mother had. So, no matter what, I shouldn’t miss him if he didn’t return. I was still too confused over what had happened to my mother and what he was telling me to really understand.
But he sat on the side of my bed, stroking my hair and back until I drifted off to sleep. I don’t know when I fell asleep, or when Dad left my bedside, but when I woke the next morning, bright morning light was peeking through the blinds, and my dad was gone.
Knock.
Knock.
KnockKnockKnock.
Wearily, rubbing at my eyes, I stumbled down the steps into the living room, wondering why Dad or Mom hadn’t answered the door. Why was someone allowed to knock so loudly and so much so early in the morning? A flash of my mom lying on the kitchen floor burst through my mind, and I frowned, trying to think of what that meant. As I stood at the base of the steps, the knocking still sounding, I remembered Dad saying that he had something to take care of, so I might have someone to wa
tch over me for a while. Hesitantly, I shuffled over to the front door and grabbed the knob with both of my small hands. I swung the door wide, squinting at the bright early morning light as it burst through the door.
“Well,” I heard a woman’s voice, her figure haloed by the sun, “you’re a lot smaller than I’m used to, that’s for sure.”
Slowly, my eyes adjusted, and I was able to open them a little wider to see who was speaking to me. A woman I had never seen before, maybe a little shorter than my mom was, gray hair, wrinkled face, stern expression, yet eyes that twinkled—imposing for a five-year-old—stood before me, arms folded over her chest. A large suitcase on wheels was sitting on the porch upright next to her, its handle extended, as though she had just dragged it up the steps.
“Who are you?” I had asked, my bottom lip jutting out in what I had hoped was a brave and defiant manner.
I was a man. This was my house. All five-year-old boys think that.
“I’m Esther Jean Wagner.” The woman looked down at me sternly, though the warmth in her eyes was apparent. “You can call me Oma.”
“What’s an Oma?” My nose crinkled up.
“Grandmother.” She waggled her head. “I’m your dad’s mother.”
Without further explanation, she grabbed the handle of her bag and swung it over the threshold into the house. I backed up quickly to avoid getting knocked over by the movement. The lady…Oma?...followed the bag, looking around the house. Once she was inside, she folded her arms over her chest once more and looked around, taking in her surroundings as her bag stood next to her once again. For a beat, I just stared at her back, wondering who this woman was who claimed to be my grandmother. Then, she turned her head and glanced over her shoulder at me. Our eyes met.
Oma.
Of course.
Dad’s mom.
My grandmother.
“I’ve never met you before,” I stated stupidly as I gently pushed the door shut, chewing at my lip.