The Awakening Box Set

by Michael Timmins

  Smiling down at him. “You know I love you, Sim? You know, right?”

  Sim stared at him for a moment, making sure he wasn’t playing with him. After a moment, satisfied Hank wasn’t, he answered. “Yeah, dad. I know. I love you, too.”

  Staring down at Sim for a moment, Hank felt wetness well in his eyes. He turned away.

  “Okay, well I’m going to bed. Try not to stay up too late watching that crap.”

  “Sure, dad. Good night.”

  Climbing the stairs, he didn’t glance back. If he had, he might have seen Sim wipe tears from his eyes.

  Hank lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. “It was time for them to move back to the states. He couldn’t expect Simon to live out here like this. He needed friends nearby, needed a less “rural” education. This life might be for him, but it wasn’t for Sim. Yes. It was time to move back.” Hank smiled as his eyelids drooped and sleep overtook him “I’ll tell him in the morning. Sim will love the idea.”

  Agony!

  His whole body felt as if bursting into flames. Pain seared him from head to toe. It felt like someone was taking a tire iron to his body. The pain was so intense, he screamed once, and blacked out.

  Sim watched TV, some late-night court show, but he wasn’t paying much attention to it. He mulled over what his dad said before heading up the stairs. He knew Hank loved him, but in all the years they were together, he never said it - really said it. Oh, he responded with it when offered to him. But he never said it first. He wondered if Hank was okay. There were times when Hank missed Sim’s mom, he knew, as there were still nights when Sim cried himself to sleep with the loss of his mother. Life goes on, though.

  A lesson he had learned early. From losing his mother, to meeting his real dad, and having his dad reject him, you must pick yourself up after, which is exactly what he did. He called Hank, and Hank took him in. By not turning him away, Hank saved him. If he had rejected him as well, if he had lost his last chance at family, he would have died.

  He hadn’t been sure Hank would take him in. He had loved Sim’s mother a great deal, and therefore may have felt the need to keep a piece of her close. Which was what it was, at first. Sim believed it was a way for Hank to hold on a bit longer to Jennifer.

  Though in the end, Hank grew to love and care for him, at least, Sim thought so. Judging from a few moments ago, Sim was sure he was right. How he would ever begin to repay him, he didn’t know. The least he could do was to complain as little as possible about living here.

  He didn’t hate it. He liked the place. It was just so far from everything. It wasn’t like he could hop onto his bike and ride it down the street to hang out with his friends. Instead, he, and his friends, needed to plan a day where they would all meet in town and do something from there. Of course, it all depended on whether their parents could get them there.

  That would change when he got his car. He had been doing chores around the house for years, and Hank would pay him for it. His pay depended on whether he was asked to do the chore, or if he volunteered to do it without being asked. If he volunteered to do the chores, he always got paid more.

  It was easy to give a kid an allowance, Hank had told him, but what does the kid learn from that? That his parents are going to give him money all the time? No. It was better if he learned how to earn money. It was a much better way, and though Sim didn’t like doing chores, he had to agree. It made him appreciate his money.

  At first, he went crazy with it and bought candy, video games, and whatever he felt like. When Hank asked him how he was going to buy a car when he turned sixteen since he kept spending all his money, Sim went on a spending freeze. Apart from an occasional personal reward, he saved every coin. Now, he had enough money to buy the car he wanted, though it took him a whole year beyond his sixteenth birthday to do so.

  Closing his eyes, he pictured the car in his head. He was visualizing opening the car door when a scream from upstairs shattered the vision. Panicked, he rushed up the stairs. Never in his entire life had he heard someone scream like that. It held so much pain, he couldn’t imagine what it must feel like. Mounting the top of the stairs, he peered down the hall towards Hank’s room. It had to be Hank. There wasn’t anyone else here, but the scream was so… inhuman. He wasn’t sure it had been Hank.

  Taking measured steps, he moved down the hall to the door of his dad’s room. It was open a crack, as it always was, and Sim paused outside to listen. Someone breathed roughly — like each breath was being forced out of a tight chest, huffing and blowing. It was louder than it should have been and once again, heart pounding, he thought of his dad.

  Reaching for the handle so he could throw it open, the door was ripped from its hinges like it was made of cardboard and not the solid oak it was and tossed into the room to fly against the wall with a loud crash! Something he had never seen before came through, its bulk blocking the doorway like the moon blocks the sun in an eclipse.

  It appeared bearish, like they do when they rear up on their hind legs, but something was different. Its shoulders were located differently, as if the front legs were more like arms. To further this appearance, where the paws should be, there were elongated, beefy fingers, ending in wicked looking dagger-like claws.

  Its back legs appeared more capable of allowing the beast to use only its hind legs to walk. Examining its legs, he noticed something more shocking. Shredded strands of blue and white cloth dangled like streamers from a blue waistband stretched to its limits around the creature’s waist.

  Sim recognized it because it belonged to his father. It was his favorite sweatpants he frequently wore to sleep in. Noticing all this in seconds, the creature’s right claw smashed into him, slamming him into the wall. It was the last thing he remembered.

  Sim awoke to the worst pain imaginable. His body ached like he had purposely targeted each muscle group and gave it a good beating. Even with his eyes closed, he could tell he was no longer at home.

  There was a soft murmur of voices coming from somewhere to his right, like he was in class, with the door closed, when all the students walked by in the hall. It smelled different as well. The house smelled of pine and soot, this smelled of well, nothing. His left side ached tremendously. Tentatively he opened one of his eyes.

  He could tell he was in a hospital straightaway, lying on a hospital bed, sheets covering his body. A tray table on a swing arm was pushed to the side, empty.

  Blinds covered the window, doing a poor job of keeping out the light. So, it was daytime. No longer night. Ten hours, at least, he had been out. He saw Hank in the corner chair, his head lowered, and he was holding the sides of his head with his big hands.

  Sim tried to sit up and pain shot through his abdomen. He gasped. Yep, that was the muscle group that got beaten the most, he decided. Hank glanced up, he appeared on the verge of tears, and had trouble looking Sim in the eyes. Hastily, he moved to Sim’s side and motioned him to keep still. Sim took another deep breath. As if I was going to try and move again after that pain, he thought.

  “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I don’t remember too well what happened. The police are here, Sim. I told them you were climbing, fell, and landed on a stump. They are going to ask you some questions.” Pausing, he gazed away.

  “If you want to tell them the truth about what I did, well I understand. Just know, I never meant to hurt you, son,” Hank said, tears welling in his eyes.

  “Whoa. Dad. What are you talking about? Some sort of beast attacked me. Like a bear, though it wasn’t really a bear. It was like a man-bear. It stood on two legs, and it had on your sweatpants….” Sim stared at him. Hank glanced away, again.

  “That was you? How is that possible?”

  “I don’t know, son. The only reason I’m not flipping out right now is because my father told me about something like this when I was younger. His grandfather told him as well and made him promise to tell his son. Dad made me promise, too, but… well, that doesn’t matter, now.” His voice trailed
off.

  “Dad? Told you what? What are you talking about?”

  Hank shook his head to clear the reverie.

  “They told me there was a curse, or a blessing, they weren’t sure which one, passed down from father to son since the early days. This curse is supposed to transform you into a lycanthrope.”

  “A what? What the hell is a lie-can-rope?”

  “No. A lycanthrope, a were-creature. Like a werewolf, though it appears not all lycanthropes are werewolves. Evidently, you can be a werebear.” His lip curled in a smirk.

  “Obviously,” Sim replied, a little too harshly.

  Hank flushed. Sim, reaching out his hand as far as he could, covered Hank’s with his.

  “It’s okay. Well, I guess it’s not okay. I have a monster as a dad. I don’t know what to say, truthfully. It is all overwhelming.”

  “I could have killed you. It’s a miracle I didn’t. I think the only reason I didn’t, was I attempted to maintain as much of myself as I could.” Glancing towards the door, he moved his hand away.

  “Well, the cops wanted to know when you woke up. I’m surprised they let me wait in here, given their suspicions.” He rested his hand back on Sim’s upper arm. “It’s okay if you tell them. I’m prepared to face up to what I did.”

  Turning, he walked to the door, and opened it.

  “He’s awake.” Hank stepped aside allowing two officers into the room.

  They were both tall men. In fact, they could have been brothers with the same generous forehead which climbed from their eyebrows impossibly high until it reached slicked-back brown hair. They both shared the same sunken in eyes and rounded chin. The only thing setting them apart was the bushy mustache the one on the right wore beneath his bulbous nose. Checking the nametags, they both shared the same last name. Both were Detective Shirkland. Ah. So, they are brothers, Sim thought. One of the brothers, the one without the stache, turned to Hank.

  “Umm. You can wait outside, sir. We will call you when we are ready.”

  Hank nodded. Gave one more glance at Sim which spoke volumes and turned to leave, closing the door behind him.

  The one with the stache sat at the edge of the bed and smiled. Or at least he tried, it didn’t seem like much of a smile since his mustache was too bushy and hid his upper lip.

  “Hello, Simon. I’m Detective Mark Shirkland, and this is my partner, and yes, brother, Detective Allen Shirkland. We were contacted by the hospital because the injury you suffered was thought to resemble injuries sustained from abuse. Now I understand this may be a difficult thing for you to tell us. You live alone with your dad, and perhaps you’re afraid telling on him would put you in foster care or something.” He was trying to appear concerned but was failing miserably. It was obvious he had rehearsed this prior to coming in and wanted to get through it as swiftly as possible so he could arrest Hank.

  The detective continued.

  “I can understand your fear. I’m here to tell you it will be all right. You don’t need to be afraid. We can protect you. You need to tell us the truth about what happened. We’ll take care of the rest.”

  Sim gazed into the detective’s eyes and didn’t know what to say. He loved Hank. Hank was twice as much his dad as the one who fathered him. He would never cause him harm. But, how was he going to be safe if Hank changed into that…thing, again? Hank, himself, didn’t seem to have any idea of how to control the thing. So, what happened next time? What would his mom want him to do?

  “I fell,” Sim told the detective, matter-of-factly.

  The detective sighed, a slow exhalation of breath in resignation to a response he probably expected.

  “Simon. Look. We can’t help you if you won’t help us. You almost died, son. What if next time you get hurt worse?”

  “Next time I will tie myself to the tree like I’m supposed to, so I won’t fall. Now, if you will excuse me, gentlemen, I need to get some rest.”

  Detective Shirkland frowned at him.

  “Very well.” Pulling something from his jacket, he handed it to Sim. It was a business card.

  “If you change your mind, call the number on the card.”

  Sim watched as the detective tried to hand him the business card as his vision went narrow, and his breath caught in his throat. Pain burned through his chest. It was weird. Suddenly, all he could hear was a beeping noise droning on as he watched. It was like peeking through a door viewer.

  Watching, he could see the two detectives rush to the door and throw it open. They were shouting, but that damn beeping noise drowned them out. Hank, he saw, had rushed into the room and scanned his face.

  Sim could tell he was calling his name, but again, beeeeeeppppp. He wanted to tell him it was okay, not to worry, but he couldn’t seem to move his mouth. The expression of guilt on his face tore Sim up inside. He wanted to tell him this wasn’t his fault. But the truth was, it kinda was.

  Sim watched as doctors rushed in with several nurses. His tunnel vision narrowed to a pinprick. Then it was gone. Only the beep continued. Eventually, it disappeared as well. He knew nothing more.

  Hank sat alone on a bench outside Sim’s room, his large form filled the waiting chair to its max. He was a rock, an unmoving mound, and yet, below the surface, a roiling sea; its waves thrashing about in chaos. It had been almost an hour since the doctors had kicked him out of the room as they worked feverishly to try to save Sim.

  He didn’t understand it. The wounds Sim received were bad, but not bad enough to cause him heart failure. The two detectives spoke to him shortly after they left the room. Not so subtlety implying if Sim died, he would be going to jail. He had no idea what Sim had told them, so he kept his mouth shut. They left.

  It had been a while since he heard frantic people in the next room. He couldn’t understand why no one was coming out to tell him if his son was okay. What was going on? Standing to knock on the door, it opened abruptly. Several nurses filed out of the room, all giving him a quick glance from which he couldn’t discern anything.

  Trying to peer over their shoulders, hoping to see Sim, they opened the door only enough to pass through. As the last nurse stepped out, a doctor followed her, an older gentleman with kind eyes.

  Black peppered his gray hair and full beard, his youth trying to put up a sporadic fight. The doctor was tall and thick. Not nearly as tall or as thick as Hank, but he was a close second. Glasses, which were too small for his large face, rested precariously on the tip of his nose, ready to fall at the slightest lean forward, as bifocals customarily did. Closing the door behind him, he stopped in front of Hank.

  “Mr. Keller?” Hank nodded. “Your son is fine.”

  A sob broke out of Hank. The last time he cried was when Jennifer died, along with his son. He almost lost his last remaining piece of Jennifer in his life. Not only that, but he almost lost his son. That was what Sim was to him now, his son. The doctor waited a moment for Hank to collect himself.

  "Can I see him?"

  "I think we need to talk about some other things." The doctor motioned to the bench for him to sit. Hank regarded him quizzically, and the doctor motioned again to the seat. Hank sat.

  "Have you ever known Simon to be a quick healer?"

  Hank froze. He never knew Sim to be a quick healer. However, HE was a quick healer. He never was in the hospital, despite having broken his arm and collarbone after a bad fall out of a tree when he was young.

  His parents didn’t bother to take him, which at the time, he found strange, but after a few hours, his bones mended and the bruises covering the right side of his body where he had impacted the ground, disappeared. His father told him it had something to do with what grandpa told him about the curse he inherited — about the ability to change into a lycanthrope.

  At the time, of course, he thought the whole thing insane and dismissed it. Of course, through the years he came to accept the fact he healed miraculously quick. Broken bones knitted in hours, something simple as a paper cut disappeared in secon
ds, not leaving a scar.

  His father told him the same held true for him, he could heal rapidly and tried hard to stay away from hospitals and doctors since they always had uncomfortable questions. Not to mention a battery of tests. Hank stayed out of hospitals, and away from doctors. It was something he managed to keep to himself. Jennifer hadn't known about it.

  The problem was, Sim wasn't his kid. There was no blood relation between them. So how had he gained his ability to heal rapidly?

  "I've never noticed, doc. Why?"

  The doctor stared intently at him before answering, realizing Hank was not being all together truthful.

  "All of Simon's wounds have healed. They seem to have almost entirely disappeared as well. I can't locate any scarring tissue."

  Hank feigned surprise. "What? How is that possible?"

  The doctor watched Hank's reaction intently before answering. "It isn't. That is why I would like to keep your son here for some more tests."

  Hank didn't like it one bit. He didn't want them to start running tests on Sim, because he didn't think he would like what they found.

  "You said he is fine though, right?"

  The doctor nodded.

  "Well, if it is all the same to you, I would like to take Sim home."

  "Please, Mr. Keller. I think it is important for your son to stay here so we can better determine what happened. He almost died."

  "But he's fine now?"

  "I can't lie to you, Mr. Keller." Hank could tell he wished he could. "As far as I can tell, your son is in excellent condition."

  "Okay, we will be leaving,"

  Frowning for a bit, the Doctor finally nodded. Hank watched as he got up and proceeded down the hall.

  Hank stared at the door to his son's room, not knowing what to tell Sim. Somehow, he had transferred his ability to heal himself swiftly over to him. He didn't care for what it could possibly mean. Standing, he went to the door, opened it and entered.