by Allie Jean
She attempted a menacing glare, but his posture held no room for rebuttal. Instead of denying the inevitable, she took a step closer to him, shoulders sagging in defeat.
“This will not hurt physically, Chantal, but I cannot promise that you will be free from mental anguish.”
“Okay. Fine, let’s do this!” she said, letting her internal warrior answer what she couldn’t.
The nervous energy returned to her in a snap, and it seemed that this time, she would be the one who’d need some form of distraction.
A large hand slid into hers, and she relaxed feeling Mathias so close to her. Once again, he seemed to sense when she needed him. Mad or not, she knew he would die for her. If she wasn’t careful, she’d begin to depend on him. Having been an independent person for the majority if her life, Chantal found the change a little upsetting, yet thrilling at the same time.
“You hold more truth inside your mind than even I may be aware of.” Titus sat on the edge of the mattress and slid his palms on either side of her head, cupping her face in his massive grip. “Perhaps at the end of this, you could shed a light on a few things, hmm?”
She returned her gaze to Titus and saw for the first time the warming smile of her werewolf. Although he wasn’t covered in fur, the kindness in his eyes made her think of home. A picture of her childhood neighborhood formed inside her head, the comforting atmosphere bringing a nostalgic tear to her eye. Clamping her eyes shut, Chantal let out a shaky breath. She never realized just how much she’d missed it.
“Just breathe. Let your mind go. Remember your home, your bedroom. Let it all come back.”
Each scene passed in her mind. She could see them clearly, as if it was yesterday. The familiar smells, the warm summer sun of her hometown, reminded her of happiness and safety. Both things she hadn’t truly felt for years, flooding her mind and forming a cocoon of warmth and awareness.
Her mother’s image came next, light and beauty personified. She could envision her cool blue eyes, her corn silk hair, her soft and hypnotic voice.
“Chantal, you’ll get all dirty, honey,” her mother said, and laughed as a small girl climbed the wide base of an olive tree.
“I’m brave and tough, just like Damon,” the girl said, sounding every bit the determined, younger sister.
“No, you’re not, you runt!” a dark-haired boy hollered from high up, his dark eyes reflected his minute victory, even if it was to be short-lived.
“I will help you, princess,” a deep, male voice said, and the most handsome man appeared from the house, his gray skin the only oddity to his otherworldly beauty. In his arms, he carried a little girl. The epitome of her mother, she had bright blue eyes and hair like the sun. She smiled and clapped her tiny hands excitedly.
“Luanne . . .” Her sister’s name came out without conscience thought, and Chantal, still sitting clamped her eyes tighter together against the sharp memory of her long-forgotten baby sister.
“Up!” the little girl said, reaching her hands up, and her father lifted her into the air, much to the child’s delight.
“You got her, Damon?” Their father sat his youngest on the branch beside her brother, and the older boy wrapped a steady arm around his sister, his eyes fixed on her bouncing body like the protector he’d always been.
“I got her, Dad,” he said.
With the tenacity of her mother, and the stubborn streak of her father, the young Chantal tugged and pulled herself along the trunk, ignoring the scrapes on her knees as the rough bark dug in.
Her mother reached out to the girl when her grip faltered, but her father silently told her to wait. She struggled, groaning and panting, but in the end, she made it to the top of the tree. Her sister and brother clapped their approval, and she threw her fist into the air in triumph.
The scene changed into one that she’d remembered many times. She was in her childhood bed, her mother at her bedside reading out of her favorite book. Her father was there, too, stroking his hand along her hairline, looking at her with pride and love.
Images began coming in quick succession, some of them too rapid for her to digest: Playing with her sister in the familiar childhood room. Both girls laughed and seemed to be the best of friends. Her brother Damon indulging his sisters and played dress-up. He was a knight, while the other two were girls dressed in pink and purple gowns. The family of five sitting at the dinner table, laughing as they devoured a perfectly prepared meal.
As the memories came to her, they implanted deep inside her mind as if they’d always been there. Of course, they always had been there; they’d just been covered by lies and deceit.
Years seemed to pass in a blink. The children grew in each vision, and there seemed to be a strange tension between the parents that they kept shielded from their kids. Looking back on it from a third person’s point of view, Chantal could make out the subtle differences.
Soon, Titus appeared. He hadn’t been covered in fur as he had in her memories. He’d been known to her as Uncle Terry, and he was a dear friend of her father’s.
Uncle Terry visited quite often, and at some points, she could see him in several visions staying the night at the house. On those evenings, there seemed to be an edge of tension. Her mother didn’t smile as much, and her father would remain quiet, somber.
“He’s changing, Quintus,” Titus whispered. The young Chantal, almost eight now, stood just outside the corridor, listening in. Both men stood in the kitchen, their heads together in private conversation as childish laughter poured from the living room, along with a soothing female voice.
“He’s just a boy,” the father said, his expression defensive.
“He’s almost a man,” Titus said. “You have to be on your guard. The Evil One speaks to him, I’m sure of it.”
Both men paused, looking out to where the rest of the family gathered. Damon sat on the couch, seeming numb as he watched the girls laugh and play, and Quintus sighed in frustration.
“I will speak to him,” her father said, and Titus clamped a hand of solidarity on his shoulder.
Time passed again, the family becoming more and more distant from one another. She watched her mother try to engage her once loving husband, only to be ignored for other, more pressing stresses in his life. Her older brother had lost that spark about him, keeping his distance from his father when at all possible. Luanne had held onto her innocence the longest, but soon even she began to lose it.
Chantal sensed the confusion and sadness she’d felt as a child, always more observant than her younger sister. She could see the girl hiding in corners, watching her father and Uncle Terry converse for hours on end, and her mother in tears of confusion and anger over her lost sense of normalcy.
“Why is he always here?” her mother said. They stood just inside their bedroom with the door barely cracked. “What’s going on that you feel you can’t share with me?”
“Maryanne . . .” her father said.
“I don’t like this,” she said. “There’s a reason Titus is here, watching me and the girls like a hawk. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”
“Things are kind of . . . tense . . . right now.”
“Tense?” Maryanne said. “That’s all you have to say to me?”
“That’s all I have,” Quintus said, glaring at his wife.
“Daddy?” young Chantal called, and both parents turned to see her watching them from the hallway.
The vision changed into chaos. A violent sheen of red covered her vision, and her body went rigid.
“What’s going on?” Mathias said, but her focus remained fixed on the images in her mind.
“She’s remembering,” Titus said.
Red congealed into pools of clotted blood. Death invaded all five senses, saturated deep within every pore.
That night, the one she’d had questions about all of her life, began to play like some horror flick within her mind.
Part of her wanted to see what was about to be revealed, but her fear and an
xiety stopped her. Nothing made sense to her anymore, but before she could put up any kind of mental block against the memories, they pushed through relentlessly.
Luanne lay still in a river of blood, her tiny body crumpled and broken on the tile floor, covered in bloody footprints, and she could feel large arms holding her aloft, keeping her from falling.
“Titus, get her out of here,” her father said as her mother stood there in tears.
“No!” she and her mother cried in unison. Quintus grabbed his trembling wife by the shoulders, directing her away from the death scene.
“Neither of you is safe,” he said. “This is because of me.” Maryanne paused, glaring before slapping him across the face. Quintus took the blow.
Nothing was said for several minutes. War had arrived on their doorstep, infiltrated their family, and blasted their solidarity completely apart.
“Where’s Damon?” her younger self asked in a shaky voice, but no one answered her.
“Go!” her father said. Uncle Terry picked her up, ignoring her screams of protest. He’d been the one to take her, pledging to Quintus that he’d keep her safe.
“Where is he?” the present day Titus said. “Chantal, I know your father told you where to find him. Remember, please!”
The childhood screams in her head were now coming from her mouth. Pain and devastation were heavy in her heart. She could taste the bile rising to the back of her throat. She bent to the ground, retching and crying.
“Focus,” Titus said.
“Leave her be,” Mathias said and placed his large hand on her back, her only anchor to reality. “She’s been through enough.”
“Think, Chantal. Focus on your father. He told you where to find him.”
“I can’t!” she screamed, clamping her eyes tight.
“Do it, now!”
Images flashed, both lives blending into one: Regina screaming at her for her incompetence, her mother baking bread on Sunday morning, her brother laughing as she tried to do a headstand just like the one he’d done, and later, his vacant stare as evil seemed to seep into his mind.
“So what happened, Daddy?” her younger self said. “What happened to the good prince?”
“He fled, baby. He ran away to keep his family safe from the Evil King.” Her father was kneeling by her bed, telling her one of his infamous bedtime stories.
“Back to our ‘safe place’?” she asked with innocent interest.
“Of course,” her father smiled. “And where is that at, baby? Do you remember?”
Her younger self nodded emphatically.
“Athens!” Chantal screamed as she opened her eyes to see the stone floor below her, covered in vomit. “He’s in Athens, Greece.”
It felt like she’d been running through a tornado.
Mathias held her hand tightly, maneuvering her through the confusing bleakness at a high speed. They’d left the warehouse as soon as night fell, knowing the Kajola would be hunting. Part of her wondered what the monsters would look like from this side.
She felt numb. Reality had become some kind of fairytale turned nightmare. Every memory she’d ever had was disjointed and confusing. The truth mixed with the lies, and she felt she couldn’t trust any of it.
Tears poured silently down her face. She felt empty, while her eyes leaked like a sieve.
“We’re almost there.” His voice barely penetrated her fuddled mind. Mathias hadn’t said a thing since they’d left the cold, stone room. Hearing him now caused a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
“Where are we going?” she whispered.
He didn’t answer. Instead, Mathias pulled them out of the Shade and into the middle of a vast desert. Illuminated by the full moon, a few Joshua trees could be seen sprouting at various places along the dreary ground. Some kind of large building stood erect out of the gloom, and Chantal followed mindlessly as Mathias pulled her toward it.
“You’ll be safe here for a while. This is somewhat off the beaten path.”
He opened the door to the dilapidated building, sweeping the area around them as he ushered her through. Once they both were inside, Chantal noticed that he let down his guard a little.
“What is this?” She glanced around. They stood in a medium-size room that seemed to have been abandoned for quite some time. Debris cluttered the ground, and she could hear some movement from one corner like a scampering animal. It didn’t even bother her.
“It’s an old church,” Mathias said, breaking several pieces of wood to form a pile in the middle of the floor. “It’s been vacant ever since the well out back went dry.”
Chantal nodded like it made perfect sense. Tired and emotionally drained, and all she wanted was to climb into her bed and sleep for a decade. It didn’t look like that would happen for some time.
She meandered around the room, taking in the broken pews and prayer books scattered across the floor. Feeling a kinship with the forgotten place of worship, she too felt forsaken and left behind. Pushing some of the debris around with her boot, her mind wandered.
How had her life taken such a drastic turn? And yet, she realized, it had always been so full of the supernatural, she just hadn’t been able to remember it until now. The once easygoing, normal girl had disappeared. She may have never existed in the first place. It seemed that had been her mask, her alternative identity.
Placing a swift kiss to her forehead, Titus barked some orders to his brother and then left to find her father.
Chantal’s mood shifted from somber to anger at the mention of her father.
The deserting bastard.
From now on, this would be how she’d always refer to Quintus, who was enjoying the high life in Athens, while leaving his only surviving daughter to fend for herself.
Of course, she was grateful she’d had Nick all these years, but she’d been left to live with Regina, Miss Hannigan to the umpteenth degree, to suffer through years of horrific and confusing nightmares . . . alone.
Anger was now another one of the emotions she could add to the mix she’d been battling for the last hour or so. Anger seemed to move to the top of the list and pushed her to keep going.
Exhaustion overwhelmed her, and she slouched down to the ground, leaning her back against a broken pew and staring as Mathias tried to light the piled wood. His massive body hunched over the makeshift pit seemed almost comical to her, like an overgrown boy scout trying to earn a badge.
“You know, carbon dioxide doesn’t really mix with my lungs too well, and I doubt even you could see through billowing smoke once this room fills up.”
Mathias glanced at her for a moment, and then pointed up to the ceiling, and she looked up to see a hole in the broken down roof. She didn’t notice it before. She saw a few stars peek through softening her anger. They were beautiful. She always enjoyed stargazing as an escape, but she’d never seen them which such clarity. Chantal shivered and drew her knees in as she felt a slight draft. She was slowly becoming more aware of her surroundings, her mind clearing more with each passing minute.
“You okay?” Mathias had scooted closer to her, having been able to get the fire going. She didn’t answer him, enjoying the moment of peace while it lasted.
“I hope you know you can still talk to me if you need to. I’m aware that what my brother did was cruel. I’m still your Nick. He’s just doing his job.”
She shrugged.
“I know, Mathias,” she said using his given name. He smiled.
“I never doubted your loyalty to protect me. I just feel like everything up until now was a lie, but the truth is hard to swallow. Almost unreal, though I know it is. I’ve always known there was something missing, something just out of reach. I hated that feeling, but this is so much worse. I’m so angry that my father abandoned me while he is off doing . . . whatever,” she said throwing her hands up in frustration.
“Chantal, please, talk to me. I’m here for you. Maybe together, we can make sense of it all. Abandoned is a strong word. I
’m sure he had his reasons, as did my brother. We may not agree with their actions, but you were never left unprotected. Titus made sure of that. I made sure of that.”
“Have you ever wondered if there’s someone up there plotting all this? Like they have a huge chess board, and they’re moving around the pieces for their own entertainment?”
Mathias followed her gaze, and settled in beside her to enjoy the view.
“I don’t think of it quite like that, but yes, I do.”
“Why do I feel like I’m the butt of the joke right now? I am confused, hurt, and overall pissed at someone messing with my memories, my life, and worst of all, my family.” A tear fell from her eye, even though she felt nothing but stone cold anger in her heart.
“Chantal, I know you can’t believe this right now, but those memories were hidden from you for your own safety.”
“Explain to me how it was safe for me to live in that home, to bounce around foster homes, and never feel any sort of kindness from anyone.”
“No one knew who you were or where you were from. If they did, the Kajola could’ve easily tracked you.”
“Even in the Shade world, there’s such a thing as a paper trail.”
“Not if we destroy and rebuild it to our needs. We protect our own.”
Chantal glared at him. He watched her with an unrepentant expression, and that seemed to fuel her inner fire more.
“I can’t believe this!” She got up and paced back and forth in an attempt to calm down and put her thoughts in order.
“I believed I was from New York, which is funny considering I get a twang when I get really good and pissed, but I figured it’s just something I picked up from one of the numerous foster homes I’ve been in. I’m not even from New York, am I?”
“No, you were born and raised for nine years in a small town in California, somewhat off the beaten path.”