by Noah Harris
There was silence again, as Mr. Williams stared at his hands for a long moment, saying nothing. Dean wondered what the man was seeing, or if he was seeing anything at all at that moment. It was all too easy to see that the man was probably lost in some memory of years long passed. When Mr. Williams turned his gaze up, Dean felt his heart drop, his stomach twisting at the sight of the man’s raw emotion.
“It was when he was 16,” the man’s voice was surprisingly steady, “we found him . . . I found him . . . with another boy his age.”
Dean’s eyes widened, “He was . . .”
Mr. Williams nodded, something akin to shame passing over the man’s face, “Aye. It was . . . a blow. I said things, many things. Looking back on it now, I can see . . . well, I can see a lot more now.”
A deep breath and the man continued, “We tried all sorts of things. We thought we were helping. Took him to a shrink, to a pastor a few counties over, all sorts of things. Nothing took. We tried so hard to fix our son, to fix what we felt we had broken inside of him, what had gone wrong in his heart and his soul.”
A deep-seated revulsion coiled in Dean’s gut as he listened. He wanted nothing more than to yell at this man, drive him off his land and be done with him and his wife. He was horrified that any parent had ever looked at their child and treated him like they had, all because of something so insignificant. For Dean, it was only the fact that the man was pouring his heart out to him that gave him pause and made his mouth stay clamped shut as Mr. Williams continued.
“When he turned 18, he . . . we woke up one day and his bed was empty. For two years, we heard nothing from him at all. This boy that we had given life to, raised for years, cherished and cared for, was gone and we didn’t know where he had gone to. We didn’t know whether he was alive or dead, whether he had stuck to the habits we had tried to instill, if his soul was still pure.”
“When he . . . when he returned,” his voice wavered, “he . . . hadn’t. He had spent time in the city, where that sort of life is okay at times. When he came back, he was a full-grown man, and he had thrown everything we had tried to teach him away. He was all fire and smoke that day.” His eyes flickered to his feet, speaking through his teeth, “Demanding we accept him. ‘Catch up with the rest of the world,’ is what he said. If we wanted our son, we had to be okay with this . . . with this life.”
Blue eyes raised slowly to meet Dean’s own, “I . . . I told him that I had no son.”
Dean looked away, unable to hold the man’s gaze any longer. That same disgust roiled even harder in his gut, threatening to bubble up and out with the beer he had already drank. It was obvious that the other man was struggling with this story, struggling with what had happened. Now Dean wondered if perhaps this man, this Sebastian, wasn’t dead, but simply dead to this man he had once respected.
Was the point of this story to tell Dean that Mr. Williams knew and that he disapproved?
“My son . . .” Mr. Williams tried to continue, but his voice finally cracked, the crack threatening to widen with each syllable spoken, “my son was dead three months later. The doctors told me he felt no pain, that it was quick. But they didn’t say much about the fact that he was hurtin’ enough to . . . to put that bullet there himself.”
The bright blue of the man’s eyes had dimmed as he looked at Dean. Dean’s growing rage and disgust faltered and fell at the sight of the man’s obvious pain, at an agony that had only grown tolerable with time . . . not lessened. It was all too easy to see that the man still hurt every day, and if Dean were to guess, he would say that Mrs. Williams was no different.
“My son . . . was not broken, until we broke him,” Mr. Williams continued, his voice wavering still. “We might as well have put that gun in his hand and pulled the trigger for him. We were so sure we were right, that we could fix him; that we could . . . save him. That what he was wasn’t the right path. But what we know now is that there weren’t nothin’ wrong with him. It was us . . . we were wrong.”
Dean finally found his voice—shaky and unsure, but there all the same. “Mr. Williams, why are you telling me this?”
Mr. Williams sniffed, turning his head away from Dean for a moment, “Maybe I see a bit of him in you. Maybe I know you and Mikael ain’t just friends, and probably ain’t been for a while. Maybe I learned a thing or two about making wrong assumptions the hard way.”
“I,” Dean paused, cocking his head, “you . . .”
“Aye, I know,” the old man chuckled, giving a last swipe at his face before turning back to Dean. “You’d have to be a fool to miss it. I know the missus has seen it, and it worries her, but that’s only because Mikael’s Grove, that’s all. I don’t fault her for not bein’ able to let all her old beliefs go, sometimes a person’s gotta hold onto what they have to keep goin,’ and I think that’s one of her things. But yeah, I seen it. You two . . . glow around one another, even when you’re tryin’ to put an old, foolish man on.”
Dean frowned, not willing to correct the man on his assessment. If Mr. Williams had picked up on it, there was nothing that Dean could really say about it. He wasn’t going to try to change the man’s assessment of himself either. To deny that the man had screwed up badly would be a lie, and they both knew it all too well. Yet there was something in the man’s face that kept him from saying anything aloud.
“I know a little somethin’ about people when they’re . . . well, I can’t say if it’s love, but close enough,” Mr. Williams sighed, still smiling a little. “But I also know a little something about having regrets for what ya did or didn’t do and say.”
At that, Dean squirmed a little under that same hard scrutiny, “There’s nothing to say really . . . it’s not . . .”
“You left with him back to The Grove, and you come back days later, without him, and looking more miserable than a man in your position should be.” Mr. Williams frowned at Dean, “I didn’t tell you my woes for nothin’ ya know. I had a chance to help someone I love. I had the chance to make my boy’s life beautiful and bright, and I screwed it up. If maybe you knowin’ that can keep you from makin’ a bad choice, then maybe more good can come of it than I thought.”
It was Dean’s turn to look at his hands, a war of emotions inside of him as he managed to speak, “It . . . it wasn’t my decision . . .”
“Hmph. Maybe not your decision to leave, or to come back here like you did, least, not totally your decision. But it’s gonna be yours if you stay here. Lemme guess, his family?”
Dean nodded, “Guess you could say we’re both kinda stuck when it comes to other people.”
Mr. Williams made a noise of begrudging agreement, “You ask me, you don’t need to worry about no one out here. Even if people found out, you got at least me and the missus to fall back on. We learned our lesson on that, and you should be with the person who makes ya happy.”
Dean raised a brow, “Even if that person comes from The Grove?”
That brought a small chuckle from the older man, “Well, it takes all sorts. Kinda makes sense though, to me anyway. You’ve always been halfway between here and the outside world, and he’s always been halfway between here and The Grove. And don’t you go worrying about my wife none either, she might not like where he’s from, but . . . considerin’ our shared history, she ain’t gonna say too much . . . not if I have anything to say about it anyway.”
“That . . . actually does make me feel a little better,” Dean admitted, surprised to find he was telling the truth, “but it doesn’t help with him very much.”
“Mm, family is tough, I’ll give you that. And I know the people in that place are close as can be with one another, blood or not. But do you really think this is right? Just letting it go like this?”
That made Dean mad, and he knew full well that it was showing on his face, not that he really cared if the other man saw it.
“Why do I have to do it? Last time he drifted away from me, I was the one who had to track him down. I was the one who had to reach o
ut and make him come to me. Is that what I’m going to have to keep doing? Am I always gonna be the one who has to work for it, who has to fight for it, even against him?”
The man eyed Dean, that intense gaze sweeping over his face and up and down his body before shrugging, “Maybe. Every bond is different Dean, and everyone has their part to play, ya know. Relationships ain’t easy, and they ain’t never gonna be easy. They’re always work, and sometimes that work is havin’ to fight against yourself and the other person. Far as I can tell, from the way you’re actin’, his family put him up to it and he’s goin’ with it. Take heart to the story of my son, we might’ve pushed him one way, but somewhere along the line he found himself and was willing to step out of what we tried to force him into. A braver man than I ever was.”
Dean was aware but didn’t want to point out the irony of the statement by asking how well that had ended up working out for the man’s son. Even in his own head, it sounded needlessly cruel, and unfair to boot. How could he judge someone who had been in that much pain, so much that death had seemed kinder? That sort of thing was never simple, and it left behind a mess in its wake. Dean wished there had been a kinder way for Mr. and Mrs. Williams to have learned their lesson, one that involved their son still happy and alive.
“What I’m trying to say is, you might not have come back here totally by choice, but you can make the decision to go back. It might seem like you’re doin’ all the work right now, but somewhere down the line, he might be doin’ the heavy liftin’ too. But if you two are half as crazy about one another as I think ya are, then you can’t be sittin’ here feelin’ bad for yourself.”
Now Dean’s frown turned to the beer in his hand, almost forgotten until that moment as he gazed at it in irritation, “What, I can’t be hurt? Be mad?”
The other man stood with a laugh, “Oh, be mad. Sure. That boy chased you outta there ‘cause he’s afraid of things, and doin’ the ‘noble’ thing too, I bet. Well, you be mad, relationships ain’t about never bein’ mad at the other. So yeah, you be mad, but maybe . . . do somethin’ besides sittin’ around stewing in your anger. Or don’t, but just think on it.”
Dean sat there, still stunned as he watched the older man slowly descend the stairs, get into his truck and drive off with a little wave out the window as he went. For the longest time, Dean stayed in his spot on the porch, barely moving as the night darkened and the moon rose. He didn’t think about what he had discussed with Mr. Williams. Instead, everything floated around inside his head, almost lazily, as he watched the moon rise.
He never did finish the beer he’d been drinking when his unexpected visitor arrived. No longer interested, he set the bottle down with the empties beside him, then padded his way upstairs and crashed into what he had thought would be a shared bed forever, until recent events had ruined the idea. He went to bed mostly because he didn’t know what else to do, but didn’t expect sleep to come easily, what with all the conflicting thoughts bouncing around in his head.
Turned out he was wrong, with sleep catching him within minutes of lying there in the darkness, dragging him down into a dreamless state.
chapter
Twelve
When he awoke, it was an instant action, his body alert as soon as his eyes opened. Sometime during the night, he had apparently managed to do a lot of thinking. Based on the way he felt, though asleep, he had done more thinking than dreaming anyway. His body didn’t feel rested, but his mind was wide awake, and a decision had been made.
The night had done nothing to calm his attitude however, and he was still mad as hell. But, somewhere along the line, the bleak gray that had subverted his mind and his mood was totally gone. The feeling of lethargy that had sunk into his body during the past few days was gone as well.
It occurred to him, as he got up to ready himself for the day, that it was like a fog that had been burned away by the sun. That was more poetic than he was usually prone to, but he found that he liked the feel of the imagery in his head. The almost total depression had been like a fog over his mind and heart, so thick that you couldn’t see more than a foot or so before you. Yet the sun—still going with his amusing metaphor—wasn’t his anger, even though it had been the emotion that had truly burned through that fog. Instead, it was purpose, because he had awoken with a plan in mind and he was going to see through.
Up to this point, he had always lived his life in a measured and careful way, always being more cautious than daring. He had always believed that life involved taking chances carefully considered chances. He would take risks, but only prudently calculated risks. Today however, when passion met that old habit of his, it was burned away and a purpose was born. Not from detailed plans and thoughtful decision making—this was created spontaneously. He didn’t even question himself either. He wasn’t usually a ‘spur of the moment guy,’ but today was different. He woke up with a purpose and a plan and he didn’t look back.
He took the time to shower and eat before he set out. It took him only a moment to call Mr. Williams and make sure that the homestead would be taken care of. Apparently, he had been anticipating Dean’s call and was on board to resume the task of watching over everything before Dean could even get the question out. Satisfied that he was leaving things in good order, Dean hung up the phone and went looking for Mikael’s keys.
He appreciated the familiar roar of the truck as he turned the key in the ignition, finding the sound to be a fitting start to his trip. A trip which seemed much shorter than the last, having reached the entrance into the oppressive woods in what felt like no time at all.
In some ways, he supposed he should be concerned, or at least a little worried about himself. When in his life had he ever just . . . rushed off and done something like this, on a whim with such a small amount of thinking behind it? The truth was, it had been years since he had done any so impulsive, even before his parents had died, let alone his grandfather. He had learned to live a careful, measured life even before those tragedies had occurred. And now he was breaking that trend, all for the sake of his hopeful heart.
The truth was, he didn’t really know exactly what he was aiming to do out here, or if he even had a good chance at succeeding. Hell, he might not even survive. Considering how fired up he felt at the moment, he realized that it didn’t really matter. Somehow, this idea had become stuck in his head, and he wasn’t going to stop until he saw it through.
Even the oppressive feeling of the woods wasn’t enough to deter him from pushing forward. Maybe it was just because the day was bright enough to push light through the cover of the branches overhead. Maybe it was that he was just determined enough that it didn’t matter who or what tried to get in his way. Mikael’s truck took every bounce and jostle with relative ease, and Dean drew a parallel in his mind—if the truck could make it through all of this, then so could he.
As he drove, admittedly faster than he should have, he thought over the various scenarios that were possible. Little one act plays to pass the time as he pushed determinedly toward his destination. Honestly, he had no idea what would happen when he showed up. For all he knew, he could show up and all of this willpower, this fiery focus, could wither in the face of Mikael’s expression. Or, the people in the Grove could somehow prevent him from ever reaching his destination at all, just a handful of them would be more than enough to stop him.
If there was one thing he had learned from his conversation with Mr. Williams the night before, it was that to try was better than to do nothing at all. Sure, he might fail miserably and be right back where he started. Hell, he could even end up well and truly dead, brought down by the claws of the violent werewolf that lay in the heart of the place. This was, after all, their realm, not his, and he was nothing more than a problematic intruder, about to come barging in making demands.
There was a part of him that was still quite stunned at what he was planning to do. Dean knew full well that everything he had brewing in his mind went against the patterns he’d followe
d for most of his life. Looking upon it from a detached position, as if watching a movie he found himself pondering how life brought you to the strangest places, and sometimes made you do the very things you swore you’d never do.
Somehow this man, this werewolf, this whatever the hell he was to the rest of the world, had situated himself so deep into Dean’s mind and heart, that he was apparently going insane over it. What he could have sworn was a mad cackle bubbled out from his lips even as he thought of it. What else would cause him, a mere squishy human, to go barreling into a place full of hostile and soon to be angry werewolves? What else but madness would make him drive this man’s truck so deep into the heart of the woods that he might never be heard from again?
Well, that answer was pretty obvious, he supposed. Even Mr. Williams had called him out on it after all. He supposed that eventually he would just have to admit, if only to himself, that he had started on a new path a long time ago. The path down a slippery slope that led to this sort of insanity, this sort of impatient madness that could just as easily bring ruin as joy. Maybe it really was love, but maybe it was simply obsession. He had never known or experienced love beyond that of his family, but he supposed this was about as close as he was going to get.
“Damn you,” he muttered through gritted teeth, not knowing if he was cursing himself, Mikael, or even Mr. Williams for bringing this to his attention. All were attractive prospects in his mind, but he supposed he would figure it out when he made it to The Grove.
If he were thinking a little more clearly, he probably would have been amazed at how short the drive seemed to be when he finally arrived at The Grove. Instead, he pulled into the designated parking area. Shoving the gearshift into park, he gathered himself for a moment before pitching himself from the cab of the truck—into what he did not know.
Apparently, his rather hasty and dramatic entrance had not gone unnoticed. The people that stood outside watched him curiously. He might have left this place in Mikael’s truck, but he had done so with his tail tucked between his legs. Hell, he had hardly been able to look anyone in the eye as he had all but skulked out of the place. Now, he glared at every single person who eyed him curiously, daring any of them to say something. The worst he received was a raised brow thrown in his direction, before they all hastily turned away, busying themselves with whatever they had been doing before his arrival.