Werewolf Sings the Blues

by Jennifer Harlow

  “Welcome home, Jason,” the camera person, I think Maureen, says.

  “Come on, your room is boss,” Adam says. “You got Star Wars sheets!”

  Jenny picks Matt up as Frank and Adam flank the visibly tense Jason. Damn, he must have been terrified walking into that house. Going from abandoned, living in shit, to thrust into Leave it to Beaver in the space of a few months. I would have run screaming or have had to be carried through the door. He does neither, just calmly walks in, though the glower never wavers as they tour the house.

  “And here’s your very own bedroom,” Frank says as they move in. It’s sparsely furnished with just the basics and a “Welcome Home Jason” banner on the wall. “Mattie made you that. It says, ‘Welcome Home.’”

  “What do we say to Matt?” Maureen asks.

  “Thank you,” Jason mutters.

  Jenny clutches her son tighter as if afraid Jason will try to eat the boy. Bitch. “Do you like it?” she asks, toneless. Jason nods.

  “We should leave him alone to get acclimated,” Maureen suggests.

  “Okay,” Frank says, squeezing the boy’s shoulder. “We’ll be right downstairs, son. There’s cake when—” The scene cuts out when Maureen shuts off the camera. That poor boy. I’ll bet he didn’t leave that room for days.

  For the next three hours between occasional perimeter checks, I watch as Jason slowly blooms. Going from huddling alone in a corner at parties, refusing to go trick or treating, not answering questions to in the space of a little over a year judging from the time/date stamps, learning to swim and ride a bike. Learning to read with Frank and Maureen. Wrestling with Tate and Adam. Letting Matt help with his homework. Doing the dishes for Jenny. Actually smiling when he opens his Christmas present, a football. A lesser person would have shut off. Kept the others away. After all he was put through, it wouldn’t have been surprising. Not him. He stepped up to the unknown and leapt. Allowed himself to be vulnerable. Open. It paid off with interest. I think deep down, way deep, Jason Dahl is a cock-eyed optimist. Another thing I love about him, his ability to keep that spark of hope alive in spite of all the bullshit. He wouldn’t have given me the tapes otherwise.

  After a quick coffee break and perimeter check, I return to the tapes. More parties, vacations, holidays, Matt in school pageants, and walking around a hotel wearing a Mickey Mouse hat. Matt was such a sweet boy. Patient even as a child. Friendly. Giving. I see a lot of the twins in him. The same enthusiasm for life, same interest in making people feel good. I really wish I’d met him. I wonder what he would have thought about me. Would he have—

  “… right after the intermission,” Frank says to Jenny, whose exasperated face fills the screen. This is the norm. She always seems pissed off around her husband. “We’ll leave right after. I told you, you didn’t have to come.”

  “I wouldn’t hear the end of it otherwise,” Jenny snaps.

  “Dad, this is boring,” Matt, now about twelve, says. “Can’t we go back to Disney World?”

  “Right after your sister sings. I promise.”

  Holy shit, I knew I recognized that auditorium. The high arched awnings, the medium-sized stage with thick red curtains. It’s my boarding school. My first solo performance at age fourteen. I forgot Jason mentioned they were there. In the third row no less. The camera pans to an expressionless teenage Jason. “Jason’s enjoying himself, aren’t you Jace?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Dad, how come we can’t say hi to her after the show? I want to,” Matt whines.

  “Maybe next time,” Jenny says. “We have a long drive back tonight.”

  The lights dim before Miss Tyson, all 4'9" of her, toddles center stage to applause. I was clutching onto the curtain, unable to breathe, and praying I’d stay in tempo and remember the words. Part of me was glad I had no one in the audience except a few friends. If I fell flat or screwed up, who cared? Jesus, had I known my long-lost father and his new family were there I’d never have stepped onstage.

  “… Vivian Dahl!” Miss Tyson says.

  The audience claps as the spotlight follows my fourteen-year-old self to center stage. God, I never knew I was ever that young. Fresh faced, freckled, hair on fire in the light, virginal white dress giving me an angelic aura. Not a girl, not yet a woman. I’m visibly nervous, only capable of half a smile for my adoring audience. I was so grateful for that spotlight, that I couldn’t see the audience. That way I could pretend I was back in the classroom. Just me and the music. The gallery ceases clapping, and the school orchestra begins the intro. Even now, fifteen years later, I tense when I hear that flute. On the TV, the nervous girl takes a deep breath, opens her mouth and starts, “Someone to Watch Over Me” as if she’d sung it all her life. That was written just for me. I owned that song. All downhill from this exact moment. My crowning achievement. And Frank captured it—

  “Frank!” Jenny whispers.

  At the end of the first verse, the camera pans to his concerned wife who points right. The camera moves in that direction, showing a mesmerized Jason taking a step toward the stage like a sleepwalker. His slack face is transfixed, as if God himself had just revealed His true form. The camera shakes as Frank rises, then lunges toward his son. Frank grabs Jason’s shoulder and pulls Jason back down into his seat as I continue my song in the background. “Jason,” Frank whispers harshly. “What the hell are you doing? Stay seated.”

  I fill the screen again, oblivious to everything but my song. I belt out the chorus and another verse before Jenny hisses, “Frank,” and Jason’s up again. “Damn it.” The camera moves to the floor, jerking as Frank holds it by the handle while walking. It moves toward the stage, stops, spins, then jiggles up the aisle as I assume Frank drags Jason out through the door. On screen there’s nothing but a dark parking lot with the campus in the background.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Frank asks after I hear a door shut.

  “I was going to her,” I hear Jason say. Damn it, why didn’t he point the camera up?

  “Going … what? Why?”

  “She’s my mate. I am to be with her,” he says in confusion. If he’s unsettled for himself or from Frank’s reaction, I don’t know. My mind is whirling with confusion as well.

  “What? No, she’s your sister,” Frank says.

  “No, she is my mate,” he states as fact. “I’m sure. I must go to her. Tell her. I—”

  I hear the door open again. “What the hell is the matter with him now?” Jenny asks off screen.

  “Nothing,” Frank says. “He’s fine.”

  “That was not fine,” Jenny snaps. “That was mortifying.”

  “Dad, the camera’s still on,” Matt says.

  “I have to go back—” Jason insists.

  Static. No, wait. That’s it? It cuts to a new scene at a hotel with Matt diving in the pool, Jenny sunbathing, and Jason off alone staring into space. Frank prattles on about Disney to Jenny, but I barely pay attention my brain is too busy processing what came before.

  Insane. What came before was insane. There is no way in hell that happened. It’s … insane. I don’t believe in love at first sight. Lust at first sight, hell yes, but love? Only in fairy tales. I know he’s a werewolf, and pheromones and magic and all that crap Adam told me about, but honestly I took what he was saying with a grain of salt. He was justifying his longing for forbidden fruit. And even if what I witnessed was love at first sight, it was fifteen fucking years ago. I lived thousands of miles away. We had no contact whatsoever. He would have gotten over it. Forgotten about me.

  He doesn’t still … oh, my God.

  All the tumblers to unlock the mystery of Jason Dahl finally align. With that click, I feel like I’ve been socked in the gut. I even hunch over in my chair. He does. Of course he does. He’s loyal to a fault. Once you’re in his heart, you’re in for life. Fifteen damn years he loved me and kept his dista
nce. For me. Like Frank, to protect me. To keep me from all this … death. Then, when the shit hit the fan, he kept me safe again. Was shot for me. Would have walked inside that farmhouse alone to save me, of that I have no doubt. And there I was. The forbidden fruit, the woman he loved, shooting at him. Teasing him. Flaunting myself. God, what a disappointment I must have been. He fell in love with the angel on stage only to find out she was the coked up Whore of Babylon.

  And yet …

  He loves me. A wonderful, kind, caring, strong, honorable man loves me. Still. I know it as sure as I know any damn thing. I saw it in his eyes. I feel it penetrating my skin whenever I’m near him. That sadness, that pain only unrequited love and longing can unleash. He doesn’t deserve that. He doesn’t deserve a moment

  of pain, especially not from me.

  “Come on, Jace,” Frank says on the TV. “We’re in the happiest place on earth. Smile!”

  Seventeen-year-old Jason peers at the camera as Frank zooms in on his remote face, but those icy eyes betray him. It’s as if he’s right in the room, staring at me. Miserable. Haunted. I’ve taken his twinkle, that joie de vivre he fought so hard to find in previous scenes. That hope that maybe, just maybe, happiness is achievable in this godforsaken world. He looks away from the camera.

  Real-time growling closer than before echoes from the field outside, startling me out of my revelations. Crap. Immediately, I leap up and grab the tranq gun from the floor. As I hustle to the curtains, there are more angry snarls followed by snapping and whining. A fight. I peek out, scanning the field as the noises of combat continue. Snarl. Growl. Nothing. Empty. Louder than before, there’s one final growl and whimper before complete silence save for the laughter on the TV. I glance over as Frank pulls a morose Jason to his side and kisses the teen’s forehead. “Love you, son.”

  Oh, shit. When I glance back outside, my throat closes. Right at the tree line, a wolf limps away as best it can with a hurt front leg. It vanishes back into the trees a moment later. I’m still not alone though. I sense something gazing at me from where the wolf first emerged. I stare back into the dark forest for a few seconds, willing it out. It obeys. One step. Two. I flick the gun’s safety off. Another step until the glow of the moon spotlights him. Though his snout is drenched in blood and eyes have laser-like focus on me, I have no fear. In fact, I smile and lower the gun.

  He’s been out there all night, circling the perimeter to keep the others at bay should they come too close. Willing to fight to the death to keep us safe. Even as a wolf he’s a better human being than most. And he loves me. Me. I meet those intense eyes and fresh tears threaten to escape mine. The clarity of what I have to do sends another painful blow to my soul. But I do it. I turn my back on him and disappear behind the curtain. The long, mournful howl calling for my return is overshadowed by the static on the TV. It’s over.

  End of tape.

  _____

  I move through the house a veritable ghost. Insubstantial. It’s almost as if the others know not to distract me from my mission, that even the slightest word or disturbance will knock me off course. It wouldn’t take much, but my resolve and faith strengthen with each step his way. When I’m halfway on my trek down the gravel road to his house, that calm I get when something abominable happens washes over me. I cease noticing the mosquitoes and sweltering heat and humidity that remains between the rain showers. It was coming down hard when I woke from my fitful sleep but stopped just as I began the long walk, as if God himself cleared my path. I even saw Adam and Tate in the big house, so I know he’s alone right now. If I believed in signs, or a just God for that matter, I’d take it to mean He thought I was doing the right thing. Not that I need Him to think that. I know I am.

  Jason’s house comes into view, and my hand clenches tighter around the video tapes. Just because I’m doing the right thing doesn’t mean I’m enjoying it. In fact, it fucking sucks more often than not. You end up impaling men with rods, getting shot, baby-sitting a dozen kids and breaking your own heart.

  Sure enough the moment I reach the door, rain begins pattering down again. Without hesitation, I knock. Good thing I didn’t put on makeup or fancy clothes. White shorts, black t-shirt, flip flops, hair in a ponytail, now sweaty and frizzy. He’s seen me worse, but he’ll never see me better.

  I hear his heavy footsteps coming my way until only the door separates us, but that vanishes as well. The sight of him fresh-faced from sleep, judging by his mussed hair and pajama bottoms sans shirt, takes my breath away. Not because he looks like a sun god with almost gleaming skin, hair, chiseled chest. Not because I’ve never felt such a strong urge to kiss a man and screw us both into oblivion, though those contribute. No, it’s because this is the moment I decide I’m really going to do this. It’s the fork in the road, the point of no return, and for once I’m going the right way. Just not the right way for me.

  “May I come in?”

  His eyes dart down to the tapes then up. I keep my face an impenetrable mask just like his is now as he studies it. “Sure. Come in.”

  “Sorry if I woke you,” I say, stepping in, “I just—”

  “You didn’t,” he cuts in behind me. “I was resting.”

  I spin around. He hasn’t moved from the door, probably in case he needs a quick getaway. “How are you feeling today? Everyone at the house was shuffling around like the walking dead.”

  “The change takes a lot out of you.”

  “I can imagine.”

  He nods. “I’m just glad there were no incidents last night.”

  “Well, we have you to thank for that, I think,” I chuckle nervously. “I hope there were no hard feelings this morning.”

  “No. They know I was just … doing my job,” he says, eyes finding the floor.

  “Right. Always on, aren’t you? 24/7.”

  “Yes. I am.”

  “Don’t you ever get tired of it? Giving and giving and getting precious little in return? I mean, you can’t buy love. People shouldn’t love you for what you do for them. It’s just a smoke screen in the end. You have to let them see the person inside.”

  Those ice eyes dart up to apprize me. “And you’re an expert on love?”

  I can’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, no. Hell no. But I am an expert on selfishness, right?”

  His upper lip twitches. “I was … harsh yesterday.”

  “No, you weren’t. You were honest. I am selfish. Never had a reason not to be. You have to be when you’re completely alone. Just comes down to survival in the end.”

  “That’s a sad way to live.”

  “Yes, it is. Of course your way isn’t much better, is it? Living only for other people? Not going after what you want for fear that people might think less of you or just simply don’t agree?”

  “But sometimes those people are correct. Sometimes you do have to make sacrifices. Sometimes, for better or worse, that is love.”

  My turn to gaze down. Shame weighs heavy. “Yeah. Getting that now. Some mate you got yourself, huh? The fates must have been drunk off their asses when they cast our lots together. I literally can’t imagine how disappointed you must be with me. Or relieved. Makes it easier, huh?”

  “You didn’t disappoint me. In fact … I admire your tenacity. Your ability to think on your feet. Your charm. Your ability to do what’s necessary. Your fighting spirit. The way you smell. Your freckles. The way you lift me up when you sing. Your strength. The way you accept people. The way you see through to their soul.”

  “Then why didn’t you tell me before?” I ask desperately.

  “What good would it have done? What would have changed? You’d still be Frank’s daughter. You’d still be human. You’d still live thousands of miles away. You’d still not belong here. You’d still … not love me. Because you don’t, do you?”

  I want to lie. It’s my first instinct. But I owe him this. It’s why I’
m here. More important, it’s the right thing to do. “The truth? I don’t think I’ve ever loved anybody. Not really. Hell, I don’t know if I can, if I even have it in me. Never had much practical experience around it. If I ever was capable of it, I think I locked that part of me away ages ago and threw away the damn key. Just hurt too much. But … if I ever could love anyone, it’s you. Without question. You are the best man I have ever met, hands down. Everything you said I have, you’ve got in spades, Blondie,” I say, voice cracking with emotion. Just finish. Just don’t cry. Just finish this. “You are so kind, so strong, so noble. Hell, I didn’t know people like you existed. And you—you … I have been scared all my life. Lost. But when I’m with you, I don’t feel that way. Around you … I feel like that person you described. And you make me want to work harder to be that person.” I take a step toward him. “So … I’m gonna start really being that girl. Because even at my best, I’m sure as hell not worthy of you. Because you deserve someone who isn’t selfish. Who isn’t broken. Who brings such joy to your life your soul sings every time you’re in her presence. I want that for you more than anything. So … I’m gonna do the only thing I can do for you. What I promised myself I’d do. I’m gonna listen to you. I’m gonna leave you the hell alone. No more plots, no more plans. I swear on our niece’s and nephew’s lives, I won’t bother you again. I’ll give you as much peace as I possibly can,” I say, meaning it from the bottom of my soul. I bridge the gap between us and once again meet his eyes. “Or at least until I’m that girl you deserve.” Slowly, I lean in and kiss his cheek, savoring his smell. His heat. “Bye, Blondie.” And I rush out before I completely crumble.

  The warm rain drenches me instantly, but I barely notice. I manage to stumble out of sight of his house before my breath starts shaking and the sobs can’t be contained a moment longer. I almost double over on the gravel path as the first wail escapes me and do as the second wracks my body. This is horrible. Why do I feel so horrible? Because I lost him. Because I’m alone again. Because I’m lost and alone in the forest again with no rescue coming this time. Because that’s what I deserve. He … oh, God.