They also had the secret.
The secret that sometimes haunts him. He could feel a terrible tug at his gut, feeling as if he wasn't supposed to ever tell her. Yet, he had, and he wasn't sure why. He had people in his circle of friends to speak to. He had Carl, as a mentor, in case he needed to let his problems out. Yet, he broke one of the biggest rules and told Lucy the secret. Now, he had the fear in the back of his mind that someone would find out.
He spotted a huge silver beast. He went for his Rod but saw Carl standing next to it. The Unknown was Silver, the pet wolf that Carl had. He must have sensed Marshall because he stood up and turned towards him. “Hey, big fluffy,” Marshall called from a few yards away. Silver ran up to him, then once close enough, licked his face. “Ugh, your breath dude!” he yelled, laughing. He pushed the big silver wolf out of the way.
“He missed you,” Carl said walking up to him. Silver gave another lick on the side of Marshall's face.
“I missed him too. Big dumb boy,” he chuckled and patted the big wolf down, brushing his shaggy fur. He remembered going into a brawl with the beast, Silver easily dispatched all four boys and still stood even when they gave it all they had. Such amazing strength from such a beautiful creature. Marshall loved how kind Silver was to them, but he had no doubt in his mind that Silver could easily kill them if he was ordered to. Which he might be commanded to if they found out Lucy knew their secret. Dark thoughts and what ifs surrounded Marshall's mind.
“So, I figured we could walk around some with Silver. Talk about any issues you were having.” Carl looked at Marshall who kept patting Silver. The wildest one of the batch of kids, yet one of the most reliable. Not so much because he would follow commands. If anything he'd disobey them on purpose to prove he could. No, it was because of his kind nature. Something he hid from so many people. A joker amongst the crowd, a loyal friend behind the scenes.
“Yeah, that sounds good to me.” Marshall began to walk away from Silver. Silver trailed behind them as they both traveled deeper into the park. Marshall watched the kids playing in the small water park. Jumping into the water sprayers then back out, yelling and screaming, so carefree. “How's the work load going? You've seemed a bit less stressed lately.”
Carl laughed. “It never gets easier. You just have to work with it, get better at it, and then it'll get better.”
“Sometimes I wonder what would of happened if I never picked that letter up.” Marshall glanced one last time at the kids playing in the water. He wanted to be like them for just a moment. Not have a care in the world.
“You can keep wondering that or accept that it was fate.”
“Don't believe in fate. We all have choices. I made mine.” Marshall looked back towards Carl. “Why didn't you become a Protector instead of a Bora?”
“I wanted to help others.” Carl thought about becoming a Protector at one point. Sent out on high signal missions, hunt and kill, it was something he was very good at. He felt the obligation in his mind to help others, though. To raise others to the best of their abilities.
“You haven't been helping us though. We basically built ourselves up to this point.” Marshall never held anything back. Carl admired that in a lot of ways.
“I know. I've failed to train you so far. I've been dealing with-” he didn't want anyone to know about his drinking problems. He'd kept it at bay for weeks now. Bringing it up wouldn't help anyone so he kept quiet. “-issues. However, I'm here now and I will be helping. Especially with training as soon as I can. I have to handle a few more cases but I'll start training in terms of fighting with all of you soon enough. I'm evaluating everyone's mind right now. Getting to know you guys is the first step in my training process.”
Marshall paused a moment before speaking. “I don't mean to be rude or anything. I'm just stating you should of started sooner. Still better late than never.”
“Is there anything bothering you?”
“No.” Marshall said shortly.
“Nothing? No issues with teammates, people in the organization? How about any issues outside of your job?”
Marshall thought about it for a moment. “Do you believe people could change?”
“I do.”
“I don't.”
“Why's that?”
Marshall laughed. “People don't change. They adapt to situations, sure, but they don't change.”
“People change all the time. Sometimes people have to change in order to survive.” Carl pointed out the boys. “Without you guys changing, becoming stronger, you'd never been able to survive for so long against the Unknowns.”
Marshall shook his head. “We changed our physical bodies. We were able to become faster, stronger, maybe even smarter. Sure. We didn't change us, though. We became what we were meant to become.”
“Oh, now who's the one bringing up fate?” Carl asked, grinning.
“No. What I mean is the person we are didn't change. We adapted. We're always had the ability to do what we do every day now. The difference is we adapted and changed our bodies to physically be able to complement our fighting style. The fighting style is made up of the person who is using it. You can follow someone to a “T” while training but in the end you'll always have a slightly different fighting style. Even almost identical fighting style is still “almost” and not completely. ‘Cause we are who we are, a person. We are individually different. So I believe we don't change, we change things around us. We are who we are, it's impossible to change.”
Carl watched his student. He never thought much of Marshall's intelligence. He was always the loud mouth, funny guy. Inside though, it was obvious Marshall thought a lot about social issues and things no one else cared to discuss because they were afraid to speak up about it. Marshall wasn't. “Fair enough. I will take that into consideration.”
“I mean the reason I'm stating this is ‘cause I think I'm changing sometimes.” Marshall studied his hands, as if there was something on them. Something only visible to himself.
“Changing for the better?”
“Changing at all should be impossible. I shouldn't be changing my emotions to something I'm not used to.”
“Who's the girl?”
“Girl?” Marshall asked surprised. He never mentioned Lucy to anyone really. He kept his relationship on the down low except for his friends.
“Only a girl can make you feel this way. Especially at your age. Who's the girl who's changing the loud mouth Marshall to the sensitive, thought-provoking kid standing in front of me?” It was Carl's turn to laugh now.
“She's amazing,” Marshall said with a distant look. It was always the first thought that popped in his head when he thought of her. “I think she's changing me. I feel different when I'm around her. I feel different just being near her. Like I can achieve more, I can be more. Yet, my beliefs make me believe opposite. So what's the real answer? Em I really changing? Or is this me adapting to who I really em when I'm in this type of situation.”
Carl expected to talk about a number of subjects with Marshall today. He knew his student wasn't shy of asking questions. This wasn't one of the questions he foresaw coming. “It's called love.” Marshall tried to wave it off. “Yeah, something like this has to be love. You don't feel the change in you unless it's that. You feel obligated to do better for yourself, because you want to do better for her. Right?”
It was as if Carl was reading his mind. He never talked to his parents about this type of thing so this was the closest he was going to get to speaking with someone. An adult. Someone he trusted. “I...I think I love her. I just can't tell her I love her.”
“Why not?”
“Because...”
“Because of what?”
“Because what if she doesn't say it back?” Marshall looked up at Carl. Carl nodded.
“The biggest fear in the world. Rejection.”
“I don't fear rejection. I fear resentment.”
“Why would she resent you?”
“What if I sa
y I love you, she doesn't back. Then she thinks this whole time I was over my head. That I cared too much. What if she never wants to speak to me again? What if she runs away from me? What if...” Marshall would have kept going but Carl put his hand up.
“Stop with the “what ifs” and focus on the now. Remember? We got this one chance to try things. You'll never know unless you tell her.”
“But what if...”
“What did I just say?” Carl asked firmly. Marshall wanted to say more but kept it in. He didn't want to hear that, something he already knew, but he knew that was the only real answer. To try. It wasn't resentment or rejection that scared him. It was the fear of trying and failing.
“I just want to know what to do if I mess up. What can I do to fix it?”
“Sometimes Marshall, questions just can't be answered.”
Now Marshall laughed. “That means you haven't asked the right person the question yet.” He winked and fell back to Silver. He patted the giant wolf on the neck and the beast returned the favor by licking his face. “Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I didn't pick up the letter.” He looked into Silver's eyes and patted his fur some more. “Now, I don't really care what would have happened. I wouldn't change this for the world.” He walked forward and met Carl's gaze. “So old man, what can you tell me about this organization?”
“Things that will turn your head right around.”
“Well then, let's get started,” Marshall said grinning. Carl couldn't help but grin back.
Fred stood in total darkness. No white room. No voice overhead. Nothing but darkness. He felt alone, trapped, and terrified. The once safe haven area in his mind was shattered. He was the one who broke it, now he wanted nothing more but to repair it.
“Other self, are you here?” he called just loud enough for an echo. Nothing. Again the darkness answered with silence.
He walked forward. He wasn't sure where he was going but he wanted to meet some type of end. He knew he was getting worse, that he was losing himself to something. What was he losing it to though? He couldn't figure that out. They told him the wolf hybrid could not transform him into a beast. Yet, that's exactly what was happening. He was changing into something different, and he had no clue how to stop it.
As he kept walking forward he wondered what he'd do. Who can help him now that the situation was getting worse? Peter thought nothing but terrible things about him now, he figured. Even in the last few weeks in training Peter kept his distance. He kept his eye on Fred, as if he was watching for any slips. It infuriated Fred but he kept his anger down. He couldn't get too upset, otherwise his other self would break though.
“I told you not to break the walls.”
The voice boomed loudly and Fred jumped back. He hadn't heard the voice in so long. It sounded distorted. He was just glad to hear the voice again at all. “Other self! You're still alive! I've been wanting to speak with you!” He was so happy he kept yelling. It was as if hope came back into his heart again.
“Why did you break the walls of salvation?” it asked sadly. Fred could even hear the voice breaking down as it asked.
“I broke it ‘cause I had to save my friend.”
“You broke the one thing that protects you. You unleashed something far worse. And for what? A boy? His fate did not matter.” The voice sounded upset now. A slight hint of agitation tossed into it now.
“His fate matter to me.” Fred placed his hand on his chest. “That was my duty at the time. To protect a friend. To protect my teammate. I had no other choice.”
“You always have a choice.”
“Not then, no I didn't. I had to do what had to be done.”
“In order to save one you might have killed many. Are you sure it had to be done now?”
“I'll never kill.”
“What if that wasn't your choice?” the voice inquired, waiting patiently for Fred to reply. Fred wasn't sure how to. He wasn't sure if he even wanted to at this point. He felt like he was losing the war with his body and needed answers. He didn’t want to argue over actions that were in the past.
“Listen, I don't care about that. I'm changing into something different. I need to know why this is happening to me.”
“We make choices in life. Those choices will always affect us; what's more curious is how they will affect the ones around us.”
“Okay, other self, you're pissing me off again. We go through this every time. Just give me a straight answer. What in the blue hell is happening to me!?” he roared. Anger began filling the whole dark space. The voice didn't return. There was only silence. Seconds flew by. A minute went by. Minutes began to pass. Fred put his face into his hands and began to cry. A cry he had held in for weeks now. He couldn't help it. The feeling of something changing inside him and he had no clue what it was, scared the heck out of him. He wondered if he would change completely one day. He wondered if he'd even live another day at this rate. Something was changing and it was happening quicker than he expected. He wasn't sure what to do.
He lifted his face out of his hands and he was back in his living room. He fell asleep on the couch again. His whole body dripping with sweat. He could feel his heart pounding, as if he was just jogging around the block for hours. “What...is...happening...” he muttered before covering his face once more.
Peter opened the door to his home only to be met by a screaming match. His father was yelling at his mother. Peter wasn't sure how to deal with the situation. He felt like the best option was to move back to where he came from. He didn't want to get involve with the parents fighting. He slowly closed the door back when he heard a crash. He swung the door back open and slammed it closed behind him. He could hear his mom weeping from the other side of the apartment.
His father said something inaudible and stumbled into the hallway. “Go help your mom. Dumb idiot slipped,” he slurred drunkenly as he pushed his son out of the way.
Peter ignored him and ran into the living room. He could see his mom on the floor holding her hand, trembling. He could see the deep cut on her hand, blood dripping from her wound. She looked up at her son with blood shot eyes. She was crying for a long time. His father just decided to shut her up quickly by flinging something at her. He saw two broken pots beside her.
Peter turned around towards his father. “Get out of this house.” Peter walked forward. His father waved him away, fumbling with his jacket. He was trying to get it on to leave the apartment. Peter walked up to his father. He could smell the terrible breath. “I said, get out of this house.” Peter now pointed towards the door. His father looked at him, shocked.
“What did you say you little sh-” Peter didn't even know he had struck him. He let his right fist go and it struck his own father on the top of his head. His father wasn't bracing for it, didn't expect it, so he went down hard. His father laid on the ground for a second, dumbfounded that his own kid just nearly knocked him out.
Peter walked away from the drunk on the floor and towards his sister's room. He opened the door to look inside. He saw his sister under the covers, peering out over them to the doorway. “Hey, you okay?”
She nodded to him quickly.
“Don't worry. Just doing some clean up out here,” he said softly. He knew he had to keep his little sister calm. She didn't need to know the whole situation. “I'll tell you when to come out. Don't want to dirty the house.” She nodded in agreement. He shut the door and looked back at the hallway. His father was stumbling back to his feet all the while cursing violently under his breath.
“I think it's time you left my house,” Peter told his father. He had no emotion in his voice. It wasn't a threat, it was a fact. Peter felt it was time for this drunken fool, who he once called a father, to leave for good. His father, however, had a different plan.
He came charging at Peter. Peter so badly wanted to summon his glove but instead took a side step. He laid his foot out and his father went flying over it. He tripped and smacked his chin hard against the kitchen
counter. As his father laid on the floor screaming, holding his chin, Peter went for the house phone. He snatched it up and gave it to his mother. “Call the police,” he told her urgently. That's when he felt his father grab him and throw him into the table.
Peter slid across the table and fell on the other side. It was a loud crash but the pain wasn't anything terrible. Peter had felt a lot worse in the last months. He began to regain his stance when his father flipped the table, launching it at his own son. Peter covered his face just in time as the table fell on him.
“You little bastard! You think you can do whatever you want. I don't think so, you piece of crap. Come on get up!” his father screamed. Peter slowly pushed the table off of him. He was getting angrier. He could feel his hatred towards his father building up like a volcano ready to erupt. He could feel his blood pumping. He didn't want to fight. Yet he was itching for a fight with this drunken fool. He flung the table to the side, dishes crashing all over.
Peter rushed his father, pushing him back. Despite Peter's increase in strength and stamina it was hard to fight a drunk still. Especially one that towered over him with at least hundred pounds on him and had years of getting beaten in bars. His father grabbed him by the hair. Peter let out a short yell before his father punched him in the gut. A strong right slam into the upper part of his stomach. Peter spit all over his father's shirt. “You think you can hurt me!? You little piece of waste!” His father slammed him against the counter. Peter felt his side burning as he fell to the ground.
If only he could summon his gloves. He could end this right now. His father wouldn't even stand a chance. He could throw a single fire ball in his dad's face and end his pitiful excuse of a life. He could do it with such ease. No one would even know. No one would even care. It would be the simplest thing in the world to do.
He couldn't do it, even if he wanted. As he laid there on the ground holding his side he still couldn't break the rules. He then felt another punch to the back of head. He let his whole body lay against the cold floor. He could feel himself going in and out. Black, then the living room. Black, then his father kicking him again in the side. Black, and then his mother screaming for help. He soon slipped into unconsciousness.
Exterminators Infected (The Exterminators Book 1) Page 26