Once Upon a Rainbow, Volume One

by Mickie B. Ashling

  He had turned me into a werewolf.

  “Hey, Hood.” Kenneth set the cardboard box down on the smooth tabletop with great precision and cautiousness, grabbed the unused chair, and swung it around to straddle it. He had always sat in chairs the wrong way.

  “Hey, yourself,” I growled back.

  “I don’t have much time with you. There’s someone else that’s waiting to come in. I know you’re angry, but hear me out? Please?” He was begging, and there was an odd catch in his voice—not something I had ever witnessed from him. He was always confident but gentle, callused from working hard but with the soft heart.

  “Humph. I haven’t got much choice. I’m strapped in here.” I shifted my gaze downward. I was hurt.

  “I’m sorry. It took me a long time to find out where they’d taken you, even longer to get permission to see you. The only reason they let me in here was because your father’s land has sold and I said I had your personal belongings.” He glimpsed at the box. “Of course that’s not all of it, just some things they let me bring—I have the rest—but at least it got me in here. I hope I brought you some things that will keep you entertained. I know you like your books.”

  “Yeah, okay, thanks.”

  “They control access to you, and because the prison deems it necessary to have extra people on staff when they have to corral and wrangle you, as well as a veterinarian with a tranq gun at the ready, it wasn’t easy to get time to see you. But I want you to hear me and hear me good, understand?” Kenneth glanced behind him to look at the small window in the metal door. No eyes were there. There was the huge mirror in the room, which was obviously a double-sided pane of glass.

  He reached across the table and put his big paw of a hand over top of mine.

  I wanted to pull away, but instead, I shivered slightly and sighed. The air stopped in my throat.

  Bastard. He’d been the only person I’d trusted, the only one who I’d ever had feelings for, and he did this to me.

  “Hood, look at me.”

  I pulled my head up and stared right into his coffee-with-cream eyes, but instead they were glowing amber—the colour of the wolf. “I’m going to get you out of here. I promise. You can’t stay here, and I need you. Do you understand?” Kenneth had whispered so low, I was sure only someone with our heightened nonhuman hearing would have heard.

  In that instant, a spark of hope, of happiness, maybe even a tiny flicker of the trust I had for him briefly burst to life.

  “This was the last thing I wanted to have happen to you. I only wanted you to be with me. I wanted—” He stopped short. A man like Kenneth Lowell wasn’t big on words.

  “If you want there to be an ‘us,’ then why didn’t you let me choose? I would have, you know. I would have done anything to be with you.”

  “And I was pretty sure I knew that already. I couldn’t ask. I didn’t have time. I was trying to save you. You don’t know everything that happened that night.”

  A guard opened the door. “Time’s up.”

  Kenneth studied me closely but didn’t move from his chair. “I meant everything I said.”

  “Now, Mr. Lowell.”

  Kenneth stood up and slid around to the other side of the table, with a speed and grace faster than any human had, and pulled me up into an embrace. I melted into him.

  He leaned in close to my ear, and his blond beard rubbed against my neck and ear, he whispered, “Be ready. I will get you out of here.” Then he gave me a quick kiss on the neck, followed by a lick.

  The guard had managed to get himself across the room to grab Kenneth’s collar and pull him away in the seconds following Kenneth’s whispered message to me.

  “You were told—no touching. What the hell’s the matter with you? You want to be torn to shreds?” The guard was pulling Kenneth to the door.

  Kenneth winked at me, and then the big metal door slammed shut.

  I stood there. Everything tingled. Kenneth’s scent hung in the air.

  Damn him. Now I couldn’t hate him anymore.

  THE GUARDS LEFT me in the room, and a while later, the door swung open and Samir Amari entered and tentatively stepped toward the table.

  He dropped a plastic shopping bag into the cardboard box that Kenneth had brought—Kenneth’s gift to me—and now, apparently I had candy too. Today was possibly the best day I’d had in months.

  “I didn’t think you were ever going to come back. I was pretty sure I was never going to see that.” I tilted my head toward the plastic bag.

  “I almost didn’t come back. You scared the shit out of me,” he said.

  “I warned you.”

  “You did. Let’s say from now on, I might take warnings that others give a little more seriously. Regardless, I’m here. I brought you your request, although the people in this place aren’t willing to give you much of anything. They let me bring that in grudgingly.”

  “I’ve been told, as a nonhuman, I don’t have human rights.”

  “Shit.” Amari’s eyes went wide. “They actually said that to you?”

  “More or less. You know anyone who’s going to challenge them on that? They have a point.”

  “Still. I imagine if the right people got a hold of that information, the prison would have some issues on their hands. Picketers and demonstrations outside of detention centres claiming human rights abuses isn’t generally good for business.” I could tell Amari was weaving all kinds of stories out of this juicy tidbit. “And make no mistake, a prison is run like a business, and if they break the rules, they’ll lose any funding and subsidies they get from the government. It will also net them investigations about compliance with regulations with regular inspections. That’s costly and time-consuming. So regardless of what you might be, you still need to be treated appropriately.

  “You know, this could be an interesting spin to your tale. But we’re not done with your story either. I need more. I want your story, Harkin. People want to know who you are, where you came from. Now we know that the rumours are true, people are asking how many there are of your kind. Have you always been here?”

  “Ha. If you want that, then I want a night out at the movies,” I said, and snorted. I didn’t know anything. I had been made into a beast and promptly arrested all within a night.

  “Well, that might be next to impossible to arrange.”

  “How about a TV? Some entertainment would be nice,” I suggested.

  “Don’t they have one in the common room?”

  “That would imply I get to go into the common room.”

  “Shut the fuck up. What do they do? Leave you in your cell all day?” Amari looked sufficiently surprised with that information.

  “Yes.”

  “Holy…okay. I think the what-is-human-rights slant on this story is the way to go. I can’t make any promises, Harkin, but let me see what I can do.” He tapped out something on his keyboard. “They can’t treat you like that. Even prisoners have rights.” He mumbled the last part to himself.

  “Hood,” I said, reminding him again. “I really hate it when people call me Harkin.”

  “Oh, right, Hood. Sorry.” He carried on the conversation as he sat there clicking away at his machine. “All right, for a chance at some TV, I want to know—how?”

  “How what?” I sneered as I glanced at him sideways. Not sure I was going to answer any questions based on the possibility of getting my request. That wasn’t good enough.

  “How is it that you are a werewolf? How did that happen? Were you born that way? Were you made one—like in the movies? I want to know!”

  “For the promise of maybe some TV? Nope. You’re going to have to do better than that.”

  Amari sighed. “You’re not making this easy, man. You’re on some serious lockdown.”

  “Because I’m different? Because they don’t know what to expect out of me? Although you’d think by now they’d have seen it all. One thing I’ll tell you, a full moon makes me change. Regardless of whether or not I ca
n see it, the wolf knows. The cages in here are pretty solid.”

  Amari blinked a few times while he stared at me. “So, full-on wolf?”

  “Yup. Full-on. And usually followed by a tranquilizer dart filled with enough sedative to make me groggy for a couple of days.”

  “Jesus, I wish I could have seen that,” Amari whispered and banged out a few more sentences.

  “Really? You really think you’re prepared to see that? You damn near shit yourself just watching my arm rip open.”

  “And your teeth and eyes.” Amari smiled with a certain amount of cockiness.

  “I’m not giving up anymore without some deliverables,” I said.

  “Okay, if I can’t get you a TV or privileges to watch it—what else can I do?”

  “I want one hour with Kenneth Lowell.”

  “And he would be…?” Amari cocked his head to one side while arching an eyebrow.

  “The guy who was in here before you.”

  “Visitations might be easier for me to arrange, albeit a lot of paperwork. It’ll take some time, but it’s likely more doable.”

  I weighed my options with his response. At this point, I’d do just about anything to see Kenneth again. That spark of trust was now a little burning flame.

  “I was mauled. Just like in the movies. Son of a bitch ripped me open with its teeth. Once on my arm, a bite to my shoulder, and a chunk out of my stomach.”

  “Wow, you don’t lead into anything easy, do you? Let’s go back a little,” Amari said. “I’m a reporter, Hood. I want the story. Tell me the story.”

  I sighed and shook my head in disbelief. I really didn’t want to lay bare my life history for everyone to read about. But, if it was the only way I was going to get more time with Kenneth, it might be worth it. I wanted answers—he owed me that.

  “My dad always told me—you don’t tell everyone your personal business.”

  “Well, that’s an interesting viewpoint. Why don’t we start there? Your father was one of the victims. What was he like?” Amari resumed his typing.

  “He was an alcoholic asshole who beat the shit out of me when I didn’t do what he wanted. He deserved what he got.”

  Amari raised an eyebrow at that. “Was he always abusive? What happened to your mother? Why didn’t she get you out of the house or protect you from him?”

  “She died while giving birth to me, and no, he wasn’t always like that—apparently. When I was really young, he was different.”

  “Do you know what happened? What changed him?” Amari typed away furiously.

  “Grandpa said he lost it after Morgan died.” I shrugged.

  “Who is Morgan?” Amari asked with another raised eyebrow. He liked to do that—raise an eyebrow. It was like a tic. It seemed that whenever he was interested in something I was saying, one eyebrow went halfway up his forehead.

  “He was my older brother. He died on the farm when I was five. Morgan was seven when it happened.”

  “So, your dad lost his firstborn and his wife? That would change a lot of people, some not for the good.”

  “I suppose. But my father blamed me,” I spat out with a lot of hate.

  “I’m sure it felt that way, but that can’t possibly be true.”

  “Oh it’s true. Grandpa told me. He was my refuge. I spent a lot of time at his place and as little at home as I could. I killed Mom—that’s what Dad had told Grandpa—and I was involved in Morgan’s death as well. I had been playing on the tractor. I pulled the lever on the brake, releasing it, and the tractor rolled right overtop of Morgan. Crushed him dead,” I explained. “So as far as my father was concerned, I was a monster—a little death-dealing beast. He was left with me, and I had killed the two other people in the family.”

  “Wow.” Amari nodded as his fingers clacked the keys on the computer.

  “When I was a little kid, he was usually pretty well behaved, and if he started to go off, I had hiding spots I would go to. But that changed as I got older. He drank more and lost his temper easier. As soon as I was old enough, Grandpa gave me his 1970 red Dodge Dart. Said if I could fix it up, I could use it. And so I did. I fixed it, and I used it to get the hell away from Dad whenever he sank into his pit of hate. By the time I was fourteen, he was drunk every day. Grandpa and I spent a lot of time together.”

  “So how did Kenneth Lowell enter the picture?” Amari leaned in closer.

  “Dad hired him the summer I turned sixteen. He said he needed more help around the ranch and he needed a man to do it, because I wasn’t capable. The truth is…I didn’t spend any extra time anywhere near Dad. He had become too volatile. I did my chores, just to keep him happy, and then I left. Besides, Dad wasn’t capable of getting anything done. By the time Kenneth was hired, Dad was usually so drunk by noon that he couldn’t function beyond passing out on the floor. So, Mr. Lowell came into the picture.”

  “The same man who was just in here, right? The one you want time with?” Amari asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “He brought you the box of goodies, yes?” Amari nodded toward the box underneath the bag of candy. I was so looking forward to that candy.

  “Yeah.”

  “He seems more connected to you and your family than just a hired hand,” Amari surmised.

  “That’s because he became my boyfriend.”

  The metal door swung open. “That’s all the time you get, Amari. Pack it up.”

  “One hour with Kenneth,” I said.

  Amari grabbed his things, nodded, and was ushered quickly out the door.

  I WAITED WITH intense anticipation for another month until I was shoved back into the interrogation room.

  I was excited beyond measure, and I had run over in my head all the things I wanted to say to Kenneth. Everything from “I’m sorry” to “I hate you” but mostly it was a lot of “what happened?”

  I sat in the cold chair in the stark room, with manacles on and the heavy chains lashing me down so that my movement was restricted.

  The door swung open. and I held my breath.

  Finally, an hour alone with Kenneth after all this time.

  And then Amari walked in, his black hair slicked back more than usual, carrying his purse, which he plunked down on the tabletop. I sat there wide-eyed in disbelief as he hauled out his computer, flipped the lid open, and turned it on.

  Finally, he took a seat and glanced at me. “You’re awfully quiet.”

  I stared at him. The anger was roiling deep in the pit of my stomach. I could sense the beast stirring. This hadn’t been the deal. I had already waited long enough. Where the hell was Kenneth?

  “So, I only have a half hour this time, so we’re going to have to be quick.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “I’m sorry—what?”

  “Fuck you. You’re not getting anything out of me. You haven’t delivered,” I growled.

  “Oh for Christ’s sake, is that what you’re pissed about? Jesus, Hood, I filled out all the paperwork and made the request. That alone took me several days. It hasn’t been approved yet.”

  “Fuck you.”

  And so I sat there. Absolutely still, and deafeningly quiet, but the roar of anger was rising, filling my ears with a shrieking scream. I could feel it, the wolf. He was pacing. But all I could do was stare at Amari. Hate seeped out of the pores on my skin, and I could smell it wafting off of me.

  The beast twitched. It had been a very long time since he’d come out and played. Perhaps a taste of reporter would make him happy.

  The wolf pulled forward, and I didn’t hold back.

  My jaws clenched as the muscles constricted and tightened. My human consciousness became muted as the wolf’s brain took control. My eyesight shifted, my nose’s sensitivity increased, and the flesh on my face stretched as the bones snapped and distorted. The snout pushed forward and my nose grew black and wet. Teeth erupted and elongated. Blood filled my mouth, which excited the demon.

  “Shit!” Amari cried out. “Guar
ds!” Amari ran for the door and started pounding on it, frantically, just like his first visit.

  I sat there and snarled. Drool dripped in strings off of my long fangs as I breathed in Amari’s scent. It was delicious; laced with that sour taste of fear, it was like lemons—sweet but sour too. Perhaps dark-haired guys tasted better than they looked.

  My jaws snapped a few times in his direction.

  Amari’s pounding became more frantic. He was screaming for help.

  The door burst open, and my gaze locked onto the guard holding the tranq gun.

  The concrete room echoed the sharp noise of the gun going off, and almost in sync to the noise, I felt a sharp stab at the base of my collarbone.

  And then everything went off-kilter, woozy, and dark.

  ANOTHER TWO WEEKS went by, and a full moon. I was pretty sure, after that last display, I was getting nothing. No more visits from Kenneth, no boxes of books and magazines and a deck of cards—which was what he had brought for me. Sadly, the candy had run out as well.

  I had seen Voit again—he didn’t look any more rested.

  “Everything’s been postponed. Your reporter friend has stirred up some shit about human rights and the basic necessities not being given to you in prison. Way to go, Ross. You’ve managed to extend this even more.”

  “I want to see Kenneth Lowell,” I said, and it was pretty much the only thing I had to say to him.

  “I’m not your social convener” was all he said. He got me to fill out some paperwork and sign my name to a few documents. One was for the commissary, and another was allowing my bank to transfer funds from my account to the one here in prison. Whatever I bought out of the commissary would be deducted.

  That was it, and then he left.

  Much to my surprise, Amari walked in. No purse, which meant no laptop. He stayed very close to the door, with his back pressed against the wall farthest away from me.

  “What the hell do you want?”

  “I’m not staying, I just came down here to tell you that you’ll be getting your visit. And you’re fucking welcome. It’s because of the stories I’m writing and the focus on how they’re treating you in here that’s made them more lenient. There are mobs outside this jail, protesting their treatment of you. That’s drawing some unwanted attention.