“Including, Brett,” Leah finished the next thought for her.
Susan closed her eyes as all of it spun out of control in her head.
“Yes,” she said. “Surely, we’d be saving Brett as well.”
“We have to meet him at the funeral home,” Dylan said. “We’d better get a move on, if we’re going to make it in time.”
“Poor Jack,” Susan said, sighing once more. “What a legacy he’s left behind.”
* * * *
The six of them stood in the parking lot of the Walter Moffet funeral home, discreetly discussing the fact that they’d all seen the same newscast simultaneously from two different locations only thirty-minutes ago. As they talked, Susan coached Brett on something he almost felt the need to hear.
“I doubt I need to remind you to keep your cool and play dumb. Your biggest and only concern right now is the death of your uncle. We’re all here for you if the chaos recurs.”
“She’s right,” Tahoe said. “And I will be with you at all times.”
He felt only a tired emptiness right now. Today, there had been no sign or inkling of the chaos; the rampant emotions, and the nervousness that raged through him just before the shifting occurred, seemed distant for now. Had he exerted himself in the act of attacking Herb Haller, an innocent man? The thought of it sickened him with a certain inner darkness that flourished inside. Had the story of his life really taken this kind of a twist? Had he turned into a predator whose surge of uncontrollable emotions would be sated only by the bloodshed during a shifting? If so, then he had to find way to undo it.
He glimpsed their long shadows through his shades as they walked behind him and into the funeral home. It was a modest, yet elegantly decorated; two-story home built in the 1920s, and later turned into a funeral home. The various rooms were wallpapered in different, basic hues, and elevator music piped out from the vicinity of the ceiling. A bald man dressed in a gray suit walked out of one of the rooms to greet him.
“Mr. Taylor, I presume?” His expression was friendly and sympathetic as he extended his hand.
“Yes, and these are friends of the family,” Brett said, turning behind him.
“Wonderful. I’m Walt Moffet,” he said. The man nodded to the team, greeting them with his friendly demeanor, and then he expressed his deepest condolences to Brett. He’d known Jack through social circles; he was a good man. Soon, they walked into his office.
“As I’m sure you know,” he began. “Your uncle made his arrangements in advance, one of which was his burial alongside his wife, the late Vivian, in their prepaid cemetery plot.”
Moffet went on to detail how Uncle Jack had already picked out his coffin and laid specific plans for his service. It was to be a closed casket service, officiated by the minister of his choosing, and then the interment would be a quick and private affair afterward.
“The only thing left for you to do is show up at nine-o’clock tomorrow,” he said. “Everything shall be attended to. I was also instructed to remind you that your uncle’s lawyer, Mr. Martin Reese, will be contacting you in the next few days.”
Brett was well aware of why Mr. Reese would be contacting him, to tell him that as Jack’s sole heir, he would be inheriting everything: the house, the farm, and the land itself. When the meeting was over, Brett stood up, shook the man’s hand once again, and thanked him for everything. Soon, the six of them were back in the parking lot, discussing the next move. Brett was clear to all of them when he spoke.
“I want to leave for Appleton, tomorrow, as soon as this is over.”
“Brett, you can’t be serious about leaving so soon,” Susan said. “Why don’t you give yourself a day to rest?”
“Yeah,” Dylan said. “We can always leave for Appleton first thing the next morning.”
“Look, it isn’t going to be a long service tomorrow,” he said. “Uncle Jack didn’t approve of that sort of thing. We can be out of here and in Appleton in a less than thirty minutes. I can’t sit around another night and wait to shift again.”
Sidney and Leah agreed, and soon, all were in concurrence. They would leave tomorrow, after everything was over.
“But, first,” Brett said. “There’s something I need to do today.”
* * * *
He’d had to convince Susan to go along with his decision to visit Herb Haller in the hospital. She’d been skeptical, but he made it clear that he just wanted to see the man and make sure he was alright. After all, he was practically his neighbor, and Haller had known Uncle Jack for many years. Susan had worried over that fact that the police would be notified of any visitors; it was procedure. She feared Brett revealing the slightest of clues, or even the unlikely possibility that Herb Haller, by some eerie twist of fate, would recognize him.
“How could he?” Brett asked. “He didn’t see me; he saw the wolf. Any connection he makes to me would be associated with delirium.”
“Don’t you think he might later find it odd that you showed up to visit him, during the difficult time of your uncle’s passing?”
He’d been aware that Susan had been thinking of every reason to keep him from seeing Haller, but it was something he felt he had to do.
“No,” he’d said. “The man has no family. I’m a neighbor who wants to see how he is after hearing of the horrible attack that occurred not too far from my own residence. We’ll say that you’re a friend of my family, and I heard through you that Mr. Haller had no visitors. You’re a shrink; you’ll figure it out.”
Susan gave a wry smile that expressed her defeat.
“Alright,” she’d said. “I’ll arrange it, but make it quick. And another thing—it’s not a good time to mention Jack’s passing. Try to avoid it.”
He was allowed into the intensive care unit, where Herb Haller had been convalescing since his surgery. Brett overheard the nurse telling Susan that Herb had been drifting in and out after hours of unconsciousness, and that he was speaking coherently when awake. He’d been recovering well, but specialists would need to examine his face before he could be moved from ICU. Normally, no one but family would be permitted to enter the ICU, especially in a medical instance such as Herb’s. Herb was a widower with no children; at least, none that anyone knew about, and his nearest nieces and nephews lived across the country. In light of such circumstances, Brett had been given permission for a momentary visit.
Now, he stood staring at the older wounded man as he lay in bed with eyes closed, the white bandages wrapping the right side of his swollen head. Brett’s heart thumped with pain on seeing the man’s face and likening the appearance of his head to a basketball, but that’s exactly how it looked. He walked closer to the bed and noticed how the machine monitoring his heart beeped periodically, recording the steady rhythm that thankfully hadn’t ceased. He stood silently watching as the sleeping man slowly moved his head and fluttered his eyes open.
“Hello, Mr. Haller.” He spoke softly. “It’s Brett Taylor, Jack’s nephew.”
The man’s eyes were lost in a slow moment of confusion. Brett thought he’d seen the uplift of a smile as the man’s eyes came back into focus. He remembered him. His weak, fragile voice cracked out his name.
“Brett,” he said, “so nice to see you.”
The words were spoken with surprise.
“Mr. Haller, I’m so sorry about what happened...to you.” He caught the pause that escaped his mouth. “I heard about it. I...just wanted to see how you were, and if there was anything I could do for you?”
“How nice of you, son,” the weak voice said. “They say I’m doing better. I’m just thankful to be alive. How’s Jack?”
Brett hung his head. He didn’t want to lie, but at the same time, the truth was still too painful. He had to follow Susan’s instructions, or anything could go awry. She’d been right; he should have avoided this. He felt himself drowning in a sea of awkwardness.
“About the same,” he lied with a quick lift of his head.
“Tell him what a
great young man he raised,” he said.
This time, Brett did see the crack of a smile. The pain of the guilt cut like a knife through his heart. The smile crossed the intact side of Herb’s face. Brett shuddered at the thought of what was beneath the bandages on the other side.
“Thank you, Mr. Haller, I will,” he said. “Again, if there’s anything I can do for you...”
“I’ll let you know,” he said. His weak voice sounded momentarily stronger.
“And again, I’m so sorry,” he said.
Herb had been staring into his eyes as he turned to leave. Brett walked back out through the ICU door, where Susan had been waiting for him in the hallway.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“No,” he said, “Not at all.”
* * * *
How nice it had been of Jack’s nephew to visit him, Herb thought, as he lay in the hospital bed, feeling the numbness of the sedatives and pain medications that lulled him. Poor Jack must be dying, he thought. That’s why he sent the young man.
The memories of the night before had stayed fresh and vivid even through the euphoric haze he sporadically slumbered through. He still saw the wolf, its fur the midnight-black sheen of a devil dog, and its eyes a freakish, glowing yellow that cast him into a trance. He recalled being mesmerized by it, frozen in some inexplicable hold as his mind had gone blank. He recalled falling backward, the gun going off, and the fangs that bit through his flesh with the piercing pain of knives.
He’d closed his eyes to shield himself from the sight of those freakish yellow orbs that loomed large and up close when the wolf had been on top of him. The memories faded as he looked around the ICU and realized, once more, how lucky he was to be alive. It was good to know that there were caring folks like Jack and his nephew, but how strange that last moment had been as the young man stood over him only moments ago.
Herb had been looking into his eyes, and for just a moment...
It must’ve been the damn medication, making him relive the memories all over again.
Chapter Sixteen
Though Jack had requested a closed-casket service, Brett was allowed one last look at his uncle before the lid was sealed. Mr. Moffett had done an impeccable job on the makeup, and Brett simply stared as the mask of death took twenty years off of Jack’s face. Why did people look younger in death? It was a random thought that snuck in among the million memories that replayed in his mind: Uncle Jack taking the training wheels off of his first bicycle, the elaborate birthday parties on the farm, shifting into the dog and shocking the hell out of him and Aunt Vivian, the Camaro that Uncle Jack bought him for his high-school graduation. Now, all of it became a rushing flood bursting through a broken dam. When he finally said goodbye, the attendants closed the casket, and soon, the service began.
The minister preached about dying, the hereafter, and what a great man Jack was to his family and to his community. He read passages from the Book of Psalms and some of Jack’s other favorite biblical passages. Tahoe and the team sat alongside Brett, and many of Jack’s friends and other nieces and nephews, who had come to pay their respects.
As expected, the service inside the funeral home was not long, thirty minutes at most. Mr. Moffett gave final instructions on how the funeral procession would ensue, and Brett was left alone with the pallbearers for one final goodbye. Brett watched as the pallbearers lifted the casket into the back of the hearse. The team was allowed to ride with him in the limousine throughout the procession.
The cemetery was a scenic one with its vibrant green lawn perfectly mowed and trimmed, and tall spruces that stood erect, giving it its peaceful, picturesque appearance. They stood outside the mausoleum, where Uncle Jack would be interred right next to the plaque that read Vivian E. Taylor (1935-2007). While the minister spoke again, this time praying for Jack’s everlasting life in the kingdom above, Brett realized that the temporary lull he’d been feeling had sustained itself. He was at peace, if only for a moment. He felt that somehow, Uncle Jack had something to do with that.
After the cemetery, they traveled back to the farmhouse, where Brett hosted a small, post-funeral dinner party. Susan saw to all of the details, utilizing her own caterer to cover the affair for the twelve people who showed up. The caterers laid out an immense spread on the back patio of stuffed chicken breasts, roast beef, pasta dishes, meat and vegetable trays, and various chocolate desserts. Not as many people had attended as expected, and now Brett and Susan stared at the abundance of leftover food that filled the various electric roasters set side by side along the picnic tables. Seemingly, they both were thinking the same thing.
“I thought many more people would be here, Brett,” she said, looking around and then turning back to him. “It looks like you’ll be eating chicken for a month.”
He laughed for the first time in what felt like eons. He thanked her for all she’d done, but he knew she could see his anxiousness for the guests to leave, and his readiness for the six of them to hit the road to Appleton. He watched her study his face.
“I don’t want you to get too excited about the next phase of this investigation,” she said. “You made this choice Brett, but I want to warn you, this may lead to nowhere. There could be any number of reasons why this may not turn out the way you expect.”
He understood this fact, but wondering the rest of his life was not an option. He felt himself nodding his head. Susan looked back over her shoulder once again at the remaining guests and turned back to him, lowering her voice.
“What you’re chasing is a legend,” she said. “Trying to discover whether a legend holds true is not what it is in the movies or on television. And as Dylan said, Antonio may be so far away from Appleton, it may be a worthless trip.”
“You and I both know why I have to do this,” he said. “The reason is the man that’s lying in the ICU. This can’t happen again, Susan. I’d never intended for any of this to reach this point. I thought maybe if I explored it a little more, I might use it as investigative technique.”
“I know that,” she said, nodding her head. “But Brett, if you don’t find the answers you’re looking for, and there’s no change in the situation, there are always other ways. We’ll find them, one way or another. We’re going to get through this, if it takes us a lifetime.”
“I know,” he said. “I just wish we could hurry.”
The day wore on, finally reaching the moment where the guests began to leave. He stood shaking hands and thanking them all for attending. People began exiting in a gradual flow, many in pairs and some in groups of three or more. Soon, the roars of starting engines in sequence could be heard from the driveway. So, Uncle Jack’s life was over as was this day, all by the striking hand of four o’clock. The caterers stored the food away in the kitchen as Susan instructed, and now the team was left alone on the back patio, shaded from the blinding sun that had reached a boiling apex.
Brett was staring out across the vast acres, until finally, he turned around.
“So, I guess it’s almost that time,” he said.
Their faces stared back at him, somber, solemn, fearing the inevitable. Among them, Leah sat fanning herself with a handheld fan. She’d worn a light-blue dress to the service, but it hadn’t been light enough beneath the July heat.
“Brett, I think it’s best if we all go home, change out of these clothes, and you and Tahoe meet us at the university,” she said, looking around at Dylan and Sidney who sat alongside her. “It’ll be easier that way.”
“Not to mention quicker,” Dylan said. “We’d have less of a drive.”
Brett and Susan agreed. They decided to take the van to Appleton; they would all fit—two in the back, two in the middle, and two up front. Dylan went on to mention that by the time they got rolling, they would arrive in Appleton after dusk, and keeping that fact in mind, there may not be much they could accomplish at such a late hour.
“This is one of the reasons that I thought it best to wait until morning.”
&n
bsp; “No, I think it will give us a head start,” Brett said. “Besides, we can always drive back. Appleton isn’t that far.”
“True,” Sidney said. “We could also spend the night in Appleton, and do some kind of search for any remaining family members in the morning.”
“We’ll never know until we get there,” Brett said, throwing a hint.
“Right,” Sidney said, rising. “Then we’d better get moving.”
Dylan, Leah, and Susan stood, preparing to leave. They agreed to meet at the university at 6:00 pm. Susan approached Brett before leaving.
“So, you’ll be alright until then?” Susan asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m fine.” And he was fine. He was still feeling the numbness brought on in the aftermath of the recent events. He felt no emotions raging, no nerves twitching, no chaos stirring within him—for now anyway.
“Brett, I can always give you something to calm your nerves,” she said. “It would probably avert the chaos and the shifting—at least temporarily, anyway.”
He hadn’t thought of it, but he had no intention of being drugged out to avoid a shifting. Yet Susan did have a valid point.
“I’ll take you up on that if it becomes necessary,” he said.
She patted him on the shoulder, and she and the team left. He and Tahoe were now alone. Brett turned around to face him. The old seer’s eyes were closed, captured and hidden by another sudden vision.
* * * *
The images were passing quickly, and they were vague at best. He saw himself riding in the back of a van, the fading sun surviving brightly beneath a pink horizon in the summer dusk. Rural roads unwound beneath the wheels. He tried to gaze harder with his third eye. A quick flash of a man’s face entered his mind, dark hair and eyes, beard and mustache. And then the face vanished, replaced by the image of the mighty hawk he knew so well. The hawk rose upward, flapping its wings as it flew away from him and the others. And then, there was nothing...
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