The Skinwalker's Tale

by Christopher Carrolli

  This cozy, quiet, literary haven was a researcher’s dream. Sidney decided to search using something that had helped him last time when researching the Marlowe family—newspaper archives. It was a long shot, but searching the newspaper archives for 1987 might yield something, especially if there was any public mention of the Anakas family in any way. The archive software used by the Appleton Library had been a recent, updated version that allowed him to search using specific terms. He typed the name ‘Anakas’ in the given window and clicked on the search button.

  The search yielded a list of results descending in chronological order. Each result or ‘hit’ contained the name Anakas in boldface and a link to the newspaper article for that year. The first was from 1985. Sidney clicked on it. A newspaper article dated May 17, 1985 appeared. It concerned a traveling circus-carnival that was hired to perform in Appleton that year. The headline loomed large over the small article...

  Dr. Rodrigo’s Traveling Circus Coming to Appleton!

  The article detailed how this combo circus-carnival had been commissioned to grace the stage in Appleton as part of the community’s effort to boost local publicity and revenue. Doctor Rodrigo’s was a traveling group of performers, responsible for electrifying performances and fun-filled entertainment throughout the eastern part of the country since the late-sixties. The article mentioned the troupe’s spectacular acts, one centering on the various wild animals trained specifically for the show; other mentions included everything from the usual circus acts to the bizarre sideshow attractions. But the act that was mentioned at the end of the article was what captured Sidney’s attention.

  He read the words that ended the article...

  Also to appear will be “The Amazing Anakas Family,” a well-known family of acrobatic performers that have charmed Dr. Rodrigo’s since 1974.

  Sidney looked up from the article.

  “I’ll be damned,” he said to himself.

  He clicked out of the article and returned to the list of results. The next listing was from 1986, a year later. After clicking on the link provided, Sidney discovered it to be a black and white, newspaper photo of a man in his late-fifties and a younger man in his late-teens. They both stood in the forefront of the picture, and behind them, stood three younger boys, and three women, also in their late-teens.

  Sidney stared at the face of the younger man in the forefront. Could it have been Antonio? He looked just like the young man in the yearbook photos, yet something was different. Sidney couldn’t quite place what it was, but it was there. The difference was akin to a counterfeit copy’s imperfection against an original painting. It looked like Antonio, but something was dissimilar to the young man in the yearbook. Sidney read the caption below the photo.

  Acrobat Silas Anakas shares the stage with his amazing family (pictured).

  Sidney scoffed at how the family members’ names weren’t mentioned. He felt like he was back to square one, guessing whether or not the young man was Brett’s father. But one thing was for certain, the older man in the photo was Silas Anakas, Brett’s grandfather. Sidney now silently cursed the Appleton library’s software, guaranteed not to allow any replication of library material. He couldn’t even print the page.

  He suddenly thought of something he hadn’t been able to do back at the university’s library. He looked around, noticing only the helpful redheaded woman who worked behind the desk, and a teenage girl who sat several tables away, studiously pining away with a pencil and an open book. A guy around his age sat far in the back, reading a book, a title Sidney couldn’t see. He enlarged the photo on the screen to its highest resolution, and then taking his iPhone, pressed the camera function. He looked around one last time and snapped a picture of the photo of Silas and the young man. No one had seen him, and he slipped his phone back into his shirt pocket.

  He returned to the list of results. There had only been two hits for the name Anakas, and the remaining results pertained to names that were spelled closely to it. He continued his search through the archives, as well as the local histories, searching with the name that Brett had suggested—Claudia Anakas. There was nothing. But he had a feeling that the little piece of information he’d just discovered was going to be extremely useful.

  Sidney looked at his watch and realized that he’d spent over thirty minutes. He’d told Brett to give him an hour. He pictured him already pacing the floor and anticipating his return, desperate to get back to Wilson Street. Sidney returned the screen to its normal desktop image and thanked the woman behind the library desk on his way out. Soon, he was out the door and back in the van, making his way back to the motor lodge.

  * * * *

  Brett stared at the photo Sidney had captured on his iPhone. He studied the face of Silas Anakas, the man who was his grandfather, the grandfather he never knew. But more importantly was the face of the younger man in the photo. The photo was slightly blurred and out of focus, certainly not as clear as Sidney had seen it, but Brett could still make out the shape of the face. It was similar to his face, and the young man had a light, fiendish mustache just above a forming beard, much like he had around that age.

  The older man was definitely his grandfather, but was the younger man Antonio? Sidney gave reason to question that assumption.

  “I can’t figure it out,” he said. “It looks like the young man in the yearbook photo, yet it doesn’t in other ways. He has the same gypsy eyes and countenance, the same stylish look, the same hair, but something is different in this photo.”

  “Maybe this is him in his stage appearance,” Susan said.

  “Yeah,” Leah said. “He could be wearing stage-makeup or something.”

  “I don’t know,” Sidney said. “I may have found your grandfather, Brett, but I really can’t say for sure that this is Antonio. In many ways, I feel like we’re back to square one.”

  “Allow me to take a look?” Tahoe had spoken up, and Leah handed him the iPhone that displayed the photo. They stared at it together.

  Brett watched as Tahoe narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the picture. Then, the old man closed his eyes quickly and opened them again. He continued to study the photo.

  “Are you seeing anything?” Leah asked him, as though she were comparing notes from one seer to another.

  “I cannot ascertain anything,” he said. “My wish is to see Brett, and whoever comes out of that house, together. Then, I may have a better idea of any connection between them.”

  Brett stood and faced Susan as she sat in the far corner of the lodge’s lounge, next to a large, fake fern.

  “It’s time to go,” he said. “We’ll use the truth as a cover story. I’m looking for my father, but for a reason that will forever stay between us.”

  “And that reason must remain a secret,” she said, rising from the chair. “If A. Anakas is Antonio, then you will not utter one word of what you are, understand? A certain word or words must never be mentioned while we’re in his presence.”

  Brett knew what word or words she meant: skinwalker, shape-shifter, wolf...

  “If we end up in his presence,” Dylan said to him. “I don’t want you to get your hopes up. He may be just someone with the same last name, or ‘A.’ might even be a distant relation.”

  “Or a woman,” Leah reiterated with a feminist’s tone of frustration.

  “If it is a distant relation,” Susan said. “At least we may learn something.”

  “Let’s hope whoever lives there hasn’t left for work,” Sidney said. “It is Monday.”

  Brett became anxious, irritated.

  “I’m ready,” he said, “now!”

  The six of them left the motor lodge and headed for the van.

  The sun blared through the van’s windows on this early Monday morning, reminding them all to take shelter behind mirrored and store-bought shades. The way to Wilson Street had been easily remembered, and the familiar sights along the way passed them once again. They’d arrived at the street’s hidden corner more quickly th
is time. Soon, they faced the red and white speckled, brick house once again. The black-Ford truck was still parked outside; the holiday decorations remained.

  Brett felt his nerves flare into an inner firestorm as Dylan boldly parked the van in front of the house. The pressure of this moment was pushing him to the floor. He wanted to turn around and go back. He wanted to go inside and get this over with, leave if it wasn’t Antonio, and rip his head off if it was. His mind darkened and roamed in a thousand different directions. Susan sat next to him, guiding him along.

  “Take a deep breath, Brett,” she said. “Let me handle this. And whatever you do, do not go over the deep end. You don’t want anyone in this house to be suspicious of you.”

  He took her advice and breathed deeply, inhaling and letting the air fill his lungs and the cool from the van’s AC to break his sweat. He felt mindless as he and the team exited the van and walked down the stone sidewalk. He walked in front, until he heard Susan’s voice once again.

  “Brett, let me go first,” she said. “I’ll introduce myself, and we’ll go from there.”

  He slowed down and let her walk in front of him. Seconds later, she rang the doorbell.

  Several seconds passed without a sound from inside. Susan rang the doorbell again, and then the creaking of wood and clomping of footsteps were heard coming closer to the door. A white curtain from a small side-window rustled. Something or someone stirred, but no one was seen. Silence followed, and then the door opened.

  A man, approximately mid-forties, stepped halfway out of the door and looked at Susan first, then tilted his head to the side to see those who stood behind her. His hair was black, but gray sprayed the neatly feathered sides and streaked his temples. His mustache and goatee were infected with the same salt and pepper tone of his hair. Brett stood behind Susan and studied the man’s face. He felt the familiar heat enflame him as he noticed the resemblance. He looked exactly like the young man in the photo with Silas, only older. His heart pounded hard once again.

  The man’s eyebrows spiked with curiosity as he spoke.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Mr. Anakas, I presume?” Susan said.

  “Yes, I am,” he said.

  “Mr. Anakas, my name is Dr. Susan Logan,” she said. “I work out of University Hospital in Green Valley.”

  She showed him her hospital ID, which she’d had ready. He continued to stare at the others and then looked back at her.

  “How can I help you, Dr. Logan?”

  Susan spoke calmly and intellectually.

  “I’m here on a personal matter; one that I feel is of great and pertinent interest to you and your family.”

  He looked at her, and silent seconds passed as Susan stumbled for the right words.

  “I work with a team of assistants and investigators,” she said, turning her head behind her to indicate the team. He looked at them.

  “Investigators?” he asked.

  A little white lie suddenly escaped her.

  “Private investigators, Mr. Anakas,” she said. “They investigate possible paternity cases. The young man standing behind me is a patient who I’m helping to discover his birth father’s identity.”

  Brett nervously waved an introduction. His voice dropped to a shy mumble as he spoke.

  “Brett Taylor,” he said, nodding and then lowering his eyes.

  “Taylor?” The man looked at Brett, and then at Susan, and the rest of the team. “Maybe you should come inside,” he said.

  The man opened the door wider. Brett followed Susan, and the team trailed behind him. They stepped slowly through the doorway, accepting the man’s invitation.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The inside of the house was cozy and modern with red wall-to-wall carpeting and a three-piece, white sectional that absorbed most of the small living room. A fireplace was carved inside the back wall, where in the winter, roaring blazes would have heated this quaint and simple abode. The man outstretched his hand toward a section of the couch.

  “Please, be seated,” he said.

  They all sat on one side of the sectional. Tahoe preferred to stand.

  “I hope we haven’t arrived at a bad time, Mr. Anakas,” Susan said. “I know it’s early.”

  “No,” he said. “I don’t have to be at work until three-o’clock. So, tell me, why is it that you’re here?”

  “Obviously, Mr. Anakas, you recognized the last name, ‘Taylor,’” she said. “This is my friend and patient, Brett Taylor.” She motioned to Brett sitting next to her on the couch. “He is searching for his birth father, a young man with your last name, who was once from Appleton.”

  They watched as the man lowered his eyes and sighed, expelling air through his nostrils.

  “I’ll make a long story short,” she said. “We’re looking for Brett’s birth father—Antonio Anakas. So, allow me to ask you, are you Antonio Anakas?”

  The man looked up at Susan and then back to Brett. The look on his face seemed not at all surprised. His fingers were interlocked together; his elbows perched on his knees. His answer was direct and straightforward.

  “No, I am not,” he said.

  The words stung Brett like a thousand bumblebees. He’d been sure from the moment he laid eyes on this man that he was Antonio. It was not only the resemblance, but an inner vibe he felt, an instant feeling of a connection. How could he not be Antonio? He was not only an Anakas, but he was the young man in the photo, and everyone could see it.

  Anger gripped him. He no longer felt the need for censorship, as though whatever he said was justifiable. He was now dangling at the end of a long rope that he’d been hanging onto for years. This man was a liar. He was going to prove it. He stood from the couch, the explosive urge for confrontation brewing and rising like magma to a volcano’s surface.

  “He’s lying,” he said. “I know it! It’s him! He’s lying!”

  Brett was standing over the man and pointing down into his face. Susan stood up and placed her hands on his shoulders.

  “Sit down,” she said. “Let him speak.”

  The man sighed again, harder and louder, and then turned his head away as though to find his own inner control. Brett would have loved it if the man had let loose of the reprimand he’d been so obviously about to lavish upon him. He welcomed the thought of taking him out, especially after he’d just denied who he was while looking him straight in the eyes.

  “This has happened many times throughout the years,” the man said.

  Sidney’s smart-ass response was quick.

  “What, people showing up on your doorstep, confusing you with their biological father?”

  Leah’s quick kick to Sidney’s leg had not gone unnoticed. After a pause, the man continued...

  “No,” he said. “I meant, people confusing me with Antonio. I am not Antonio. My name is Andre Anakas.”

  * * * *

  Tahoe had preferred to stand for a reason; his third eye was showing him streaks of light that thinned into connecting lines linking the man to Brett. The lines were weak, not strong like they would be with most blood relatives, but there was a bloodline. The aging seer didn’t need his third eye to see that the younger man in the newspaper photo had grown into the man sitting before them; he could see it with his naked eye. This was the man Tahoe had seen in the vision. The lines that only Tahoe could see told him that there was a connection between Brett and this man, just not the one Brett had been assuming.

  So, this man is not his father. Tahoe ogled the man closely as he spoke, staring into his deep brown eyes. He hadn’t seen in him what he’d seen in Brett the moment he looked into the eyes of the hawk, or when he showed up at Brett’s apartment unannounced. This man was not a skinwalker. He closed his eyes as the man continued speaking. He was trying to envision more, but his efforts were distracted when the man revealed his name—Andre Anakas.

  * * * *

  “Antonio was my cousin,” he said, “my first cousin.”

  He was lookin
g at Brett who was seated once again.

  “My father and Antonio’s father were brothers. My Uncle Silas raised me since I was twelve, when my parents were killed in an accident.

  “So tell me, Mr. Anakas,” Sidney said, rising from the couch and showing him the newspaper photo he’d snapped with his iPhone. “Is this you?”

  “Wow,” he said. “You’ve all really done your homework. Yes, that’s me in 1986.”

  So, he is the young man in the photo, Sidney thought. He’s admitted it. Now, he wasn’t so sure he agreed with Brett that the man was lying. Suddenly, he wished that he was. It was starting to make sense to Sidney. The resemblance between this man and Antonio was not exact because they were cousins. But the likening was a strong one, nonetheless. The man who called himself Andre went on to detail how he’d lived with Antonio for most of his life, how they were raised together as brothers, though they were cousins.

  “But the resemblance, Mr. Anakas,” Sidney said. “You have to admit that the resemblance between you and Antonio is an uncanny one.”

  “That is why people have often mistaken us throughout the years,” he said. He rose from his seat and reached for his back pocket.

  “Here,” he said. “I can prove to you who I am, if you don’t believe me.”

  He pulled his wallet from his back pocket, slipped his driver’s license from its given slot, and handed it to Sidney.

  “I also have my birth certificate, if that’s not good enough,” he said, sarcastically.

  “Mr. Anakas, that really won’t be necessary,” Susan said.

  “Please,” he said. “Anyone who comes to my home and questions my identity may go ahead and call me Andre.”

  Sidney looked at the ID. The name listed under the photo was Andre Anakas. He handed back the driver’s license without a word, his eyes meeting Andre’s for an embarrassing second. Andre replaced his wallet, paced for a moment, and then sat back down with his open palms firmly planted on his thighs. He leaned in a little closer as he spoke, keeping direct eye contact with Brett.