by Noah Harris
“Why can’t I come with you, you said it yourself, I’m brave. I can help,” Ronnie implored, but Jack shook his head.
“You are brave, but I’m going to assume you’re not very good with a gun?” Ronnie looked up at him and pursed his lips. Then he shook his head and Jack looked around. “Just stay here, stay quiet, and I will come back for you when it’s safe. Here,” he said, picking up a pistol off the bed. It looked light in Jack’s hand, small. Like a toy. Ronnie was sure it would feel very different if he tried to pick it up. Jack was right, even if Ronnie didn’t want to be left here, alone, he wouldn’t be much help. He trusted Jack.
“I don’t want a gun,” Ronnie said, eyeing it distrustfully. “I’ll just sit tight here.”
“Okay,” Jack sighed, grimacing. He tossed the gun back in the bag and headed for the door. Ronnie watched him go, frowning worriedly, but he turned around. “I’ll be back soon.” Then he slipped outside and shut the door behind him.
Ronnie sat heavily on the bed, picking at the sheets. He did this for a few minutes, and then he started to pace, wringing his hands again. The near kiss had set his nerves ablaze, thinking about what it might mean. Was it lust, or love? Or something in between? It had felt like nothing he’d ever encountered before, like they’d been searching for one another for centuries.
Now, alone, he thought about the almost-kiss and Jack himself. He hadn’t realized just how secure and safe Jack made him feel, even in a situation like this, just by being near him. The closeness had lit his body up, but Jack’s presence itself had quieted his mind. Now, he felt terrified and jittery, thinking about Jack walking through the tunnels, maybe going upstairs and out into the grounds to try to find the gunman, maybe getting caught off-guard. Or Portia sneaking away from Fiona and Clara, getting taken hostage, or worse, killed on the spot. His stomach twisted and he rubbed his face, then looked in the bag Jack had thrown the gun into.
Maybe it wouldn’t feel so strange in his hands. Maybe it would feel good to take another stand, the final stand.
He leaned down hesitantly and lifted it out, pinching it between his thumb and his forefinger. It was heavier than he’d imagined, and he held it in both hands for a moment, examining it. He knew the basics, the safety, the trigger. Jack had loaded it, he knew. He wouldn’t have tried to hand Ronnie an empty gun for protection.
He turned the safety off and aimed it at the wall, the mirror, the wardrobe. Practice and steady hands, that’s all, Ronnie, he thought as he stared at his reflection, pointing the gun at his face. He dropped his arms and took a deep breath.
He remembered the first time he’d held a gun, it had also been the last time. Lucy had encouraged him to get one, they’d gone to the shooting range.
“Are you sure you don’t want anyone to come back with you, young lady?” said the man at the counter, chewing on tobacco. Lucy smiled sweetly at him.
“No.”
“Well, alright,” he replied shrugging. He looked at Ronnie with raised eyebrows, women, what can you do? Ronnie smiled coldly at him, his face feeling more like it was twisting into a scowl.
“C’mon, Ronnie,” she said, and he followed her through the long concrete hallway to the shooting range at the end.
“I really don’t know why I have to do this,” Ronnie complained, and she turned on him quickly.
“Because if Perry ever comes back, trying to make trouble for you, you can put a bullet in his mouth, Ronnie,” she’d said in annoyance as he gingerly held the gun and followed her to their stalls. She stood in hers and popped her earmuffs on, giving him a cheesy grin.
Then she raised her gun and let off more shots than Ronnie could count. He cringed at the sound, pop pop pop, through his own earmuffs. She lowered her gun and pulled her earmuffs down around her neck, looking glamorous and dangerous. Ronnie scooted into her stall and looked at her target, she had nearly perfect aim. The paper outline at the end of the range had bullet holes in its face, its chest, and its genitals.
“Your turn!”
“Even if I do this now, I don’t think I’d be able to pull the trigger, Lucy, I’d be too…”
“Scared?”
“No,” he said with a roll of his eyes, looking down at the gun. “Paralyzed, I guess. Not because I was scared, though,” he said quickly, and she stifled an amused smile. “I don’t think I could shoot another human being, no matter how horrible they were.”
“So, you’re telling me you wouldn’t shoot, like, Hitler, if you had the chance?” Ronnie groaned and looked at her tiredly, her lipstick perfect and her hair effortlessly and beautifully wild.
“That’s an insane example,” he griped, and she shrugged daintily. Then she popped her earmuffs back on, lifted the gun and aimed back down the range again, three more bullets in the paper man’s head. Ronnie put his earmuffs back on just in time. She pulled hers off again.
“I’m just saying. You need to be able to defend yourself,” she said, reloading the gun and pressing the button requesting a new target. “Here. At least try it once.” She came up behind him and guided his arms into the correct position. “Now, pull the trigger.”
He aimed, looking at the target, imagining Perry’s face on it. He’d felt a sick anger deep in his belly, full of fire and resentment and bitterness and pain. Then he pulled the trigger.
“That’s it, love!” Lucy shouted, grinning down the range. Ronnie had put a hole in the target’s stomach. “You hit the target. And, not deadly. Does that make you feel better?” she asked, patting him on the shoulder.
“Not really.”
Ronnie sucked in a breath and faced the door Jack had just disappeared through, wondering how long he’d sat here considering his options. He pulled the door open and headed out into the dark corridors of the underground tunnel system. He held the gun up, his arms crooked closely to his chest, and started walking in the direction he thought he remembered led back upstairs.
The tunnels were dark, dimly lit by flickering bulbs he’d never noticed before, and seemingly endless. The corners came less frequently than he remembered, and the sounds of rats and water dripping made his pulse race madly, he felt it in his neck and his wrists like he had individual hearts scattered around his body.
He walked for what felt like hours, wandering in what he was sure were circles around the tunnels, jumping at the slightest sound and trying to make sure he didn’t accidentally shoot at nothing and reveal his position. He wondered where Jack was if he too was still sneaking around the tunnels trying to find the shooter, if he might mistake Ronnie for him. He put the thought out of his mind. Jack was a professional, and, if that near-kiss was any evidence, he was falling in love with Ronnie just like Ronnie was falling in love with him. He hoped. Ronnie was sure, at least, that Jack would recognize him the moment he saw him.
Suddenly he heard panting, and he turned around, eyes searching in the unstable light. Was it just his heavy breathing? He turned back, noticing a fork in the hallway, and his breath caught in his throat. At the end of the dark corridor was a man in a black ski mask, his hands raised and clutching a gun. His hands, though, were shaking. Ronnie raised his own gun, feeling like his hand was steadier, somehow, than the intruder’s, and took aim at his chest.
“Don’t make me do this,” he said, already feeling hesitation at shooting someone. Then, he was gone. No, he wasn’t gone, he was behind something, something huge and flapping, its wings obscuring and revealing the man as it lifted him into the air and then dropped him to the ground with a crunching thud. Ronnie screamed and stumbled backward, his mind’s explanation for what he was seeing baffling and petrifying. All he could see were things that didn’t make sense, the wings, light reflecting off of inky-black scales, yellow, glistening teeth, fire and smoke creating a shadowy screen. Death. It rose into the air again as the gunman scrambled to his feet and started to limp away, but all Ronnie saw was this the figure, huge and monstrous, making him feel like he was swallowing his tongue.
It turned to
ward Ronnie and let out a desperate sound that Ronnie’s ears couldn’t decipher, and he screamed again, feeling like he was in some kind of horror movie, and raised the gun shakily. The monster cried out again, and Ronnie fell backward, pulling the trigger.
There was a screech, floor-shaking and shrill, and then the monster was collapsed on the floor, and then it wasn’t the monster anymore. Ronnie watched in disbelief as it shrank, turning pale and pink. He gasped and ran forward, it was a human! But how? He held the gun in front of him as he approached it carefully, and then nearly dropped it.
Jack’s naked body, covered in his own blood, was curled up on the ground, unconscious. Ronnie fell to his knees and crawled toward Jack, not fully understanding where the horrific creature had gone and how Jack had gotten here. He knew, though, that somehow he’d shot Jack instead of the creature, with its billowing wings and steaming nostrils and gleaming, terrifying fangs. But he was certain, his aim had been true. Was Jack the creature?
It couldn’t be.
Truths
Jack
“Oh, shit, Jack.” The sound of choked sobs filled his ears, and Jack groggily opened his eyes to the darkness of the tunnel system and someone’s quivering body lying on top of him. “Holy…you’re awake, Jack,” Ronnie whimpered, pulling at his shoulders. Ronnie was crying into the side of his head, and he shifted slightly, trying to push himself up. A sharp, throbbing pain shot through his hand, and he lifted it up.
“Oh,” he said calmly, inspecting the hole in the palm of his hand. Ronnie wailed and hugged him tighter, nearly choking him. He realized with a shock that he was naked, still, and felt the back of his neck burn. He put it out of his mind. Clearly, Ronnie wasn’t paying attention to that.
Jack shook his hand out, trying to ignore the pain, it would heal in the next few minutes, only one of the many things he would have to try to explain to Ronnie. Should he just come out and say it? Would Ronnie believe him? Should he ask Ronnie to watch the hole in his hand heal before their very eyes, use that as proof? Would he be traumatized, terrified? Was he already? Jack grimaced, using his other hand to prop himself up, and pushed Ronnie back a few inches. He would just have to wing it, he didn’t think any method would have the outcome he was hoping for. He’d better just get it over with.
“Ronnie,” he said quietly, and Ronnie suddenly gasped and quieted, his breathing still uneven but the unhinged sobbing was gone. He stared into Jack’s face, his eyes swollen and filled with tears, his face red and splotched. His nose was running, and his lips were trembling, but the look on his face wasn’t simply fear, it was anger. Frustrated confusion.
The pained look on Ronnie’s face, so genuine and open, made Jack’s heart swell uncomfortably , not with affection, but with relief. He’d never had anyone look at him that way before, so concerned and terrified and scared to death not of him, but for him. He hadn’t run away from Jack, but toward him, despite it all.
And it wasn’t that his family didn’t care for him, the thought nudged him as he and Ronnie stared at one another, that guilt of disregarding his family’s love for him. He knew they loved him. But this, what was showing on Ronnie’s twisted, panting, frightened face, it was eons away from any look he’d ever seen on Clara’s face, or even Frankie’s. This was a look of pure and petrified devotion.
“Ronnie,” he said again, blinking back whatever emotion was gathering in his eyes, unnamable and intense, trying to think of what to say, how to begin. But Ronnie just took a shuddering breath and collapsed, sitting closely next to him.
“What…what was that?” he asked emptily, and Jack frowned, looking down at him with a blank mind. That was a good question, and he didn’t have the answer. Well, he did, but not one that would make sense to Ronnie. He didn’t want that look on his face to go away.
“Well, I…” he paused, looking at the wall past Ronnie’s shoulder, feeling exponentially more nervous than he had in his entire life, certainly more than he’d felt in the recent past.
“What are you, Jack?” Ronnie interrupted him, and Jack dropped his eyes to Ronnie’s face again, realizing Ronnie had already figured out more than he’d thought he had. He knew it had been Jack, not some mysterious, disappearing creature. The question, so existential and open-ended, had answered more than Ronnie thought.
Jack watched Ronnie’s flummoxed face and noticed the changes, it was shifting, almost, to amazement, wonder, curiosity. He felt a grin spread across his face, and then a laugh bubbling in his stomach. He let it loose, laughter. Real, genuine laughter. He laughed for a moment and Ronnie stared at him in bewilderment, and then he pulled Ronnie against him with his good arm, pressing their chests together. Ronnie’s quivering lungs calmed, and he wrapped his arms around Jack’s neck, obviously relieved.
“Are you going to tell me, or…” Ronnie murmured in his ear, and Jack laughed again. He leaned back and Ronnie did the same, looking deeply, earnestly, into his eyes.
“Yeah, I…yes,” he said, and then looked down the tunnel. Where to begin? Probably with Ronnie’s question, what are you? “I’m a shifter. A shapeshifter,” he continued to avoid Ronnie’s eyes, that previous fear of Ronnie disbelieving him, thinking he was insane, or being completely terrified of the monster he was, returning. “There is a species of human that can shift into an animal form, and there are sub-species within that. There are, uh, tigers, deer, wolves…I am a-a dragon,” he chuckled, realizing that the sterility of the conversation, the scientific way he was explaining himself and his species, didn’t do it justice and made it sound like fiction. “I am basically a dragon in the form of a man. Clara raised me here, in the Fort, when my father died.”
“I’m sorry,” Ronnie squeaked, and Jack glanced at him, then back away, frowning. Of all the things for Ronnie to focus on, it was his dead father. He appreciated Ronnie’s kindness, but the thought of it made him wither.
“It’s…I barely remember him. My life is here,” he said stoically, and Ronnie nodded in his periphery. “But that’s my explanation. I am a dragon shifter, that’s why I’ve been in and out, sneaking around. That’s how I found Perry. Now you know,” Jack laughed ironically, shrugging. He braved a look at Ronnie, who was staring at him in awe.
“Is…is Frankie J also a dragon?” Jack shook his head, and Ronnie furrowed his eyebrows.
“Dragons can’t mate with dragons. Only omegas can carry children, and all dragons are alphas,” Jack explained and then held back an amused smile when Ronnie pretended to understand, dramatically letting out an ah as if it was all coming together.
“What about Portia, then?”
“Portia’s a dragon,” Jack chuckled, thinking about her. “And she’s going to be a handful, even for a dragon.” Ronnie nodded, then shook his head in bemusement.
“Wow. This is…this is amazing,” he said, and Jack looked at him in surprise but said nothing. This was a better response than he’d ever imagined and he didn’t want to ruin it. “So, how does, mating? How does that work?”
“Well, shifters are imbued with magic. Some species have more control over it, dragons are one of them. When we mate with humans, we give them a bit of our magic. It sounds stupid when I explain it like this,” he stopped, frustrated. Clara had always explained it to him in that way, and it sounded much better and more believable when she said it.
“No, keep going,” Ronnie said, smiling shyly. “It’s like this whole world I didn’t know existed. And now I’m part of it, kind of. I know about it, and no one else does.” Jack chuckled and nodded.
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right. Well, for instance, humans are always omegas. Just simply because they are always less powerful than their shifter counterparts. So, Frankie, she was an omega, but we weren’t fated mates.”
“Fated mates? Like in the books?” Ronnie asked, leaning forward interestedly. Jack nodded and took a deep breath, another thing he’d have to explain, another failure in his life.
“Fated mates. Clara always says that the universe crea
ted humans with four arms, four legs, two heads, two hearts,” Jack began, knowing the myth by heart. For shifters, it was less myth and more existential truth.
“And then the gods split them in half,” Ronnie said, and Jack shook his head in surprise.
“Yeah,” he said, and Ronnie grinned.
“We celebrities are always hoping for a soulmate. Not someone who’s only with us for superficial reasons,” Ronnie explained, flushing. Jack nodded, and looked down, feeling himself get warm.
“Clara says it’s truth, not myth. Shifters can sense it, but humans can’t.”
“Did you…” Ronnie paused, looking at his hands, which he was fiddling with in his lap. “Did you sense that Frankie was your fated mate?” The question came out as a whisper, and Jack heard his heartbeat speed up dramatically.
“No.” Ronnie looked up at him quickly, then dropped his gaze again. “Frankie isn’t my fated mate.” He watched Ronnie carefully. Now that they were talking about it, the more he thought, maybe I do know who my fated mate is. “Clara thought Frankie and I would be good together. When a male shifter…engages with their fated mate, they knot. It’s the animal in us. With Frankie, I couldn’t. We had to try for a long time to have Portia.”
“Why did you stay with Frankie if she wasn’t your fated mate?”
“She was there,” he said simply, and then cleared his throat. “I don’t mean it like that. She was there for me. She cared about me. It lasted a few years until Portia was a little older. But it was…hard,” he paused. Was that the right word?
“Hard? How do you mean?” Ronnie asked, leaning forward again. It was like Ronnie could sense when he was feeling insecure or hesitant, always closing the distance between them to give him a boost of confidence.
“It was difficult because I knew Frankie wasn’t my fated mate. She tried so hard to make things good between us, but I could never reconcile it all. I had to act human, like I could choose who I wanted to be with and why, or look past the imperfections. But shifters aren’t like that,” he said, feeling like he was finally speaking the truth, projecting it out into the universe.