by Bella Raven
Despite the dire prophecy of the attending physician, my grandfather improved over the next several days. So much so, that his trademark smile and sparkle in his eye came back—but only for a day. But in that day, I held his hand and told him that I loved him. He replied, “I love you too.”
It was the last thing he ever said to me.
The next day was a steep decline. The doctors said that the pneumonia was likely due to aspiration. He had lost the ability to swallow, and unfortunately, that ability wasn’t coming back. Dysphagia, as they called it. Anything he ate or drank was spilling down his windpipe, breeding infection in his lungs. He had been on IV fluids since he was admitted. His only source of nutrition was coming from a nasal cannula, which they used to inject a feeding solution directly into his stomach.
Despite this, he was still aspirating into his lungs. It seems gramps had pretty advanced dementia—more advanced than anyone realized. It had progressed past the point of merely repeating conversations. His brain wasn’t only forgetting memory details, it was forgetting how to tell the body to function. His swallowing wasn’t improving. Putting in a permanent feeding tube would likely still result in aspiration. He would face increased infection concerns. Given all of these factors, the doctor suggested we consider hospice.
Hospice is where they send people to die. The singular goal is to make the patient’s passing as comfortable as possible. It created a very strange feeling among all of us—it was no longer a case of if, but when my grandfather would die.
I was too young to process all of this at the time. But now, watching this replay in my mind, I am aware of so many details that I had either forgotten, or just couldn’t comprehend. I remember staying in the intermediate care unit of the hospital almost twenty four hours a day. Jake hadn’t returned to the hospital since the day grandpa was first admitted. I can see now how much this bothered my father. Some people just don’t do hospitals well, and Jake is one of those people.
Watching the slow, steady decline of someone you love is excruciating. Every moment is precious. Once in hospice, my grandfather was only semi-conscious for another day or so. From then on, he mostly slept, with the assistance of some heavy duty comfort medication. Jake showed up to the hospice three times—each time drunk. Like, really drunk. Obnoxious, loud, and disrespectful drunk. This infuriated my father. And even though my grandfather wasn’t really conscious anymore, he seemed to react to what was going on the room with moans and groans—Jake’s behavior was upsetting him. This enraged my dad even further.
The hospice nurses said that the hearing is the last thing to go. The patient might seem out of it, and non-responsive, but they can hear everything you say. I told him stories of my favorite moments with him, and how we would see each other again in Heaven.
The nurses made regular checks and administered the medications on schedule. Each one had such a high degree of respect and compassion for their patients. It takes a special kind of person to care for the dying—knowing that each new patient is going to pass, and that all you can do is ease their transition.
Nobody ever talks about death in hospice. They always say transition. And they all say that the patient controls the exact moment when they will transition. At this stage, some last for days, and some for weeks. If they want you in the room, they will pass with you present, if they want to be alone, they will wait until you step out.
It sounds crazy that they would have so much control. But the nurses say they see it all the time. A family will hover around for weeks. And the minute they have all stepped out of the room—either for food, or to go to the restroom—when the patient is finally alone—the patient passes.
My grandfather gave me the honor of being with him. In the wee hours of the morning his breathing grew extremely slow and shallow. I held his hand and told him how much I loved him as he drew his last breath. Suddenly he was gone.
The wind howled outside, like his spirit was being carried off with the breeze. His body didn’t even look like him anymore, merely a shell of what once contained his soul.
I remember being so numb by this point that I didn’t even cry. I just felt like he was free. That he wasn’t in pain anymore.
By the time of my grandfather’s vigil, Jake had been on a heavy bender for over two weeks. I can see now why my father found his behavior unforgivable. After the priest said a few words and lead us in prayer, he invited friends and loved ones to say a few words. This was a huge mistake.
Jake staggered up to the podium, followed by audible gasps from the crowd. He dove into a mostly unintelligible rant about how he both loved and hated his father. My dad was holding my hand at the time, and his grip squeezed like a vice as the veins in his temples bulged. I had to pry my hand loose because he didn’t even realize how hard he was clamping down.
I thought for an instant he was going to leap up and tackle Jake. He was so pissed off. In hindsight, he probably should have. As Jake finished his rant, he stammered away from the podium toward the casket to pay his final respects. Jake tripped, stumbling into the casket, crashing it to the ground.
Everyone at the vigil shrieked in horror as my grandfather’s body spilled out onto the floor. It was horrifying. Traumatizing. And I had totally blocked it out of my memory until this moment.
“Pop a cap in that bitch!” I hear someone yell.
I pull myself out of my daze to see the .45 staring back at me. I’m no longer at my grandfather’s funeral. I’m back in the parking lot of the grocery store, and I wonder just how long that little trip down memory lane took? How long was I day dreaming?
A passenger in the little red car has leapt out and is shouting at the hulk of a driver to squeeze the trigger. He’s a tiny guy, like a chihuahua, bouncing around, extremely animated. His eyes wide, just waiting to see my brains splattered against the concrete.
At this moment, I’m incredibly pissed at Jake.
“Pop a cap in that bitch!” the chihuahua repeats.
BAM!
CHAPTER 13
MUZZLE FLASH. SPARKS. Smoke. The gunshot thunders, cracking like a lightning bolt. An environmentally friendly copper round launches from the barrel. It drills its way through the thick night air, straight toward me. The bullet has no consciousness, no soul, just one primary objective—devour flesh. And it’s very, very hungry.
I watch the events unfold like a frame by frame replay. There is nothing I can do. I am just along for the ride as the bullet races toward my head. It stays true to its mission—disrupt the standard operation of my brain. End my life.
But then, something unexpected happens. Lucas leaps toward the path of the bullet. At first, I am horrified. The thought that he would sacrifice himself for me fills me with guilt and dread. My stomach turns and I scream in terror.
My heart is pounding and my skin tingles with adrenaline. I watch in slow motion as Lucas grabs the bullet, deflecting it. The slug rips through the edge of his palm, splattering blood across my face. I hear the bullet rush past my ear, ripping the air, only millimeters away. With his other hand he grabs the barrel of the gun. With the speed and precision of a martial artist, Lucas disarms the hulk, stripping the weapon from his hand.
Lucas slams his elbow into the the guy’s face, and I can hear his cheekbones crack. This towering, massive, hulk of a man drops to the ground like a slab of meat, smacking the concrete with a thud.
The loudmouth passenger, who once cheered him on, sprints away through the parked cars. He disappears into the foggy night.
Lucas drops the magazine from the .45 and ejects the round from the chamber, rendering the gun nothing more than a chunk of machined metal. “Is everyone ok?” he asks.
My ability to speak has vanished for the moment, and I can only manage a nod. I glance around and see Noah, and he gives me a thumbs up. Jen looks petrified and pale as a ghost, but she’s ok. Then my eyes find Jake, cowering behind a minivan. I shake my head.
My gaze snaps back to Lucas. “Your hand. What about your hand?
” I ask.
“I’m fine, don’t worry about it,” he says.
“You’re not fine,” I say, wiping the blood spatter from my face. But when I look at my palms there is nothing there. Not a trace of blood. I brush my face again, thinking maybe I just missed the spot—but still nothing. It’s like all of his blood has evaporated.
“Let me see your hand,” I demand.
“I’m fine, really. I think someone should call the police,” Lucas says.
“I’m on it,” Jen says.
I step closer to Lucas, taking his hand, which appears soft, smooth, and unharmed. My eyes widen and my jaw drops at the sight. I’m utterly confounded. “But I saw you get hit!” I say.
“Everything happened really fast,” Lucas says.
“Your blood was on my face!”
Lucas giggles. “Well, it’s not there now.”
“Jen, you saw this, right?”
Jen raises a finger, shushing me. “Hi, I’d like to report an attempted homicide,” she says, into her cell phone. Jen walks away to continue the conversation. She rattles off the details of the incident to the officer as I keep trying to pry an explanation out of Lucas for what I saw transpire. But he’s not forthcoming with any account of the events that will satisfy me.
Jake was hiding behind the minivan. Noah had covered his eyes. And Lucas maintains that the trauma of the event may be causing me to misremember.
Misremember?
My memory is perfectly fine, thank you. I can see this is going to go no where, so I just drop it. For now.
Lucas must have clocked that guy good because he doesn’t regain consciousness until after the cops arrive. It takes the better part of an hour to make our statements recounting the events to the officers. We are all ready to get home and put this behind us.
Growing bored with the tedious aftermath, my eyes wander through the parking lot. At the edge of the pavement, I see a lone, gray wolf amidst the thick pines that border the area. The wolf stares at me a moment, then raises his head, panning across the lot, surveying the situation. The wolf’s eyebrows crinkle upward, looking almost concerned. I glance around to see if anyone else notices. Someone does. Lucas has his eyes locked on the wolf. The wolf sees him too, narrowing his eyes in return, which begin to burn red. The wolf slowly reveals his white, razor sharp fangs and lets out a low growl. My eyes flit back and forth between the two, each of them tensing, posturing, taking an aggressive stance.
“Are you going to wrestle with a wolf now?” I ask.
Lucas breaks from his staring contest and looks straight at me, and gravely says. “Wolves are dangerous. They’re not house pets. You should stay away from them.”
I peek back to the edge of the lot and the wolf is gone. Lucas seems to relax again after this, and the officer asks him a few more followup questions.
The ambulance carts the hulk off, strapped down and secured in a neck brace. I overhear one of the EMTs mention they suspect a few broken vertebrae in the neck as well as a shattered orbital bone. They all seem to be a little shocked that this amount of trauma could result from a single blow. Especially to someone of this size by someone as small as Lucas.
Officer Jackson tells us that the hulk has a warrant for his arrest for the murder of Marc Lewis. He says the hulk's wrap sheet is as long as the Great Wall of China. Jackson thanks us for helping apprehend him.
By the time we get back to uncle Jake’s it’s well past Lucas’s curfew. But somehow, I don’t think that’s going to be much of a problem, all things considered. We all pile out of his car, loading in the groceries. With five of us, it makes short work of putting away all of the food.
“Well, I guess I should really be getting home now,” Lucas says.
I walk him to his car, and Jen gives me a sly wink on my way out the door. I roll my eyes at her. I can tell that she’s going to be peering through the blinds, watching me say goodbye to Lucas, hoping for something juicy to happen.
“I guess I should say thank you for saving my life,” I say.
“All in a days work,” Lucas says.
“How did you do that?”
“I’ve been taking karate lessons since I was six.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.”
Lucas shrugs.
“I know you know what I’m getting at,” I say.
“It’s getting late, and I really need to get home. I’ll see you at school tomorrow,” he says.
Lucas hops into his car and drives away into the night. I watch his car disappear down the drive, then I turn back toward the house. I hear the blinds rattle as Jen moves away from them. Before I get to the door, I hear a rustling sound in the woods. I look to the trees and see a pair of red, glowing eyes staring at me from the shadows. I’ve had enough of this nonsense. I want answers, and I want them now. I’m tired of everyone dodging my questions about the strange things that seem to be perfectly normal in Haven Hill.
I take a deep breath and turn to the woods. My heart flutters a bit as I march toward the forest. I try my best to look intimidating and determined, despite hobbling on crutches.
I march straight toward the glaring red eyes.
CHAPTER 14
UPON ENTERING THE old-growth forest, I am enveloped in darkness. My spine tingles with fear as I creep deeper into the trees—searching, scanning for those red eyes. With each step, leaves and twigs crinkle underfoot. The metal crutches creek, telegraphing my position to anything out there in the darkness. Yet, I see nothing—no movement, no shadow, no red eyes. Deeper and deeper I go, unrelenting in my quest to confront this beast.
A single beam of moonlight penetrates the canopy of the trees, splashing the leaves below. I pause for a moment, basking in its glow, looking up to the now almost full moon. Perhaps another day or so until it peaks. When I hear a slow, rolling growl behind me, I realize this may not be the best time of the month to be stalking a wolf in the forest. I slowly spin around to see those blood red eyes and sparkling white fangs. We stare at each other for a long moment. Then, with slow cautious steps, the grey beast moves toward me.
My heart races with each step, and this may be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done in my life, but I kneel down and let him approach me. He moves so close I can feel his breath on my neck as he sniffs. I stay perfectly still as he circles me. Around and around, until we find ourselves nose to nose again. His eyes staring into mine. His fangs glistening in the shaft of moonlight. My stomach fluttering. The hairs on the back of my neck standing tall.
He is regal, with pure white pelage, peppered grey on top. A bold, muscular frame and thick, furry mane proclaim his majesty. His white face, cheeks, and muzzle are accented with a grey brow, forehead and ears. He is the most beautiful animal I have ever seen.
Then he lunges for me, licking my face. I giggle because it tickles. And he won’t stop. I scratch his chin and pet his forehead. I run my fingers through his soft fur like he was a domesticated animal—not like the cold, ruthless killer that he is.
The wolf licks my face again, only stopping when he hears the distant howl of another wolf. His head whips to the direction of the sound. Another howl joins the first, and the eerie, discordant tones echo through the trees.
The wolf snaps back to me and huffs. My brow furrows with confusion. What is he trying to tell me? Another huff. Then a low, short bark—a warning! But it’s too late—another wolf has appeared through the trees.
My wolf faces the intruder, standing tall, tail raised, displaying his alpha dominance. Then a second intruder emerges. Then a third, followed by a fourth. The fur of their muzzles and cheeks are stained with the blood of a recent kill, and they still appear ravenous.
The air fills with a volley of deep, ferocious growls as the intruding pack faces off against my wolf. He is the only thing between me and their sharp, bloody fangs.
I want to run, but I am paralyzed with fear. Even if I could move, the best I could manage would be a quick hobble. Old ladies on scooters move faster t
han I do, at the moment.
The intruding pack tests the the perimeter. They advance and retreat toward my wolf in random succession. He keeps each one at bay, snapping and growling, standing his ground. But he’s outnumbered, and it’s only a matter of time before the array of wolves blitzes in to rip us both to shreds.
Drooling, growling, snapping, the pack narrows the gap, finally dashing in for the kill. One or two would be a fair fight, but four is too much. Two of the wolves dive for the legs, aiming to plunge their sharp canines into the muscles and tendons. The other two leap into the air, attacking from above.
I watch in horror, as the growling and snapping grows deafening. My beautiful, majestic wolf is doomed. And I am next. If I’m going to escape, now is my only chance. But I can’t do it. I can’t leave this noble animal to die, torn to pieces by these ruthless demons.
My eyes scan the ground for anything I can use as a weapon. Then, I realize I’m holding two weapons already—my crutches. I vault towards the huddled vortex of mayhem, preparing to bat away the vicious horde. It’s probably one of the worst ideas I’ve ever had, but I do it instinctually.
The wolves brawl, blurring like a tornado. A swirling mass of fur, blood, and fangs. It transforms before my eyes. The growls turn into whimpering yelps as each attacker is cast off. The majestic wolf has metamorphosed into a towering beast, standing upright like a man—but not human. Massive, rippling arms grab the now feeble wolves. He hurls them through the air, slamming them into tree trunks and spiking them to the ground. Brushed away like fleas, the attackers submit. They lower their bodies to the ground, subjugating themselves with whimpers and cries. The pack sulks backwards. The once emboldened aggressors now cautiously retreat.
My wolf, the regal creature, inhales—expanding his chest and broad shoulders. Then he flexes like a body builder, roaring into the night proclaiming his victory. His carved, striated muscles bulge in the gleaming moonlight with the definition of a race horse. His smooth, white and grey pelage stretched tight against his musculature. My eyes survey the creature’s mammoth body, his back still toward me. His long arms ending in powerful hands, with long fingers and black, razor sharp claws. His legs, thick and mighty. His breath, heavy and booming as he continues to stand facing away from me, staring into the night.