by Iyanna Orr
It had happened thousands of times before; waking up feeling as if he were supposed to be someplace else. Years ago, his mom took him to a child therapist, who dismissed the matter as just a mild case of nightmares. Even Chandler, bemused as he was to the dreams that haunted him, gave up and wrote off the concept of finding out what it all meant. Still, they continued to come to him, leaving him mostly restless in the mornings until he could forget them again. Throwing off the sheets tangled around him, Chandler sighed softly, feeling aggravation push in his mind. He needed to get over it entirely because he knew that the dreams would never tell him anything he wanted to know, perhaps, because they were just that: dreams. There was no rhyme or reason to why they came and would go away in their own time.
Chandler heard the door open, though the hinges were far from rusted or squeaky, and turned to look at his mom as she slipped inside.
“Mom,” he said.
“Get up. School starts today,” she replied. Like most mornings, she looked as if she hadn’t gotten any sleep. Her dark hair, which matched Chandler’s equally dark hair, was a tangled mess on top of her head. If he hadn’t known any better, he’d assume she’d been up all night, pacing and pulling out her hair. But he did know, so he said nothing.
“Mom, it’s too early. School doesn’t start for another hour.”
“You’ve gotten up at this same time for the last two years. Now, get up,” she told him, turning to glare in his direction with arms folded stolidly across her chest. Then he saw the look in her eyes and shut down his mind, removing any notion of responding. Chandler stared at her, and her eyes swirled with barely contained madness nobody had ever managed to control when his dad wasn’t around. When he felt the pull that told him he should get up and go, he didn’t question it just as he hadn’t for the last seventeen years. It had become familiar to him; being without the power of disobedience. He’d convinced himself it was a “mom” thing and left it at that.
Rolling out of bed, he stretched while his mom went around the room as she did every day. Chandler didn’t know what she was looking for but had never had it in him to question her about that either. When he was a kid, his mom’s anger scared him; it was the monster he never admitted was hiding in his closet. Now, he was simply wary of it. He ignored her and considered the mirror across from him, hanging on the back of his bedroom door. A shirt was caught on it, blocking out some of his views, but he considered the part of his face that he could see.
Chandler had always wished he could admit to seeing the other monster; the one inside him. It was there, invisible to him, swimming in lies, but leaving his eyes clear with the normal persona he often wore. It was a shameful thing, to him at least, that he could so easily hide what he didn’t want people to know about him. If others did know, he wondered whether they would care. His mom was too much of a headcase, often lost inside her own world, to worry about what happened to him. If it came down to it, Chandler was convinced she would hide him like some disgraceful thing or she would eventually spew the truth from her lips in a moment of confusion. His dad was never home, so if Chandler could work up the courage to tell them, he probably wouldn’t know about it for another year or two. In fact, Chandler barely ever saw him. His dad was always away on some business trip his mom wouldn’t tell him about, nor would she give him a number to be called at. When he was a toddler, Chandler had convinced himself that his parents were secretly divorced or separated and that they didn’t want anyone to know. It was a stupid notion, though, since he and his mom had always had money and his mom always had a birthday gift from him to give to me. Sometimes, he even apologized for not being around on Chandler’s birthday, but he always had a reason that he called a “grown up” thing.
But Chandler knew that his dad wouldn’t, or couldn’t, understand that his son wasn’t a child anymore. He’d turned seventeen four months ago, and his parents still treated him as if he were a child that didn’t understand. Chandler was ready to tell his dad that he needed him here and not off managing whatever the hell it was his job had him managing. It was all Chandler knew about him. If he wanted to write a book about his dad, then he’d be better off writing about what he didn’t know.
This wasn’t the first time Chandler had wanted to bring his dad back home. It started when he was nine, years after he’d accepted his mom wasn’t what he wanted her to be. It was then that he realized he could assert himself; ask for what he wanted and make decisions regarding his own existence. But it was also when he started to change, and it was frightening. There had been nothing he was more afraid of than having his parents find out what he was, but he was still prepared to tell them; to show them. They were Chandler’s parents, but they didn’t pay attention enough to notice that he didn’t like the same things anymore or that he was confining himself into solitude as much as he could. They didn’t know his struggle, and he wasn’t sure they wanted to. They wanted him to grow up as fast as possible. The feeling to burst out of his skin was strong and growing stronger each year. Chandler was convinced when he turned eighteen, something terrible would happen, and he wouldn’t be able to hide it anymore. One thing that could possibly come out of it is a little bit of attention.
Turning away from the mirror, Chandler shook his head and shoved the thoughts away. It was no good thinking about it at all when it wouldn’t make a difference. He made his way over to his closet with short strides, ignoring his mom, who was still in the room watching with narrow eyes. The woman who’d been with him all his life was anything but stable, and it only worsened from there. Chandler had worried all his life about the fragile state she hovered in. Sometimes, she was nice as if she had been before his fourth birthday. She’d make him cookies and ask about school, but the next day, she’d be strung tight. At the first misplayed note, there were bruises covering Chandler’s skin for days. He could stop her if he really wanted to, but he’d never been prepared to make a stand against his mom, not in that way, at least. But he’d found that he didn’t want anything that happened to his mom get back to his dad.
Chandler busied himself pulling a t-shirt from his shelf and unhooking a pair of jeans. Standing in the doorway of the closet, he waited to see if she would go. When she didn’t, he turned abruptly and stalked toward the door, stopping by his bureau briefly to blindly grab for the rest of his clothes. Out in the hall, he went directly toward the bathroom door, closing it firmly behind him before throwing the lock. Releasing a pent-up breath, he dropped the clothes to the floor and rolled his shoulders before removing his shirt and spreading his wings wide.
The feathers perfectly matched Chandler’s hair. They looked vulnerable, but he knew from experience that they were stronger than they looked. The white spatter spots looked like paint had been dripped on them, but Chandler found that he liked it. The layered feathers stood at attention in neat lines and rows, shifting in the lightest of breezes. They were almost a span of eight feet; exactly seven feet and seven inches. They’d grown fast, and Chandler had faced the challenge of keeping them hidden day after day. They’d started growing in when he turned nine. He was tempted to tell his parents what was going on but didn’t know how they were going to react. It was bad enough that his mom already didn’t want anything to do with him and his dad was gone so much Chandler was surprised he still remembered what the man looked like. Rory, his best friend, was the kind of person who knew how to keep secrets. But Chandler had to keep his secret because he didn’t want Rory to change and think of him differently either. It was hard to hide them, but over the years, Chandler had learned that hiding in plain sight was the easiest way to go.
Chandler reached over and turned on the hot water in the shower, watching as the room slowly filled with steam that moistened his skin and feathers. Only after a few minutes, they were dripping with the condensation that gathered on them. He watched as they began to gleam, then turned his eyes back to the mirror. Stepping closer, Chandler leaned forward, bracing his hands on the porcelain sink. He considered his ow
n skin and the lines of his face before the expression in his eyes shifted. Just as he’d done before, he pushed himself to remember his first change, a moment that had scared him into hiding. Just a nine-year-old boy who saw monsters in movies that he wasn’t supposed to watch, his own panic had pushed him into turning into his own worst nightmare. This time, though, Chandler wasn’t afraid, and he stared into his own face that slowly began to mold to his own imagination.
His skin began to writhe, moving in slow patterns that were difficult to distinguish or follow. Suddenly, it stretched tight, and Chandler gave a muffled grunt of surprise as the muscles all over his body flexed and held, then released. The bulk of new muscles pressed and throbbed mutedly underneath the skin as the mirror shifted. The fragile bones in his wings were being pressed upon as the flesh over them expanded, making them look bigger than they were. Almost out of habit, Chandler pulled his lips back as teeth sharpened, points pressing against and breaking the skin of his bottom lip. Turning to the side, he pulled back the flesh of his cheek to see the other teeth more clearly. They had sharpened as well, but the teeth at the far back remained the same, almost as if they were mocking my humanity.
Chandler’s body stilled, and he remained, absentmindedly licking the blood from pinprick wounds that had already healed. Staring back at him through dark eyes was a monster, formed to epitomize a child’s vision of evil. But Chandler believed that evil hid in the faces that looked normal; as if they belonged. He blinked, and when his eyes looked in the mirror, it was his own face he saw. Taking one last glance at himself, he undressed and stepped into the shower.
Once outside the door to the house, Chandler turned and waved wryly to his mom, who stood in the doorway. Their house was in the middle of a road that people rarely traveled. It was one of the roads that led out of town, but there was another that was far more familiar to the people. He knew from public records that there had been an accident on this road forty years before his parents bought the house. It had been a pileup, involving no less than thirteen cars, three injuries, twenty-six dead and one missing. How anyone could have gone missing from the twisted metal, he wasn’t sure. Over the years, the road grew a reputation so big that the people claimed it was haunted, so not many felt wanted to use it.
The house itself didn’t look like it could be caught up in the local legend. The accident started in front of it and slid a few miles down. Chandler’s house was white with only five visible windows on the front. There were about eleven, and all of them were covered with blue shutters that were nearly always closed. Chandler’s were typically open because he liked to see the outside. It kept him calm when he felt like the entire world was closing in on him. Chandler turned away and started walking, only glancing back to see that his mom hadn’t moved from the door.
Walking on this road was something he had done plenty of times before. But today, Chandler’s mind was buzzing because he would get the chance to do what he’d wanted for weeks now. His mom had been keeping an unnaturally close eye on him, and he wasn’t sure why. Earlier, when Rory picked him up so we could go to his house, she’d followed them in her truck as if they wouldn’t recognize her. Rory had tried to lose her on the way, turning it into a game that Chandler only indulged if they kept to the speed limit. Rory was convinced that Chandler’s mom was batshit crazy. He invited Chandler to move into his house once when they were fourteen.
Chandler looked over his shoulder and felt a shudder run down his spine. It felt like his mom was watching him, again, but this feeling was somewhat different. The air felt charged with electricity, and he ran a hand over the back of his neck. There was a short stretch of road before him. He would step into the woods, spread his wings and be done with the instinct to kill whatever was stalking him. There were only a few steps to go, just a few more steps.
The sound of a horn tore Chandler’s eyes away from the trees and stopped him. There wasn’t even a foot between him and the gnarled roots of a tree. He paused and turned around, silently cursing Rory and his disbelief in the local superstitions. Chandler watched Rory’s Camaro roll to a stop beside him and exhaled heavily. The window rolled down, and he watched a familiar head shove itself out the passenger window.
“You’re going to break your neck,” Chandler said, sighing heavily. The window was barely down enough for Rory to fit.
“Good morning to you!” Rory sang instead of answering, and Chandler cracked a smile.
“What’s up, Rory? What are you doing down this way?”
“Beaches in New Zealand,” he chuckled. “Got to love ‘em.” He smiled briefly and then looked up at me. “And I’m here because you need a ride.”
“Says who?” Chandler answered, raising a brow at him. Rory twisted his neck uncomfortably in the window, and Chandler smirked smugly.
“Dude, just get in. If you walk, there’s no way you’ll make it before the first bell. If you don’t get in, I’m going to leave my head here and risk spinal damage.” He frowned. “Besides, we really can’t get you into any more trouble this year.” Chandler groaned and rolled his eyes. The year before, when Chandler had been on the football team, they would throw a party on the football field. Yes, it was allowed by the principal, and it was considered a school event, but some students had it in their heads that they were breaking and entering since the field is always locked. So, an hour and a half into the party, at least ten cop cars showed up, and fourteen people were arrested, including Rory and Chandler.
Rory’s dad, a lawyer, got everyone out. But after everything happened, Rory was worried about Chandler because his mom wouldn’t listen to sense or the reason why he was being released from a holding cell. Rory was the only one who knew about Chandler’s mom and her bursts of insanity.
“So, are you getting in or not?” he asked now, and Chandler nodded. He moved over to the passenger door and gave Rory’s head a shove.
“If I’m going to get in, you might need to move that.” Rory removed himself from the window, and Chandler got in. They took off and drove in silence for a few minutes before Rory broke it. He had never been one to stay quiet for long.
“How are your parents, anyway?” he asked, but Chandler knew he was really asking about his mom. Chandler shot Rory a pointed look and turned to stare out the window as the trees breezed by.
“She’s fine,” he answered. “She’s just… got a bit of a short fuse nowadays.”
“Yeah, a short fuse. Did you do what I told you? You do know my dad’s a lawyer, right? If I tell him about this—”
“You said you wouldn’t say anything about it, and you’re not going to,” Chandler snapped, whipping around to look at him. Rory grunted deep in his throat; his eyebrows pulled down over his eyes as he glared at the road.
“You think I won’t. If your mom is going to put you where most of the others have ended up, I will turn her in. I know you might think that’s unlikely and a betrayal to you, but I’d rather see her in jail and you alive, got it?” Chandler saw Rory turn his head to glance at him but stayed staring at the trees. “So help me, Chandler, if you don’t answer me, I’m going to pull over and beat the crap out of you.”
“As if you could,” Chandler answered automatically, and Rory went quiet. Then, as a laugh erupted in the car, Chandler shot him a look. He was nodding, a smile at the corner of his lips.
“I guess you’re right,” Rory said before the smile slipped, and he calmed down. “Well, has she done anything?”
“No. Dad came home.”
“That’s great! Is he still there? How long did he stay?” Chandler grinned at Rory’s enthusiasm.
“He came home during the summer. We didn’t talk much, but I’m glad he was there. Of course, Mom was on her best behavior. He didn’t stay long, and he’s been gone for about three weeks. But we’re good, I think.”
“Did you tell him?” Rory asked. After he’d been arrested, there had been nothing to keep Chandler from staying home. The party was the night school ended. When he got home, th
ings had gotten a lot more serious than he thought they would. Chandler didn’t want to fight his mom, so he let her do what she would, and then left it alone. He wasn’t even sure she remembered it the next day.
That same week, Rory and his family left for New Zealand. They were supposed to leave weeks after the party. Rory, consequently, had expected to have the time to spend with Chandler before he would have to go. Rory had called Chandler multiple times before he and his family left home, but Chandler had always allowed the phone to ring and stayed unaware that his friend was leaving earlier than expected. Chandler was afraid that if he picked up the phone and spoke to Rory, he would tell him how bad it was; how miserable he felt. But he wanted Rory to go into his family vacation without the burden of knowing what his friend was suffering at home.
The bruises Chandler had suffered under his mom’s hand had faded after a day and mom had gone in that time. She’d vanished, and Chandler was left to find out that Rory had already left the country. Chandler was alone, and he found himself locked inside his room almost every day that summer. His mom came back home forty-eight hours later, but she’d ignored his existence and left him to his own devices. At least, she had until Chandler emerged from his room looking like death warmed over. She’d immediately become worried, forcing him to take medicine and eat more food in one sitting than he usually did an entire week. At the time, he hadn’t been so out of it as to believe that she was really worried for him. He knew that his mom was more afraid of his dad finding out, but he still said nothing.
At the end of the summer, Chandler answered the door when Rory knocked. Even though his bruises were long gone and his mom had not dared to mistreat him since he’d come from his room, Rory had taken one look at his friend and threatened to tell his dad if it ever happened again. Even so, Rory wanted Chandler to tell his dad about it if he showed up, but Chandler knew whatever his dad might do would be so much worse than what his mom had done to him.