Wolf, WY

by A. F. Henley

  "You mean when I was nine and the two guys in eighth grade were pretending they were going to drown me?"

  His dad held up one hand, his unspoken request to hear him out in silence. "Yes. And you decided that you, and I quote, 'Didn't want to keep doing the swimming lessons anyway.'"

  "Okay?" Randy prompted when his dad fell silent.

  "You remember that I told your mom to leave you be. That if you didn't want to swim, it was your choice."

  "Yes...?"

  "And in high school, when that kid… Tom? Tony? What was his name?"

  "I have no idea—"

  "You know, the guy… the captain on that team…"

  "Tom," Randy confirmed. "And it was football. Which I sucked at anyway—"

  "Right, Tom." His father nodded. "He said he wasn't going to have any fag on his team. You told your mom that you'd changed your mind and wanted to do something else when she asked if you made the team. But me… you told me what really happened. And I told you that kind of discrimination wasn't going to be tolerated. That we'd go to the school board. You said—"

  "That it wasn't worth the effort," Randy finished for him. "And it wouldn't have been. Besides, I really wasn't all that into the game anyway."

  "Mm-hmm. And I said that if that's what you really wanted, then I wouldn't push the issue."

  "I don't get where you're going with this—"

  "And when you decided that you were going to move back home after the fallout with Avery?"

  "I didn't have much choice, did I?"

  His dad's hand rose again. "Then you got the idea that you were going to say to hell with the lawyer business, and run off to that town, and start all over."

  Randy nodded. "Thank you for the recap of my life, Dad. Is there a point, though?"

  "And now..." His dad took a deep breath, lowered both hands to his thighs and stroked them—up and down, up and down, like his father always did when he was trying to figure out the right thing to say. "Well, now you're back. And you say that you've made a mistake. That Wolf was never the place for you after all."

  Randy frowned. "I thought that's what everybody wanted. You know, for me to come home and forget about the pipe dream."

  "That's what your mother wanted." His father shook a finger at him. "I've only ever wanted for you what you wanted for yourself. Except now..." His words trailed while his hands found his thighs again. Up. Down. Up. Down. When he spoke again, his voice was low and quiet, as if he were worried someone else might be listening. "It's okay to be afraid of things, Son. We all get scared. The thing is, you can only run from things for so long. Eventually you have to stand up and fight for the things you've told yourself are yours." He stood, stuffed both hands in his pants and began to pace the shallow length of the bedroom. "I'm worried that maybe I let you run away too many times. That maybe I even inadvertently taught you that's how to deal with the tough stuff."

  "No," Randy shook his head. "No way, Dad. You and Mom have been together forever. You don't run out even when she's driving you nuts, and you're still here to this day. You definitely didn't teach me to run out on things."

  "Well, we don't always lead by example," his father countered. "Sometimes we end up instilling these bizarre Pavlovian conditionings without even realizing we have." He stopped, and turned to face Randy head on. "It's not okay to always run out on things, kiddo. Sometimes you have to stop and dig in your heels. Every once in a while you have to be the tough guy even when things seem too tough."

  A lump seemed to lodge in Randy's throat. "Yeah, I know." He managed to not tack on the, 'this time was different' that his internal self wanted to add. That would mean explaining. He wasn't ready for that talk yet. He might not ever be ready.

  His father's tone took on more concern than it already had. "You loved Wolf. You loved that house. You were going to write novels and paint pictures. What happened?"

  Randy didn't respond with anything but another headshake.

  "You got scared. You got scared and you ran." His father stepped closer. He laid a hand on Randy's shoulder. "Was it that neighbor? Vince? Vaughn?" When Randy didn't answer, his father's grip tightened. "Did he hurt you?"

  "No." The reply came out of Randy's mouth shaky and all but silent.

  "Do you love him?"

  The ache that bloomed in Randy's chest gave Randy his answer. "I think so."

  "Does he love you?"

  Randy shrugged to give an air of nonchalance that he didn't feel. "We never talked about it. If I had to guess, I'd say that he likes me, sure."

  "And that scared you."

  Randy shook his head. "No. I swear."

  His father nodded. "Are you sure? Because it seems like an awful lot to run out on. If you like the house that much, and you like who you were when you were there, and you like that neighbor man so much, and you're pretty sure he likes you..." His father paused until Randy looked at him. "Just be sure that whatever it is that made you run is worthy of the loss." He let go of Randy's shoulder, tapped it as if making sure his words were sinking in, and then walked to the bedroom door. Once there, he stopped and turned back. "You'd be surprised what people can get over when they communicate with each other."

  As his father walked through the doorway it took everything Randy had not to reply. Instead, he thought it. No, Dad. The surprise would be all yours.

  *~*~*

  In the five minutes it took for Randy to walk from the drugstore to the truck (parking always sucked hard on a Friday night in that part of the city), the sky had gone from the pink-orange flames of sunset to the gray-black smudge of near-night. The streets were still damp from the early afternoon rain shower that the following sun hadn't quite had the strength to dry up, and the air carried a dank, musty odor. The atmosphere matched Randy's bleak mood perfectly.

  "Pardon me," a clipped voice with a polished accent said from Randy's left.

  Randy raised his head and eyed the gentleman who stood on the sidewalk beside his truck. The man was tall, pale, and attractive, with dark hair that hung long and straight. His suit looked like it must have cost a million bucks. But when Randy found himself lifting an eyebrow and assessing the stranger in that way, he shut the thoughts down and offered the stranger a cold smile. Love interests could wait. For a very, very long damn time. "Can I help you?"

  "I would love to think so," the man said brightly. "It appears my vehicle has broken down and I struggle to find services at this time of the evening."

  A buzz started in the corner of Randy's mind and he watched the man carefully, although why he felt that he should, Randy couldn't even begin to say. "I can call someone for you, if you'd like. I'm pretty sure Masterson's Service is open until nine. If you're lucky, you'll just need a jump."

  "Oh, thank you," the man said, stepping closer. "But I would be ever so grateful if you'd be kind enough to offer me a lift to my hotel."

  Randy frowned at the man's approach, silently (wisely) grateful for the truck between them, but the man either didn't notice or chose not to care. He pointed down the street with a wide (insincere) smile (leer). "It's not far," he said. "I am just so brutally tired."

  "This is D.C., pal," Randy said, and the tone of his voice surprised him; even he could hear the don't-fuck-with-me inside it. "You're not getting in my truck."

  "Oh, dear." The man slipped both hands in the pockets of his overcoat, seeming to think (plot, recalculate). "I don't suppose you'd care to have a quick look at it? It could be something quite simple. I'm terribly inept when it comes to the workings of motorcars." He put one hand on the hood of Randy's truck, as if stroking it, and began to walk to the front of the truck, speaking as he moved. His voice became almost melodic, a calm (conniving), peaceful (luring) sound. "I pulled it over around that corner by the butcher's."

  "I'm not much of a mechanic, I'm afraid," Randy said, drawing his keys from out of his pocket. Sometimes I even forget that an engine needs to be serviced for winter.

  Randy heard the voice in his head as
though it had been spoken aloud. Ah, well... We all forget a few things here and there.

  He startled and pulled back, his blood thrumming through his veins. Every sense seemed to sharpen: sight, sound, smell. What are you?

  "So." The man stopped mid-step and smiled. "You are aware. My apologies. I must be a tad bit thirstier than even I realized. I tend to be more in tune with these things."

  "Aware?" Randy's grip tightened on his keys. "You mean, there's something I need to be aware of here?"

  "Of our kind," the man drawled. "And don't be coy. You've obviously seen us before." The man held out his hand as if a peace offering. "Don't be alarmed. I'm sure you know that we tend not to... well, partake, shall we say, of those who see us for what we are. That fucking committee has made everything so contemptibly difficult."

  "Your kind?"

  Vampire... blood drinker... life sucker...

  Randy stepped away from the truck, refused to acknowledge the words running through his head, and considered the distance between where he was to any of the few stores still lit. "Who are you? What committee? What do you mean I've seen...?" His tongue stilled as his throat tightened. "You're another one of those fucking wolves, aren't you?"

  "Oh, hell, no." The man eyed him with distaste. "If you're looking for a name, you can call me Arius. If you're looking for a title, I prefer Master over Vampire." He smiled at the way Randy glanced up and stared at Arius blankly. "Of course I heard you. It's one of our skills, or haven't you heard?" He tilted his head and stroked his chin. "To be honest, 'life sucker' has quite the ring to it as well. What do you think?" He put out one hand, palm up. "Master or life sucker?"

  Randy shook his head and stepped back as Arius stepped forward. "I think it would be wise of me to say that I'm all for whichever title makes you the happiest."

  Arius threw back his head and laughed at the sky. When he finally stopped, he drew one hand over his lips as if to dry them, and pointed at Randy with the other. "I like you. You've restarted your sight but still managed to keep your humor. Bravo, sir."

  "Restarted my who-what now?" Randy frowned. "So, you're not a werewolf, then? Or some variant of that? For sure, one-hundred percent? "

  Arius' smile hardened into a glare. "Restarted your sight, boy, as I said already. Have I mentioned how much it irks me to have to repeat myself?"

  "I heard you," Randy snarled. "I just don't understand you."

  "That which is seen can't be unseen," Arius said, using the slow, drawn-out, overtly-bright voice of a kindergarten teacher on Prozac. "I'm sure it's been explained to you. As has the concept that vampires are not wolves. And you will do very well for yourself not to confuse the two again, do you understand me?" He flipped his hair over his shoulder and stood with his arms crossed over his chest. "I would rather burn in the sunlight before I'll have you associate me with any of those dog-men." Arius faked a shudder and widened his eyes. "Vile things. Filthy things. All fur and stink."

  "Hardly!" The response came out of Randy before he had a chance to think about it. "They're beautiful. And sexy."

  Arius arched a brow. "Beautiful? Sexy? Have you found a female, then? I thought they were all but extinct."

  "Uh... no." Randy lowered his head and found a sudden fascination in his keys.

  "Oh, well, now then." The smile in Arius' voice drew Randy's attention back up immediately, but the smile on his face was even creepier than the one in his voice. "How lovely is that, then? And doesn't it give me an entirely different opinion on you? Tell you what, pretty boy, if you willingly let me take a drink—"

  "Are you fucking insane?" Randy shoved his keys into the door lock and flicked unsuccessfully at the handle. "You're not getting anywhere near me!"

  "But just think of the fun we could have!" Arius took the last few steps that would bring him within arm's length. "A little drink, completely consensual, of course, and do trust me when I say that I can be oh so very cautious with not leaving scars and whatnot. Then, while you are high on euphoria, you and I can celebrate my renewed exuberance with some physical recreation." He reached forward, and with one long, slim finger, he traced the front of Randy's pants. "Some sexual... recreation."

  Randy choked. When he found his voice, it trembled. "Thanks for the offer, but I think I'm good."

  "Oh, come on!" Arius spun away and threw both hands in the air. "It's not like I intend to kill you. They'd have me hunted down and staked for that. Besides, you have no idea how much people overestimate the damage of a little blood loss. How hungry could I possibly be? I mean, try it next time you buy yourself a bottle of soda, darling. If you can drink over two liters without giving yourself a gut ache, I will call you Master and bow at your feet!"

  "Regardless," Randy deadpanned. "I will pass."

  Arius clucked his tongue and the sharp sound echoed through the quiet street. "But you'd fuck a dog."

  Randy snorted a laugh that was anything but amused. "Wolf, Arius. And not just any wolf, but a werewolf. Calling him a dog is kind of like calling you an overgrown mosquito."

  "Rude," Arius drawled. "But whatever. Be on your way, then. The hour grows older and my hunger has not yet been satiated. I'd prefer to get that out of the way so I might enjoy the rest of the night."

  Randy watched him walk away toward the street corner that he'd tried to get Randy to follow him to, but just before Arius would have been out of earshot, Randy called out. "Arius?"

  Arius stopped, turning around.

  "Are there many of you out there? The..." He lifted his hand to his mouth and tapped it, unable to find the right definition. "You know, the different ones. Like you. Like the..." He paused, the word seeming wrong, and rephrased the article to one that tasted more comfortable. "Like my wolf?"

  He was too far away to see the smirk on Arius' face, but Randy could once again hear it in his voice. "Everywhere, beautiful. We are literally everywhere. In all kinds of shapes and sizes, with so many brilliant, marvelous talents that you wouldn't know whether to be horrified or amazed." He lifted a hand and then extended one finger, as if to ensure that he had Randy's attention. "You go, and you keep your eyes open, because they are going to start appearing for you around every corner, and within every aspect of your life—your dentist, your mechanic, the girl who pours your coffee."

  Randy gave that a second to sink in. It seemed implausible, but if it really was a matter of sight... and how did that even work? Was it contagious? Had everyone in Wolf already 'caught' it?

  Arius moved forward, and stood under the halo of a streetlight. He lifted his face into the glow and smiled. "I stand here, and I watch you ponder, and I can't help but think on how humanity is so weak, and we are so strong. For days following this, I will dwell and muse and fret over how long it's been since you managed to fall into this place where you could be so blind, how many decades you've trained your minds to deny the truth of our existence."

  He shook his head and then one finger. "But one by one you remember. Remembrance will bring acceptance, and mark my words, my friend, your acceptance will be your downfall. There is nothing like a bleeding human heart to rally for the cause of peace and liberation. And when we can finally live free, with that committee held captive to the whim of our newfound supporters, then the new dawn will come." He laughed and Randy shivered. "Funny, really. How much the humans will do for us and how little we will care that they did."

  He shrugged. "To be human is to be synonymous with the fool. But I digress, as I tend to do. By all means, enjoy your evening. And your little wolfie."

  Randy drove home without radio or iPod. Instead, he reheard his father's earlier conversation in his head. Then he listened again to Arius'. They were everywhere, Arius had said. And what was seen couldn't be unseen. Did that make it a new reality that Randy was going to have to deal with? If so, what next? Gargoyles? Mermen? Demons?

  Maybe a wolf wasn't so scary after all.

  Or maybe a werewolf was actually as scary as hell, but not nearly as frightening as the
idea of having just run a vampire off.

  My wolf. The words had come too easy to his mind and lips. Not the wolf, but my wolf.

  He pulled into his parents' driveway. He shut off the lights to the truck and then sat in the dark, pondering existence and concepts. When his father pulled in beside him and tapped on his window, Randy didn't even jump. He merely opened the door.

  "Sitting in the dark?" his father asked with a smile. "Are you contemplating life or considering suicide? Because I'd really hate to see you lower the property value so close to your mother retiring."

  Randy gave his father's joke a half-smile. "I'm going back to Wolf," he said.

  His father nodded. "Good." He held up a paper bag twisted around what could only be a bottle. "Come in and have a drink."

  *~*~*

  Randy sat in his truck on the road out front of his house in Wolf with the engine running and the radio off. A fresh layer of snow had fallen, half a dozen birds picked at what had to be an empty feeder, and the area had such a peaceful, untouched aura that for a moment Randy debated if coming back was a good idea. Maybe Wolf was better off without him. Then he saw that the 'For Sale' sign in front of his house had either been unclipped or had broken off of the wooden arm, and for some odd reason that made him grin. Be it universal intervention or two little mischief makers with good intentions, it made him feel good that someone—or something—wanted the house to remain his.

  He didn't pull into his own driveway, though. He put the truck back into gear, and rolled up the road to the O'Connells. It was that property he pulled into, and it was then that he turned off the truck. The front door flew open at the same time that he stepped out, and two bodies tumbled through it.

  "Daddy! Dad, Dad!" Hannah shrieked. "Oh my, goodness, Daddy, Randy is back!" Then she was gone, back into the house and running as though her life depended on it.

  Isaac, on the other hand, stood on the cold front porch, shifting his weight from right foot to left foot, with a wide grin pasted on his face. They met at the stairs.