by Amy Cross
"You can take my car, if you want," Meredith says. She passes her car keys over to me. "It's raining, and I don't mind. Consider it a favor."
I take the car keys. Normally, I'd tell her to fuck off and I'd stay here with Duncan. But I feel like a third wheel, and I've always wanted to drive a BMW, and I'm pretty pissed off with Duncan so I'd really rather get away from him. After all, if he wants to flirt with Meredith, then there's no reason for me to get in his way. "Fine," I say, getting to my feet. "I obviously don't need to be here, it seems like you two have got things sorted." I stand there, waiting for one of them to realize their mistake, and then I turn and head out. "Seeya," I say, not even bothering to look back.
It's getting dark as I leave the house. The blue BMW is sitting in the driveway and, as I unlock the door and get into the driver's seat, it occurs to me that when I was younger I always wanted to own a BMW. Obviously I don't own this car, but it's still pretty cool that I'm getting to drive it. Once I've started the engine, the navigation system comes on and I feel like I'm living in the future. Settling back in the seat, I feel - for the first time in ages - rather cool. After all, how many other werewolves are out there driving around in BMWs?
I sigh. Duncan pretty much just blew me off. It's getting harder and harder to believe that he sees me as anything more than a 'pal', as someone to hang around with. He never does anything to make me think that he actually likes having me around any more, and it was pretty clear that he wanted to spend some 'alone time' with Meredith. I feel like I'm in the way all the time these days, and it's tempting to just bring forward my 'retirement' from being human and just shift into my wolf form right now, and disappear into the wilderness. I doubt Duncan would ever realize what he'd done wrong, though. He seems too wrapped up in himself to care.
Once I drive away from the house, it takes me a while to find the hotel where Duncan and I have been staying. It's a pretty remote place, and night has fully fallen by the time I reach the driveway. I park up at the far corner and switch off the ignition, then I sit for a moment in the dark car, listening to the sound of the rain falling on the roof.
Turning to open the door, I almost jump out of my skin as I realize there's someone standing there, staring in at me. My panic passes a little as I realize it's only a little boy. It's dark, and I can barely make out his features, but he looks to be no more than nine or ten years old.
"Shit, you scared me," I say, trying to recover my composure.
"Can you take us home?" the boy asks.
Jess
I narrow my eyes a little, trying to get a better look at the boy's face. There was something strange about the way he spoke, like he was completely monotone, with no emotion or inflection; he was just saying the words in the correct order, with no real feeling behind them. And now that I look closer, there's definitely something wrong with his face. I can't quite work out what, because it's dark and his face is in shadow, but something doesn't feel right, and I keep my hand hovering over the door handle.
"Where do you live?" I ask.
"Can you take us home?" the boy asks again.
I stare at him. "Where do you live?" I ask again, still trying to get a handle on what's making me so uneasy. I mean, he's a little boy, standing out in the rain late at night, asking to be taken home: anyone would help him out. But there's something not right about this situation. Maybe I'm overreacting, maybe my wolf side is making me hyper-sensitive, but I've got a really uneasy feeling. Then again, he's just a kid, so at least I should be able to handle him if he causes any trouble. But why are the hairs on the back of my neck standing up?
"Can you take us home?" asks a completely different voice from the other direction.
"What the fuck?" I shout out, turning and seeing that there's a little girl standing at the other side of the car, looking in through the passenger-side side window. This time, I have no problem working out what's wrong: the little girl's face isn't shadowed, and I can see that her eyes are completely black.
"Can you take us home?" she asks again.
I reach out and lock the doors. "Where's home?" I ask, deciding to keep the conversation going. I reach into my pocket for my mobile phone, so I can call Duncan, but then I realize I left it in the hotel room. "Where do you live?" I ask.
"Nearby," says the boy. "It's wet, and we're cold. Our parents will be worried. Can you take us home?"
"Well..." I pause, trying to work out if there's any reasonable explanation for the girl's black eyes. "I'm not sure," I say carefully, "but maybe you can go into the hotel and ask at reception? I'm sure they'll call your parents for you."
"Can't you drive us?" the girl asks. "It's not far, and we're wet." Suddenly she reaches out and tries to open the door. Good job I locked it a moment ago. "Can you let us in?"
"I don't think so," I say. "I have to go somewhere. Sorry."
I reach down to start the ignition. There's no way I'm getting out of the car with these two kids around.
"Can you take us home?" the girl asks.
"Sorry," I say, turning the key and reversing the car out of the driveway. Thankfully, the kids don't try to follow; they just stand there, watching as I drive off down the road. I don't pay much attention to where I'm going; I just want to get away from them. Soon I'm back down by the beach, and I park close to the water. I glance back along the road and see that there's no-one following me. There's nothing but a few lampposts and an old payphone nearby.
Deciding to head back and find Duncan, I'm about to get going again when - for some reason - I find myself thinking about my family. It's crazy, because I haven't thought about them for almost a year. In fact, I've been deliberately avoiding thinking about them, and that was one of the benefits of being in my wolf form for so long. Right now, though, I can't stop the memories flooding back into my mind, as if I've been storing them up for so long, they've suddenly flooded out. I take a deep breath and put my hands on the steering wheel, determined not to keep thinking like this. I try to focus on Duncan, and how annoying he's been lately, but nothing seems to work: it's as if someone else has taken over my mind, and they're forcing me to think about my family.
Sniffing back tears, I look out at the vast black sea that spreads out under the dark, cloudless sky. My parents used to bring my sister and me to places like this. We couldn't afford to go abroad on holiday much, so we had to make do with trips to the British seaside. When I was really young, like five or six, I loved those days on the beach, building sandcastles and paddling in the water. It was only later, when I hit my teens and things started to get really bad with my sister, that I started to resent everything that was going on. I know it might sound like I was becoming a typical hormonal teenager, but there was a lot more going on in my life at that point, and I was struggling to keep secrets from my family.
I open the glove compartment in Meredith's car and find what I was looking for: a few coins. I look over at the payphone, and I can't help but wonder whether I should try to call home. When I first ran away and headed to London, I had a habit of phoning up from payphones and listening to my parents' voices. I'd never say anything, I'd just listen and torture myself by imagining what things could have been like if I hadn't done the things I'd done. I'd always end up putting the phone down and sobbing, and eventually I was strong enough to stop making the calls altogether. It's been almost a year now since the last time I called. Anything could have happened in that time. Someone could have died, someone could have become ill... Hell, they might even have forgiven me for what I did.
I take another look around to make sure that those creepy kids haven't followed me, and then I unlock the car door and step out. I keep glancing all around, just in case the kids show up, as I hurry over to the payphone. I drop the coins into the slot and dial my parents' number.
The phone rings.
"Hello?" says my mother's voice, picking up.
Standing there, in the rain, by that little payphone in the rain, next to the beach, I open my mouth to say.
.. something. But nothing comes out, though there are tears in my eyes.
"Hello?" my mother says again. I can hear the TV on in the background. I want to ask her about my father. Is he there with her? "Jessica, is that you?"
I slam the phone down. Taking deep breaths, I stand there in the rain, overwhelmed by memories of the last time I was at home. My parents had disapproved of me plenty of times over the years, especially when it became clear that I was the 'bad girl' compared to my angelic, perfect sister. But that last time, when they'd discovered my latest failing, they'd seemed to just... give up. It was as if they didn't care about me any more, as if they figured it wasn't worth the effort of trying to 'fix' me. From that moment, they seemed to decide that they'd put all their hopes on my sister. And when I realized how they felt, I left home, even though I had nowhere to go, and I ended up living on the streets, and I...
I take another deep breath.
If I hadn't left home, I'd never have met Duncan. I'd probably be still living in that little house, with no hope and no life. But I'd have my family, my sister, and the few friends I'd managed to make and keep. I guess I would have made the best of it, but I don't know if my parents would have ever spoken to me again. My sister certainly thought I was a complete waste, and our relationship was pretty much down to the bare minimum. Life wasn't good, and there's a danger I might forget the worst parts. Everything that happened, everything that I did that made them hate me, is still there at the back of my mind and in my heart.
I start crying. It's pathetic, crying in the rain by the beach, but I can't help myself. All the feelings about my family come flooding back and suddenly everything feels pointless. Why bother trying to forget, when there's no hope? No matter how long I go without thinking about them, eventually they'll flood back into my mind. The only way to really get over what happened would be to go and speak to my family, but I can't ever do that. I can't be free of these haunting feelings, perhaps not even if I take on my wolf form permanently. It's like I'm going to be trailed for the rest of my life by the ghosts of a fucked-up family who won't get their claws out of me.
"Can you take us home?" asks a little girl's voice.
I spin around and, I swear, I actually let out a little scream. The two kids have followed me and they're standing just a couple of feet from me, staring at me with those black eyes.
"Fuck off!" I shout at them, tears streaming down my face. "Leave me alone or I swear I'll run you both down, okay? I don't care if you're kids!"
"Can you take us home?" the little boy asks.
"No!" I shout at them, rushing back over to the car, getting in, locking the doors and - without even checking to see where the kids are - reversing the car back out into the road. I don't even check to see if there's any oncoming traffic, although this late at night the place is more or less deserted. The kids are still standing over by the payphone, staring at me, but I'm not in the mood to even worry about them right now. With tears still running down my face, I slam my foot against the accelerator and shoot off along the road with a little wheel spin. I have no idea where I'm going, but I feel like I have to get away from those kids as fast as possible.
As I drive, getting faster and faster, it feels like there really isn't any point existing any more. My family are nothing but a dead weight around my neck, and Duncan clearly doesn't give a damn any more. Glancing over at the huge black expanse of sea, I want nothing more than to sink into the darkness and never have to think about my stupid family again. These feelings of pain and hopelessness are just building and building, forcing my foot further and further down on the accelerator until finally I'm going full speed and I spot a sharp turn on the road ahead.
There's no point making that turn.
I speed straight ahead. The car mounts the pavement and then smashes straight through the barrier, launching out over the beach and crashing down onto the pebbles. The impact pitches me into a fast roll, and without a seat belt I'm thrown against the roof and then against the windshield, as the car smashes and rolls as it hits the water. I can feel my bones breaking and my skin ripping, and the force of the impact was probably enough to snap my neck. The car's still going fast enough to get so far out into the water that the entire vehicle is submerged in the dark, cold water.
Everything's dark, and water is rushing into the car. I have a kind of instinctive urge to try to fight my way out, but I also know that there's no point in surviving. I guess every living creature has a kind of survival instinct when death seems to be looming. I force my body into submission as water fills the car. Soon I'm completely underwater, and I hold my breath for as long as I can before I finally feel my lungs fill with water as well. This must be the end. If everything works perfectly, I'll never have to think about my family or Duncan again. The whole of my short, miserable, pathetic life is finally coming to an end, and I don't feel sad. This is what I want. I want the darkness that has already started to destroy me. I welcome death.
Jess
What happens next, I'm not certain. All I remember is a series of flashes, punctuated by long periods of darkness. I remember bright lights shining in the night sky. Then nothing. I remember hearing the sound of metal being cut open. Then nothing. I remember a siren. Then nothing. And finally, I remember opening my eyes and staring up at a bright light directly above me, and then feeling something placed on my chest before an electric current is applied to my body. I gasp as pain shrieks through my body. Then nothing.
Everything's dark.
But eventually, I wake up.
"Call Dr. Cope," says a female voice somewhere nearby. My vision's a little fuzzy, so I'm not entirely sure what's happening. "It's okay," the voice says. "You're at St. Mary's Hospital. You've been in an accident."
I'm not sure what happens next, but everything goes black again. I'm pretty sure I just passed out, and when I regain consciousness and find that there's a man standing next to the bed. He's wearing a white coat, which I guess means he's a doctor, and he has a kind, attractive smile.
"You're lucky to be alive," he says. "More than lucky, in fact. We're still trying to work out how you survived. But before we get into that, I need to do a few checks." He leans down and shines a small light into my eyes. "Everything looks normal," he says. "I don't often use the M word, but I think it applies to you. It's a miracle that you're alive."
I take a deep breath. "Thanks," I say.
"I mean it," he replies. "As far as we can tell, you were submerged for up to thirty minutes, yet here you are alive and well. Also, I can't help but notice your injuries. For example, your broken arm."
I move my arms. "They don't feel broken to me," I say.
"Exactly," he replies, "and that's the point. A couple of hours ago, your left arm was broken in four places. Now it's not. I mean..." He laughs a little nervously. "I'm a good doctor, but I'm not that good. I can patch people up and look after their wounds, and I can do a lot to save people who've suffered really serious injuries. But no doctor in the world could have saved you, so I want to know what's going on."
"What do you mean?" I ask, still waking up.
"Who are you?" he asks.
"My name's..." I pause, suddenly realizing that there are about a million reasons why I don't want to be honest about this. "Emily," I say, but I'm pretty sure I left too long a pause, so he probably knows I'm lying.
"Emily?" he asks. "Emily what?"
"Emily Smith," I say, trying to sound believable.
He stares at me for a moment. "Okay, Emily Smith. Where are you from?"
"London," I say, trying to be as vague as possible.
"And how did you end up driving someone else's car off the road and into the sea?"
"It was an accident," I say, which is obviously a lie. The feelings of hopelessness and despair that overwhelmed me back in the car have, for the most part, gone. Instead, I'm on edge and wandering when I can make a break to get out of here.
"I see," he says. "My name's Greg Cope, and I'm a doctor. Do
you know what that means?"
I pause. "It means you're a doctor?" I say.
"It means you can't bullshit me," he replies. "Listen, I don't care what your name is. I don't care where you come from. I barely care how you ended up crashing that car. But your rapidly healing bones? The fact that torn skin on your face has healed without a scar in less than half a dozen hours? The fact that you survived an unsurvivable accident? I'm interested in those things."
"Yeah?" I say, trying to get out of bed, "well good luck with that." Suddenly I realize I can't move very far: one of my wrists is handcuffed to the bed frame.
"A precaution," Dr. Cope says. "I don't want my mystery patient to just wander away, do I?"
"Apparently not," I say. To be honest, I'm pretty certain I can snap the handcuff without a second thought, but I don't want to do it in front of the doctor. I want to wait until I'm alone, and then I can get out of this place with the minimum level of fuss.
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't call in the military," he says. "Or perhaps the Home Office? Or Greystone? This seems like the kind of thing Greystone would be very interested in."
"Greystone's gone," I say.
"I know," he replies, smiling, "but I wanted to know if you knew." He pauses. "Actually, you're wrong. Greystone has been reformed, and it's funny but they sent out a memo to all hospitals barely a month ago, asking us to be extra vigilant in case any unusual patients came in. I can't help but wonder if they had an idea that something like you would turn up."
"I'm not a thing," I say.
"Then what are you?" he asks. "I don't know if you're aware, but I'm legally obligated to contact Greystone and tell them about you. If they were to discover that I'd kept news of your abilities from them, they could have me struck off the medical register. Frankly, the fact that I haven't called them yet could already get me into trouble. I wanted to talk to you first, but I could easily go out into the hallway and do it right now. They'd be here in an hour."