Wide Awake

by KB Anne

  The laughter stops too.

  “I’m down here,” Ryan moans. He doesn’t sound as far away as I thought he was.

  “Do you see Lizzie?”

  “She’s right next to me.”

  I try not to think about why Lizzie hasn’t said anything or why I can’t hear the comforting whimpering she does when she’s scared.

  “Can you lift her?”

  “I’ll try.”

  The wait is unbearable. There is too much silence in a room that was filled with too much noise just seconds ago.

  Ryan groans. Suddenly, Lizzie rises up into the darkness, her neck covered in blood. Her eyes are closed, and she’s not conscious.

  “Scott, grab my legs,” I tell him as I lie down on the floor. “Lizzie, Lizzie, can you reach for me?” I beg, but she doesn’t answer. She doesn’t say or do anything. I don’t even think she’s breathing. I shimmy forward, thrust myself down, and grab her hands. Her cold, clammy hands. “Scott, pull!” I order.

  Slowly we inch her up and onto the floor. Once on the floor, she remains in a lifeless heap. Blood seeps from her neck. I need to stop it, but we need to get Ryan. I clench my teeth. Then I yell down to Ryan, “We have a rope. We’re sending it down. Wrap it around your waist.”

  My eyes scan the room as I wait for Ryan to yell up to us. Finally, after an eternity, he says, “Ready.”

  Scott and I stand and try pulling him up. He is much, much heavier than Lizzie. I glance back at Scott in an “oh-shit” moment.

  “We can do this,” he grunts through clenched teeth.

  As I turn back, Ryan screams in pain. Adrenaline shoots through us, and we fall backward. Ryan’s hands crawl greedily across the floor, looking for something to hold onto. Abandoning the rope, I help pull him out the rest of the way. Blood drains from a wound on his neck too, but he’s alert.

  “Oh, thank god,” I sigh when Ryan is completely in the hallway with us.

  “No, thank you!” something mocks, before cackling again.

  My stomach lurches, and I think I’m going to vomit, but I manage to grab Ryan’s hand as Scott picks up Lizzie’s lifeless body, and we run for our lives.

  38

  Blood Sport

  Pure adrenaline shoots us out of the church and into the yard. Terrifying laughter follows us. Mocks us. Spurs us to greater speeds. Our singular focus is escape. Somehow, we manage to find our path from earlier. We stumble down it. The wildness of the trail pales in comparison to whatever beast I awakened. Ryan staggers beside me. Scott stays one step behind with Lizzie in his arms. I am the sole leader of our deranged group. It’s a mistake. I can’t shoulder this responsibility. There’s not a god I could pray to that will get us home safely.

  Ryan will bleed out from the gaping wound on his neck if it’s not plugged up soon. And Lizzie hasn’t gained consciousness—that’s a long time for her to go without oxygen. We can’t keep tearing down the mountain without taking care of them, even if there’s a monster chasing us. I need to try to help them.

  “Stop. We have to stop,” I beg, trying to catch my breath.

  Without argument, Ryan collapses to the ground. Scott eases Lizzie onto a soft bed of pines needles and leaves. No one would guess how exhausted he is. He doesn’t reveal it in his movements—he’d smash through a concrete wall and burst his own heart to save us—but I can see it in his eyes.

  The wound on Ryan’s neck reminds me of a bite mark, but I can’t make sense of it. Without thinking, I grab some nearby yarrow, meadowsweet, and mullein, wring them back and forth in order to bruise them, then dab the wound with them. When completely covered, I reach for some comfrey, hawthorn, and something else I don’t know the name of and clump it on his neck before covering it with my bandana. I know Lizzie needs me more than Ryan does, but Ryan I can fix. With Lizzie—well, with her I don’t want to acknowledge what I already suspect.

  “What was that thing?” Scott manages to ask between gasps.

  Thing. It was more than a thing. It was a living, breathing thing. A thing that bit Ryan and did much worse to Lizzie.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t see it.” I turn my focus to my Lizzie. It’s time to face the reality of what that monster did to her.

  She’s not breathing, and I can’t find a pulse, but I begin CPR anyway.

  Scott wheezes beside me. “What are we going to do?”

  Talking while I give Lizzie compressions steadies me. “Ryan will be fine, but he’s going to need a hospital, and soon.”

  I fail to mention the wrenching feeling in my gut that Ryan is not fine. That he is far from fine. That we are all far from fine. That we will never be fine again.

  “Give me a minute with Lizzie.” I continue the compressions, but they aren’t doing anything. I should ask him to help me, but he’s exhausted, and he needs his strength to carry her out of these wretched, hateful woods. I clean the wounds on her neck with the same plants I used on Ryan, then return to compressions in the hopes that maybe the healing powers of the plants will help. I work on her far longer than I should, given our proximity to the church and the beast I’ve awakened. Ryan and Scott aren’t safe in these woods with it on the loose. Despite all my efforts with Lizzie, the answer will remain the same. She has the same bite mark on her neck, but she looks … she looks empty.

  “Lizzie, where’s Lizzie,” Ryan screams as he stumbles to get up.

  The truth will not help anyone. The truth will not help me. Getting everyone out of here and away from that thing is my only priority.

  I grab hold of his arms and hold him in place. “Ryan,” I say, but he won’t look at me, his focus is on Lizzie, “Ryan, we have to get Lizzie out of here and to a hospital. Are you ready to go?”

  Finally, he looks in my direction, but his eyes are out of focus. He seems wild—feral even. Panic does that. Suddenly, his pupils shift back into position.

  “Yeah, yeah, let’s go.”

  “Scott?”

  He comes over and lifts Lizzie. Our eyes lock, and another moment of silent understanding passes between us. He already knows the answer. I shielded him from nothing. But Ryan—we can keep the truth from him.

  I grab his hand, and we start moving again, but the sun has set, and there’s no moon to guide us. Branches and limbs tear at our clothing. They do their best to restrain us. To keep us in the same woods as the beast. We stumble blindly. We pray to any god to help us get out.

  We keep moving. It is all we can do.

  Finally, Scott’s red pickup shines like a beacon in the night. I take the keys from his jacket pocket and unlock the passenger door.

  “Scott, I’ll drive the truck, okay?”

  He nods and climbs in with Lizzie.

  “Ryan, honey, you need to get into the truck too.”

  He doesn’t move. He stares at Lizzie cradled in Scott’s arms. He knows, but he refuses to admit it. He’ll fight for her until the bitter end. I guide him into the truck and lock the door behind him.

  Once I climb into the driver’s side and lock my own door, I put the key into the ignition. The ferocious roar of the engine is a soothing, dependable sound. Finally, I feel I can exhale. We’re safe now.

  Oh, how wrong a person can be.

  39

  Exhalations and Not-So Fairy Tales

  Hours later, Scott and I sleepwalk down the cobblestone path to Gram’s house. As I reach for the front door, it swings open. Uncle Mark stands at the doorway with Gram beside him.

  “Where have you two been?” he says with uncharacteristic force, but as soon as he sees our faces, his demeanor changes. “What happened?”

  My eyes well up. My legs go weak. The shock of the day finally catches up to me. I collapse to the ground consumed by grief. Uncle Mark gathers me up in his arms and carries me into the house.

  An eternity later, I find myself wrapped in warm quilts on the sofa. Gram’s wiping my forehead. Uncle Mark and Scott kneel on the floor beside me.

  “Gigi, drink this,” she says.
/>   The tea is bitter but familiar. I need familiar. After only a few sips, my energy force returns. Gram assesses me for a moment, then nods at Uncle Mark.

  “Now, you need to tell us everything that happened. Scott has refused to say a word until you were coherent.”

  Staring up into Scott’s green eyes, I find the reassurance I need to begin telling them our tale of horror about the day that has irrevocably changed our lives forever.

  They listen with their entire being. They occasionally glance at one another but never interrupt me as I share with them every detail of the campfire and the day that followed it. I describe the meadow, the church, and Ryan’s shenanigans with the ceiling before I get too choked up to continue.

  “Gigi, you must get a hold of yourself and tell us everything,” she says, holding me in her arms. Her touch is gentle, but her words are a command.

  Uncle Mark places his hand over mine. “You’re safe now, but we must know everything, every detail.”

  I describe the large room and tell them how Scott warned us to leave because he didn’t like the feel of the place. Uncle Mark and Gram glance over at him before turning their attention back to me. I give a detailed description of the floor—every line, every curve, every marking.

  I’m about to tell them how the floor dropped out when Scott interrupts. “No, Gigi, not yet. Tell them how you moved in a circle.”

  I don’t see why it matters, but Gram and Uncle Mark insisted on every detail. “As I studied the floor, I twirled in a circle. When I realized what it was, I changed direction.”

  They both swallow, glancing at one another.

  “I told her to stop—to get out of the room—but it was too late. The room exploded, and the floor dropped all around her,” Scott says. “Lizzie and Ryan crashed down to the basement or whatever it was. Everyone was screaming, and there was laughter—hideous laughter—that shot right through you.” He stops. His body convulses. Gram puts another blanket on him and rubs his shoulders.

  “How many times did you turn in a circle?” Uncle Mark asks.

  “I don’t know. I can’t remember,” I whisper. Tears threaten to surface.

  He squeezes my hand. “Could it have been three times?”

  I try to remember, but the laughter comes rushing back to me, extinguishing any memory of anything else.

  “Maybe,” Scott answers for me. “Yes, I think she did turn three times in each direction, and then the room rumbled, and the entire floor collapsed except for the center where Gigi stood. She alone was untouched.”

  “Scott threw me a rope, and I leapt across the room to him,” I whisper. “We yelled for Ryan and Lizzie, but only Ryan answered. He lifted Lizzie up, and we pulled her the rest of the way out, but she was already …” I can’t go on. Tears stream down my cheeks.

  “Gigi, Gi,” Gram says, sitting with me again, “you must continue telling us what happened.”

  I take a deep breath. I am beyond numb. Beyond caring. “We threw the rope down to Ryan and tried to pull him up, but he was so heavy, and that awful laughter filled the entire room. Suddenly, he screamed, and we were able to yank him up. There was blood everywhere and terrible laughter. We ran as fast as we could out of the church and into the woods. We kept running, but Scott was holding Lizzie, and Ryan’s neck was oozing blood … We stopped so I could take care of him. I worked on Ryan, then Lizzie, but there was nothing I could do,” I sob, then swallow to compose myself. “Scott and I managed to get us to his truck. We’ve been at the hospital with Lizzie’s and Ryan’s parents. I’m sorry we didn’t call. We were just so focused on them.”

  Gram strokes my hair. “What was wrong with Ryan?”

  “He had a bite or something on his neck. I grabbed some plants to clean the wound and stop the bleeding.”

  “What plants?”

  “I’m not sure. Comfrey, yarrow, hawthorn, mullein, and meadowsweet, I think. A few others I don’t remember the names of. Ones you’ve told me about.”

  “I’ve never told you about those herbs,” she whispers. I shrug, not seeing the big deal.

  Uncle Mark sits beside Scott. “Where is Ryan now?”

  “He’s at the hospital. He’ll probably be there a couple days. He lost a lot of blood,” Scott says.

  A silence settles in the room. A heavy, weighty silence. A suffocating silence.

  Finally, Scott asks, “Dad, what was that thing?”

  Uncle Mark’s face darkens.

  “Clayone.”

  40

  Lies and Prophecies

  Reality. Fantasy. Sometimes it’s difficult to tell what’s real and what’s imaginary. My last thought before falling asleep—scratch that—before passing out was, What have I done? How could I unleash Clayone, the Original Werewolf? Scott told us a legend, a myth, a story, something made up. Not something based on the truth. Not something based on fact. I didn’t unleash one of the deadliest beasts of all time. It can’t be true. I had a nightmare, an extremely realistic cautionary tale of what could happen if you sneak into places you don’t belong. Merely a symptom of an overactive imagination. Lizzie isn’t dead … Ryan isn’t in the hospital … but then, why am I sleeping on one sofa and Scott’s on the other? Why is Uncle Mark sitting with me, and where’s Gram? I must be dreaming. I’ll just close my eyes and go back to sleep. Things will make sense in the morning.

  As I drift back into unconsciousness, the front door creaks open before closing. But it’s not the closing door that fully awakens me, it’s the clicking of the lock. In all my years, we have never locked the front door. I don’t even know if we have a key. I peek through hooded lids and see Gram removing her coat. Again, I don’t believe my eyes. Gram doesn’t leave the property. I must be dreaming. There’s got to be a logical explanation. I should probably ask, but I’m terrified of what I might learn. Terrified that what I think is a horrible nightmare is much worse than that.

  “How’s Ryan?” Uncle Mark whispers.

  I close my eyes, pretending to be asleep.

  “He was definitely bitten. I removed the wrappings to examine the wound. Between the medical care at the hospital and the herbs Gigi used, he might be all right.”

  “Does it work like that? I’ve never heard of a bite being reversed,” he says.

  “I don’t know. But if she is who we think she is, she may have the power. Time will reveal the truth.”

  “Should we tell them?”

  “We probably should have told them years ago. We should have told them before their little camping trip.”

  Uncle Mark goes to her and rests his arms on her shoulders. “We were trying to protect them. Neither one of us even thought about them going up to Radley’s place or even considered the remote possibility she could undo the spell. We thought they’d be safe.”

  “We were wrong,” Gram says. “Let’s wake up Scott. Gi, you can open your eyes now.”

  Uncle Mark looks at me with a mixture of surprise and alarm. I don’t know why. I didn’t hear anything terribly alarming yet.

  As Scott comes to, Gram pours us each tea. The familiar blend settles me in a way nothing else can. Uncle Mark sits in the armchair across from us.

  “Where to begin …” he says as he contemplates the two of us. “Do I start with the most basic or do I jump straight to the complicated stuff?”

  “Dad, let’s start easy and see how we do?” Scott suggests.

  “All right then. Gigi, Scott, you’re brother and sister.” The two of us stare at each other in shocked silence. We can’t even mentally project our thoughts to each other.

  “Excuse me?” I ask.

  “I thought we were going to start off easy?” Scott says.

  Uncle Mark sighs. “Your relationship is the easy part.”

  Gram adds more tea to our mugs. “Come now, you two. You’ve never suspected it? The way you bicker all the time? You even look alike.”

  We stare at each other again. Scott has auburn hair with freckles and green eyes. He’s six foot one an
d a muscle-bound jock. I have white and black hair, pale skin, and blue eyes. I’m five feet tall, and athleticism is not a word in my vocabulary.

  “I see the resemblance,” Scott says.

  “So, wait a second,” I reply, trying to find some logic, “does that make you my dad?”

  Uncle Mark glances at Gram. She nods for him to answer.

  “Yes and no. That’s where things start to get complicated.”

  “I don’t understand.” I may not be athletic, but I’m pretty sure I understand the basics of biology.

  “Gigi, you were conceived during a ceremony to honor the Celtic Goddess Brigit.”

  “Okay … and what does that mean?”

  “Your mother believed you were the Goddess Brigit reincarnated, so although biologically, I am your father. Metaphysically, I’m not.”

  “Oh, all right. I don’t see what’s complicated about that. Makes perfect sense to me. You, Scott?”

  He reaches over and squeezes my hand, his thoughts loud and clear. I’ll take care of this.

  “Dad, what are you talking about, and what does any of this have to do with Clayone?”

  Gram stands up. “It has everything to do with him. Gigi undid a spell that her mother died casting on the church to protect her from Clayone.”

  “Why would Clayone be after me?”

  “The werewolves’ curse of imprisonment—the full moon and the silver bullet—was cast by the Goddess Brigit to protect her beloved humans from complete annihilation,” Uncle Mark says. “If Clayone can destroy Brigit while she is in mortal form, the curse will be lifted, and the unbridled reign of the werewolf will begin.”

  Scott and I stare at them.

  Uncle Mark swallows and looks at me. “Clayone believes you are the Goddess Brigit because of the prophecy ...

  * * *

  One of love, one of light,

  Spring forth from the womb