This was my entry in for the anonymous "All Hallows Eve" contest.
Summary: Panhandling in the 1950s, Jasper meets a girl who teaches him the song of the wolf.
Pairing: Jasper and Emily
Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or the King.
"My Indian Girl"
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I remember it as though it were only yesterday: the foggy afternoons, the smell of the vendors, the sounds of the street, the fresh taste everyone had on the tip of their tongues.
The twentieth century was becoming middle aged and I thought he was headed south. With two rounds of live ammunition under his belt, he was looking to get away. His nineteenth century father screamed for him to get a job. Calling him a good-for-nothing lazy bum that could do better for mankind. But the temptress that was yesterday's girl sang him songs of romance that brought a tear to his eyes and made him forget the clouds of gun-barreled smoke. In return he gave us the sound that changed the world: an acoustic electric drumbeaten flavorful sin.
I was only twenty-three at the time. I thought I had seen the world and knew every secret she had written down in the diary she hid under her bed. I knew that I was smarter than my grief-stricken elders and bolder than all my thoughtless peers. I never thought twice about an impulsive decision that promised to make life grand. I never questioned fate. I never had any reason to. Not until the day I was in the company of a pair of mystic incense eyes.
Blinking, blinking, and rubbing my own. I opened them to the world and took in everything she had to offer. Alive and new. I was as innocent as a newborn babe. Open to everything. Awaiting every challenge. Wanting to taste the world and all the knowledge she had to offer. Ready to fall head over heels like the fathers before me. - Love.
She came at me like a lost episode that should have aired before black and white changed to Technicolor. Her warrior skin shimmered under the neon street lamps of Hollywood. Catching the light like wet pennies in a fountain believed to be a childhood wishing well. With a Cherokee smile, her eyes lit up like a mirror-ball sunset waiting in line for her chance to dance.
I was set up across the street between an outdated sex symbol and a washed up movie star of the silent good-old days. My guitar case was displayed like a velvet-crushed piggy bank, as the out of work actors and in vogue centerfolds decided whether or not I was worth their dime, or if it was wiser to spend it on a phone booth call home begging for more.
I tried to persuade them that I was their better deal. Their best bet when gambling with the spare change in their worn out pockets and handmade handbags. "Mommy and Daddy would probably just tell you to go on home, but if you spend your silver and copper coins on me you'll get to hear the tales of how you are going to make it under these bright lights and achieve a place in cement across the street." I told them everything they wanted to hear. I was the motivation they needed to wake up in the California sunshine and work until the midnight hours over town brought this city alive.
In the middle of earning my square meal of the day is when I saw her. Out of the corner of my eye there stood a girl who just by looking at her made me smile as though rehearsed. Before I could change from an 'A' to a 'D' chord she asked me if I knew Elvis. I told her that he had just walked by. I mock curled my upper lip and waved my hips from side to side like I saw him do on the screen through the window at Woolworth's in hopes of hearing that exotic squall giggle.
She was fearless. All passion fire Pop Rocks with energy to burn. My fingers strummed "Don't Be Cruel" on tired wire strings and she stole the show by softly singing to herself but loud enough for me to hear. She had a voice that was straight from the record store: a vinyl pressed songbird in black braids and beads.
A crowd of flashbulb tourists surrounded us thinking this was part of the act. My little Indian girl circled me like a spotlight, then raised her voice like thunder to the gods. That was the day she stole my heart. That was the year I fell in love. That was the moment I got lost and never turned back. She gave me that subtle push that I was looking for: the motivation, the magic, the priceless enchantment of having her near. She made everything possible. She made me believe in the words I memorized from the radio. She inspired me to write the words and melodies to inspire others.
Emily came from the mountains of America's highlands, from a people trapped in time who still believed in the old ways and feared the coming New Years. She escaped the moment she built up the courage to flee. Leaving the crisp pine air of the north behind, she headed towards a warmer climate of palm trees.
Our relationship was frowned upon like white after Labor Day. My snowy arm around her earthen waist raised the eyebrows of the well-manicured elite. Those colors were not allowed to blend. My grandfather had this same problem when he married his wife. He was a Scottish immigrant who fell in love with a rich father's lass. Her family of flower-printed China teacups turned up their nose when they saw the small ring on their only daughter's promised hand. Taking her name off the well-preserved bible she was outcast like one of God's lepers. And with only hope in their pockets they set out to make a life for themselves never caring or asking for more than what the land had to offer.
It took weeks of harmless 'Be My Valentine' flirting and blushes as red as the roses I wish I could give her, before I could blurt out the three words I wanted to say from the moment I laid my eyes on her sun-kissed skin.
"Oh, Jasper." Her voice came out as though she had run ten blocks uphill just to catch up to where I was standing. "Where I come from that means you have just given me your heart." Her eyes sparkled with an excitement of firework daydreams. "Where I come from that means you just bound yourself to me." She pulled the neck of my collar and brought her lips to my ear. "Where I come from," she whispered so softly, "that's the same thing as saying, I do."
Emily and I were wed without papers, ten carat diamonds, or gifts we'd never use. No parents, family, or friends were in attendance. It probably wasn't legal unless you lived in her world, but I didn't care. It meant that she was mine. Forever my wife.
We lived out of my van parked five blocks away from the Chinese Theater. A carpeted honeymoon suite for a duet of lovesick fools with all the comforts of home. As long as those comforts just included a pancake pillow and thrift-shop quilt.
At night I would recite her poetry until my voice came out in squeaks.
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The gods lit up the sky
A calming purple
An angry red
It bounced from green trees, brown earth, blue eyes
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Before the sun rose she'd whisper native legends that were passed down to a generation of copper ears.
"Do you hear the lonely wolves, Jasper?" Emily would ask as the wind howled softly against the windows, whimpering to be let in. "They're singing for only their mates to hear. Every wolf has a sacred song that their partner can pick up on like a tribal drumbeat played to the rhythm of one's heart. They're destined to find one another just like I was destined to find you."
On nights when Emily felt homesick for her cold mountain air, we would drive out of the city limits and towards the sign that gave the town her name. Up in the hills past modern homes and one-hit wonders we would exit the atmosphere of movie tickets and enter a world of silence. Up there the moon was brighter than the white-light marquees that littered the strip. The stars would shine like flickering Christmas tree strands the day before the fat man came down the chimney. It was alive up there. You could hear the creatures of the night rustling around as you made yourself comfortable on their land: owls singing jazz and coyotes crooning lost love songs.
"Do you hear them, Jasper?" Emily whispered into my ear before I turned my head to steal a kiss from her lips.
I looked into her eyes and saw the edge of her soul: pink with passion covered in forbidden delicate lace. "I hear them, Sugar." My voice came out like fragile eggshells. "Do you know what they're saying?"
Emily strained her ears as though she could understand their canine tongue. Looking up at the moon she sighed, shivering in my arms as a silver cloud split the white orb in half. "I think Elvis steals his songs from wolves." She smiled as a shadow streaked against her face like the paint of her people.
The calendar pages trekked by one by one. Yesterdays were X'ed out in a ballpoint pen that I kept in my back pocket in case inspiration whispered words that I would soon forget if I didn't write them down. The stores around the strip were selling candy and costumes. The houses in the hills were placing plastic skeletons tacked to their front doors. Orange and black lights lit up the display windows with jack-o-lanterns smiles. The decaying theater houses were showing midnight marathons of old silent vampire flicks, while the modern cinemas were screening Voodoo Woman.
The end of October was fast approaching.
There's a reason I'm not as fond of Halloween as I used to be. Back when I was a kid I couldn't wait for Halloween to get here. 1957 was the last year I got excited.
Emily and I were still living out of our little van. We slept bundled up in one another's arms. My Pocahontas always by my side, humming her tribe's ancient songs. Telling me stories that were so vivid that through the shadows of the streetlamps I could see the warrior myths come to life.
On restless nights I would write. When I ran out of paper I would use my own skin. My body became a tablet of songs without accompaniment.
In the witching hours one late October night, while the pregnant moon was hidden behind a cloud, Emily extended her arm to the ink of my pen.
"Write me a love song, Jasper. One that would make Elvis and the wolves green with envy."
Taking my pen between my fingers I turned her arm over. Her sensitive hairless skin tempted me with every word I had ever wanted to say. Pressing my lips to hers, Emily shut her mystic eyes and started to hum soft and sweet as though she was lulling a babe to sleep. Slowly, I marked her young skin in black letters. Taking my time to get the spelling just right. Using words I sketched her portrait into her copper flesh.
"What does it say?" she whispered the moment I clicked the cap back into place.
Slowly, I repeated back what my pen spilled out.
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The girl inside
Hides in my heart
My darling dear
My angel's mark
Indian summer
In the Hollywood Hills
Always singing
As the wind stands still
I'll love her forever
My sweet Cherokee bride
I know my future
Inside her mystic eyes
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That night as the city slept my dreams screamed in my ear. A rushing feeling slipped over me as I tossed and turned, kicking my feet in an attempt to relieve the pressure of energy that was building up around me.
She was gone.
I could sense it before I had even opened my eyes. Her place on the carpet was as cool as mid-morning dew. It was as though Emily had never entered my life. My blood started to race as panic set in. My Indian Girl was out on the streets alone. She may have been fierce but she was still so innocent in her big mountain ways. Anyone could lead her astray.
The unguarded moon illuminated over Hollywood like a gold award. The theaters that never slept finally went to bed. The cement memories of hands and feet wouldn't be stood in until the sun was peaking over the grassy hills. I felt like a late night movie; the kind that you watched back when you were a kid, pined over all day, then fell asleep with a bowl of popcorn spread all over the floor like a snow angel. There was nothing but unheard static in the streets.
I made my way down the deserted boulevard, past the dragons that guarded the Chinese Theater. That's when I heard the crashes and bangs. It sounded like a body was being thrown against a metal wall. Maybe into a dumpster out back. Something heavy, something large, something that was… alive.
"Emily?" My voice cracked from not being used since our goodnights in the van.
"Emily!" I willed it louder half hoping she would run into my arms.
"Emily!" I called into the empty air. The reply wasn't human. The sound that called back was that of a dog.
My body tensed when it approached rounding the corner into my view. There stood a silver wolf the color of lingering clouds arched his back, bearing his pointed teeth in my direction.
How could this be? my mind raced. Sometimes coyotes would lose their way every once and a while, but never a wolf. Emily believed there were wolves nearby, but I always thought she was mistaken. Listening to coyotes and calling them wolves.
The black gums of the animal rose and shook as a low hum broke out of it's chest. Stepping backwards I put my hands behind my back. I hadn't a clue what to do when face to face with a wolf.
The eyes of the animal were unnatural. Instead of sky blue they were more like the color of foreign beaches.
I knew those eyes.
The wolf yapped. Stopping in its tracks, it tilted its mighty head as though it was trying to see more clearly. Heavily it sat down on its haunches and lifted its head to the moon. A howl escaped its mouth. Over and over it bayed. I was terrified. A part of me, deep in my bones, knew this was the end of my life. What would Emily do without me? I told her I would always be there for her.
I looked into the eyes of the wolf one last time. The wet sands reminded me of her.
"They're singing for only their mates to hear. Every wolf has a sacred song that their partner can pick up on like a tribal drumbeat played to the rhythm of one's heart. They're destined to find one another just like I was destined to find you."
Her voice whispered in my ear, "Sing."
The wolf howled again, growing impatient as I stood trying to think of words that it might understand. Desperate to convince this beast that I meant it no harm.
Licking my dry lips, I softly started to sing.
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Love me tender,
Love me sweet,
Never let me go.
You have made my life complete,
And I love you so.
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The silver wolf stood. It was larger than any dog I had ever seen. As slow as breath, walked towards where I stood. Circling me like prey, I continued:
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Love me tender,
Love me true,
All my dreams fulfilled.
For my darling I love you,
And I always will.
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I kept my eyes focused on those of my killer. Around we danced as I plead for my life.
Without hesitation the wolf stopped in mid-track. Sniffing the air it sneezed. It's black nose wrinkled up then relaxed as though it had smelled a memory.
I stopped breathing. I was unable to continue. The wolf must have felt the tension in the air because it crept toward me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention. Without warning the black nose of the animal was on my neck. It had risen onto its hind legs. Its mighty paws nearly pushed me down.
I trembled with fear. Closing my eyes to the world, I whispered, "Good-bye, Sugar." Then waited for death's darkness to seep over my body.
The warm breath of the animal blew out on my cheek. A wet tongue crept out of its mouth.
I felt nauseous and was unwilling to look. My knees knocked together. My heart pounded in my ears. As soon as I thought I had taken my last breath, I heard a noise that I hadn't heard since I left Texas.
It was a riffle.
The wolf collapsed at my feet while I stumbled backwards, free from the animal's weight.
A police officer patrolling his beat held the gun that had saved my life. I smiled at him in amazement. I couldn't believe my luck. The officer apparently didn't share the same views as I did. He was about as white as a ghost.
Why?
I looked down at the sidewalk where the wolf lay. Where a wolf should have laid. Replaced as though by magic was my Indian girl.
"Emily," my voice cracked like the pavement below me.
She was naked and wet, dripping red as her life escaped her body. She started to shake then with a voice like a cat scratch called out my name.
I couldn't make sense of what was happening. How could Emily be here? Where was the wolf that threatened my life?
Dropping to my knees I scooped her limp body against my chest, trying to shield her nudity from anyone who might see.
"Jasper," her voice was floating away. "Did you hear the wolves?"
Oh my god...
"I heard them, Sugar. I heard them."
That was over fifty years ago. I still can't explain how it happened. I guess I never tried. But every time I hear the coyotes' song, I know if I listen through the rush hour, the skyscrapers, and neon, I can still hear the lone wolves that Emily heard so long ago. Still searching for their mates. Sometimes, I swear I can hear one whisper my name.
A/N: This story is based on a ghost story that my great-grandmother used to tell my brother and me called "The Werewolf Wife".
The story of "The Werewolf Wife" is by: A. Kuhn and W. Schwartz
The story goes like this: In Caseburg on the island of Usedom a man and his wife were cutting hay in a meadow. After a while the woman told the man that she was uneasy and could not stay there any longer, and she went away. Earlier she had told him that if a wild animal were to come upon him he should throw his hat toward it and run away, and then no harm would come to him. The man had promised her that he would do this.
After the woman had been away for a while, a wolf swam across the Swina and approached the harvesters. The man threw his hat at it, which the beast immediately ripped into small pieces. Meanwhile one of the workers crept up to the wolf with a pitchfork and stabbed it to death from behind. Instantly it was transformed. They were all astounded to see that it was the farmer's wife that the worker had killed.
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Special thanks to my two awesome betas - The Awesome Arden8182 and the Ubertastic Uhyesplease. I owe you two girlies a big caramel apple! You both worked so hard and for that I thank you!
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Happy Halloween Everyone!