Switched!

Nine

Wendigo


October 24, 2010

4:45 PM

Sunday


Ramon was a tough but efficient teacher. He taught me the things I needed to know: how to block a punch, how to throw one, how to blend in with shadows, how to monitor a person's vitals. We sparred every once in a while to test our abilities against each other, but one afternoon he was telling me some of his nomad stories as he leaned back into the couch cushion, legs out.

I was sitting with my legs tucked up against my chest and back pressed against his side.

"I've run across many other Supers in my time, but a few stand out to me. I remember it was freezing in Alaska and I was looking for a town that had a Wendigo problem." He chuckled as he ran a hand through his hair; droplets of water showered the back of my neck since my hair was pulled up.

"Wendigos are skinwalkers are from Native American legends. A human or spirit that was corrupted after delving into cannibalism. They're scattered about in cold places and are best known for their bottomless stomachs. This one had been preying on children, primarily, so I was contacted by one of the victim's parents—oh, hey." A cool nod of his head in the direction I was facing away from, seeing as he sat at the end of the couch near the threshold of the TV room and I was facing the other way, towards the east, where the computer was.

"Hi." The voice was deep, gravelly and utterly unmistakable for the one man who'd pulled me to my limit and nearly shattered me.

I forced myself not to crane my neck and look at Derek; every inch of my skin crawled with the memory of last week. You killed your own mother, Chloe. Chloe? His worried voice—pale face—drawn eyebrows; the perfect picture of worry but no, he was a bastard and didn't get to be worried over me, especially after what'd he said to me.

"Anyway, the kid had gone missing so I had to track it down. The temperature dropped to the low thirties when I stumbled across its den. As I walked, I found a pile of bones and bodies strewn about, stripped of skin and muscle. Sick, right? That's what they eat. Humans." Ramon said all of this calmly, and it made my skin crawl. "The only way to kill it is fire. Burn it."

I settled down onto my back and placed my head in his lap, purposely placing my back to Derek when I rolled onto my side. I watched Ramon's Adams Apple bob with each word, each breath he took and remembered how my mother used to stroke under my chin when I lay her lap and count my breaths.

"I wandered around until I saw it. It was taller than me and skinny. Scared me shitless when it snarled at me, and its breath smelled absolutely disgusting, like hot blood and rotten meat. It's got milky eyes that stared sraight me, and I fumbled with my lighter." He made a strangled sound as I closed my eyes and remembered looking into my mom's familiar eyes, glazed over, droplets of blood on her lowered eyelids, a few tears had slipped from her eyes.

I pressed my face into Ramon's bony hip as he paused in his story, scratching the back of my head.

A weight dipped on the other side of the couch and I could tell it was Derek.

It's him, Nadia told me gently, like I already didn't know.

I simply sighed and pressed Ramon's shoulder harder into my face.

I know.

Aren't you going to talk to him?

Why? So he can accuse me of murdering my mother again? And berate me?

It's true so why should it matter?

What matters is that I'm no different than Royce.

So you have a penis now?

"It kept coming at me, insanely fast, and then it hit me, hard, so hard that I went sailing into the snowdrift outside. The little shit dislocated my shoulder and broke my hand. Well, not really. I landed weird, trying to us my hands to break my fall. I was so dizzy I didn't hear it come after me until the wet, grimy hand wrapped around my ankle and threw me into the air. I had hairspray in my pocket so I pulled it out, using my non-broken foot to kick off its forehead. I struggled for a while to flick my lighter on but, just as it lunged at me, mouth open, strings of rotten flesh hitting me, long strings of saliva dripping, it clicked on. I sprayed the hairspray. I watched as it burned and screamed. It sounded like children screaming."

Ramon stopped scratching my head and I took that as a cue to sit up.

I did so slowly, agonizing over the little details of my mother's demise: the way Aunt Lauren had looked at me, so disgusted; the way my father had crumpled in on himself, the police poking and prodding terrified me for answers, the scary doctors, the too-friendly therapists. So I steeled myself and opened my eyes.

Derek was staring straight at me. He looked a bit pale, shaky even; his acne stood out like blood on his cheeks and his eyes looked puffy; dark circles hung in half-moons under his eyes. His hair, damp from a shower, was pulled away from his shoulders in a short bun, wisps escaping and clinging to the back of his neck and temples. He was sucking on his top lip, looking insanely awkward, as our eyes met.

"Hi," I said, digging my nails into my palm to help myself relax, or, at least distract myself with the pain.

"Hi," he replied, looking at his hands rather than look me in the face; the coward. His nails were chewed and ragged; his hands were calloused and dotted with scars here and there.

"Do you think the moms were happy that you killed it?" Liz asked as she plopped down at my feet and began to play with my bare toes.

"Yeah. I'm never taking another Wendigo case," Ramon grumbled, leaning back to relax. "Hey, Chloe, how come you never talk about your mom?" he asked me softly in my ear.

I saw Derek stiffen; his body temperature rose a few degrees as he began to sweat.

"It's just me and my aunt and my dad," I said with a bitter taste in my mouth. I could feel Derek's eyes burning into me. "I was told, once upon a time, that I killed her," I told Ramon, struggling to keep my emotions off my face.

Liz gasped.

Ramon's eyes flickered behind me. Narrowed. His lip curled.

"Not all fairytales have Happy Ever After."

The smile I wore nearly split me in two.