CHAPTER 25: A WOLF'S CURIOSITY
ME: Wow, umm...this chapter is going to be really long. I wrote a lot.
BOOMER: What did you write about?
ME: ...Plenty of stuff. You'll see if you read on.
BUTCH: I heard that Boomer appears this chapter as the main focus for a bit.
ME: Shhh, no spoilers!
BUTCH: What? That's all I heard.
ME: But yes there's a lot of focus on characters this chapter. So umm...read on?
BUBBLES: Kuku only owns her OC's and the story! *murmurs* If Boomer appears as the focus for awhile, I want to too...
ME: Your time will come, Bubbles. But I'm not saying any more than that!
Chapter 25: A Wolf's Curiosity
The world was dark and lonely. Everything was quiet, and the only noise was the quiet dripping of water. His eyes were closed and his breathing was slow, as he tried to think...
There were many things he was thinking about. He'd been in this world for more than a few days now, and it was getting lonely. The mirror close by was still calling to him, always glowing. The surface wasn't as inviting as the light though. His reflection made him wonder, and every time he touched it, it sent electric tingles crawling across his skin.
And yet there was a voice calling for him on the other side, full of pleading and worry. He wanted to trust this person, but he still wasn't sure who it was. Who would call for him so constantly? Who would miss him so much that they would plea with him again and again, despite him still not answering?
Days were lonely in his dark little world, however. He floated about, thinking things over and over again. He knew that as soon as he entered the mirror, he would feel a lot of pain. And yet, he also knew that he'd feel a lot of warmth.
He walked toward the mirror, he stared into it, blinking his red eyes. He'd visited the mirror so many times now. He wondered if the gateway back home would ever close.
Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and placed his hand within the mirror...
"Vix, wake up. It's time to go out." A voice reached the half-asleep boy's ears. It was still early in the morning, and sunlight was streaming in through the window.
Groaning, the young boy rolled over in his bed. "Can't it wait?" he murmured.
He heard his companion sigh, but Vix knew the man was smiling. His friend sat down on the bed and nudged Vix. "Up," he commanded.
"I'm not awake," answered the young boy.
"Sure you are." Grabbing him, the man easily pulled Vix upwards. When the boy was fully upright, Vix yawned and stretched. He opened his eyes and was greeted by a smile. "See? Told you you were awake."
"Nah; I just woke up thanks to you." Vix kicked the man from under the sheets lightly, yawning again. He rubbed his eyes. "Where are we going today?"
"Next week is your special day, so we're going to be quite busy preparing for that day," the man replied.
"What day?" Confused, Vix stopped stretching to stare at his companion. "Did I miss something?"
The man laughed, "Your own birthday, apparently. How could you forget your own birthday?"
Vix stared blankly at him, his mind still half-asleep. But then he let out a loud gasp as he jumped out of his bed, throwing on his slippers. "My birthday's next week! I can't believe I forgot!"
His friend laughed again. "Now you're eager to go out, huh?"
"I want a big cake this year," Vix shot back, smirking. "And you'll have to make it. I want it full of my favourite things."
"Sure thing, birthday boy." Grinning, the man stood up. "We'll invite the Ruffs over as well."
Vix pulled off his no-sleeve and reached for a t-shirt. "Don't forget about the presents."
Leaning against the wall, his companion raised an eyebrow. "What happened to just having fun together with your friends?"
"Oh, and that too," laughed Vix. "Presents are more important though."
The man rolled his eyes and walked over to Vix, flicking the boy on the forehead. "Where did I go wrong with you?"
Vix grinned. "Get me something awesome and I'll be a better kid."
"I think not. I need to teach you some modesty!" he teased.
Pouting, Vix dropped the shoes he'd grabbed and turned to the man. "You are so bossy and mean sometimes."
The man hesitated before smiling. "I have to be strict as your guardian, Vix."
"You mean like a father?" Vix looked back at the man. "I'm okay with you calling me your son; you know that. We've been together long enough for that to be pretty normal." The young boy glanced at his muddy shoes. "Besides...knowing I don't have parents hurts enough. At least give me this."
Seemingly surprised, the man stared at Vix. "I was worried it would make you uncomfortable."
"Not any less awkward than when I met the Ruffs." Vix looked up.
The man paused before saying with a smile, "Okay then." As an afterthought, he added, "My son."
"Thanks...Dad." Vix smiled. "You know, if you're not comfortable with it yet, we don't always have to call each other that."
"Sounds like a deal, Vix." The man turned to leave. "I have to go fix up some of my wood carvings. Be ready in two minutes!"
"Alright, Damon; thanks a bunch. See you in a little bit," Vix called as his companion walked out the door.
Damon glanced back and smiled, nodding, before exiting. Then Vix sighed and flopped down on his bed, closing his eyes for a few brief moments before he also went downstairs...
"...You can't be serious."
"I'm serious, BC," he promised, staring deeply into her green eyes.
She looked away. "I can't see how Butch of all people would care about me, Ross." She crossed her arms. "He never tells me anything."
Ross didn't hesitate. "Maybe he doesn't say anything to protect you."
"From what?" She turned and met his gaze. "What on earth would I need to be protected from? I'm Buttercup, for God's sake! I can handle anything."
"Oh, I don't know about anything." Ross leaned back and sighed, closing his eyes.
Glancing away again, Buttercup stared at the shadows. "...You said you care about me as well," she stated, trying to change the subject slightly. "What does that mean?"
"I don't want to see you get hurt. That means I care about you."
"It's sweet of you to think that, but I'm not a weak damsel-in-distress. I won't get hurt. I don't have anything to hurt me." Buttercup turned to Ross, making eye contact with him. His own green eyes flashed as he looked down.
"Maybe I need to protect you from myself," he whispered quietly.
Buttercup grabbed his arm. "What does that mean?"
Sighing, Ross stood up. "Maybe it means I'm actually a terrible person. Maybe it means I'm hiding something. Maybe it means I'm a monster."
"But you're not." Buttercup stared up at him.
"How do you know?" He leaned against the wall.
Buttercup stood up as well, awkwardly glancing the other way. "I just do. I have a feeling for these kinds of things."
"That doesn't really prove anything," Ross replied, avoiding eye contact. "It's not enough proof that you can trust me. What if I hurt you?"
"You can't do much worse than Butch," answered Buttercup, leaning in closer. "Besides, I don't dislike you."
"Does that mean...?"
"Yes, Ross. I trust you. You're a friend."
"But what about—?"
"Enough with the 'what if's'! You've been nice to me and that's all that matters," Buttercup countered. "I really do trust you."
Meanwhile, a certain someone was watching from the shadows. She had long, red hair pulled back in a ponytail, her pink eyes roaming the empty halls. She watched as Buttercup and Ross smiled at each other, before Ross asked her if she wanted to eat lunch with him. Buttercup replied that she had to meet up with her friends, her face red. Then they parted ways.
Waiting for Buttercup, the redhead folded her arms and watched BC approach. When she was close enough, she said, "Ross seems like a nice guy."
Surprised, Buttercup turned and stared at the girl. "Blossom...? How long have you been here?"
"Long enough." Blossom turned around and started walking. She gestured for Buttercup to follow. "We need to talk."
"Hey, wait. I still have questions—"
"I have questions too." Spinning around, Blossom stopped walking and stared at her sister. "Do you like him?"
Flushing red, Buttercup looked away. "Not in that way; no."
Blossom frowned. "Okay, fine. If you say so." She started walking again. "I just wanted to tell you that I have some plans for tonight."
Floating to catch up, Buttercup glanced at her sister. "What plans?" she questioned.
"...I'm paying Brick a visit."
Buttercup stopped floating in surprise. "Wait, what?"
"You heard me."
"What happened to waiting for answers?"
Blossom sighed, "I'm tired of waiting, BC. I'm also worried. What really happened to Brick? Why aren't the Ruffs telling us anything? I want answers. I want to see that Brick's okay."
"That's sweet and all, but how do you think the Rowdyruff Boys will react?"
"They don't have to know." Blossom shrugged, looking slightly guilty. "They aren't the only ones who know how to break into a room."
"You mean we're going to...?" Buttercup trailed off, managing to finish her sentence with one word: "Whoa."
Blossom didn't meet her sister's gaze. "I heard Boomer's going to Ross' house today. That's one less Ruff to worry about, right?"
"I guess so. But there's still four more. And Mojo. And Him." Buttercup frowned.
"We'll just have to be quick then."
"And what about Brick himself? How's he going to react? He thinks you hate him," Buttercup pointed out.
"And whose fault do you think that is?" Blossom shot her sister a look, before sighing when she saw BC's guilty expression. "Look, I don't blame you. I just feel like it's better to tell Brick the truth ASAP."
"...Fair enough." Buttercup smashed her fists together. "So what time are we visiting the Ruffs?"
"After school?" Blossom suggested.
Buttercup's face fell. "I can't. I have detention and I need to work on my project with Butch. I wouldn't mind bailing on the last one though." She rubbed her arm, thinking back to Butch smashing her against a locker in the morning. "Butch's been super weird all day."
Blossom tucked stray strands of pumpkin-orange hair behind her ear. "That won't do; project time is valuable time. You should work on it."
"But I don't want to! And I doubt you want to talk to Brick alone." Buttercup gave her sister an incredulous look. "...Do you?"
Blushing, Blossom hugged herself as if for comfort. "No; of course not! That'd be...awkward."
"Then I want to go," Buttercup insisted.
Blossom sighed, "Fine. We'll go at 6:40 then. Okay? Boomer may still be at Ross' place then. You just have to get home a little earlier."
"Done and done." Buttercup grinned. "Let's do this." She held out her hand.
Her sister stared at it for a few seconds, before smirking and taking it. The two shook hands on the plan.
This is going to be one hell of a night.
The bell rang, and Buttercup sprang from her seat like a kangaroo. Rushing for the door, she waved bye to her friends and the teacher. She had to get to Mr. Fickleson's classroom—and fast. If she was late by even a minute, she'd be in big trouble.
First Buttercup visited her locker, grabbing the things she needed before she raced to Mr. F's room. When she got there, it was empty. There were two students still there; one was talking to Mr. Fickleson and the other was standing in the doorway. They were Michael and Vincent.
Buttercup stared at the back of Vincent, trying to find an opening. He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed with a black messenger bag slung over his shoulder. He was wearing a beanie. "Umm...excuse me," she managed to say.
Vincent turned slightly and she was surprised to see white. But the flash of colour disappeared as the two green-eyed teens met gazes. "Hi, BC," Vincent spoke first.
"H-Hey," she said weakly. Something about Vincent made her nervous. He stepped back and she nodded thankfully, walking inside the classroom.
Buttercup listened in on Michael and Mr. Fickleson's conversation, trying to determine what they were talking about.
"Mr. Apocally said that you could give me the papers needed for chapters 7's test," Michael requested, looking like he was trying to stay calm.
"My question is why you don't have the sheets yourself." Mr. Fickleson's penetrating gaze pierced Michael; the man's eyes were narrowed.
Michael crossed his arms. "I was busy."
"That's not much of an excuse."
Just then, there was a loud commotion at the doorway. "Move outta the way, you ass," a snarling voice sounded.
Buttercup turned to see Butch and Vincent glaring at one another. Butch was doing most of the glaring. Vincent was staring down at the younger boy, his gaze calm and empty. The green Ruff, on the other had, was gritting his teeth and had a fist raised.
Me. Fickleson cleared his throat. "Excuse me."
Blinking, Butch turned away from Vincent to see the teacher at his desk.
"What have we discussed about foul language?" Mr. F warned.
Butch ruffled his hair, sighing. "Whatever." He shoved past Vincent and stalked into the room, exchanging dark looks with Michael before he took a seat. He sat beside Buttercup, which made her uncomfortable.
Sighing, Mr. Fickleson rolled his eyes. He turned away in his office chair, reaching through neatly organized drawers. The teacher pulled out a few sheets of paper and passed them to Michael, saying, "You're off the hook this time, young man. I don't have time to deal with your excuses; these two have detention."
"...Thank you," Michael responded curtly, nodding as he took the papers. He quickly exited, talking in low, hushed tones with Vincent.
Mr. Fickleson turned his attention toward the green Puff and Ruff. "Now, as both of you know, you're currently in detention. And I'm sure you all know the routine—no talking; no playing on your phones; no gum or food; etc."
Buttercup opened her mouth. "But—"
"And you will raise your hands when speaking," Mr. Fickleson interrupted.
Rolling her eyes, Buttercup raised her hand. As if to mock her, Mr. F didn't call on her right away. When he finally did, the green Puff felt pissed off. "What about projects?" she said. "I kind of have to talk to Butch for that. He's my Socials project partner."
"...As long as you two talking don't lead to results so disastrous as this morning, then you can speak in hushed tones," Mr. Fickleson replied.
"Okay." Buttercup leaned back in her chair.
"Cell phones, please." Mr. Fickleson stood up and walked toward them, holding his hand out.
As Butch passed the teacher his phone, he grumbled a "there's no fun allowed too", but Mr. F ignored him.
"You may both have it back by the time detention is over for today, at 5:00." Mr. Fickleson glanced at the clock. "Oh, and here's your worksheet for today. I want this done by the end of detention. After you finish these sheets, then you can work on your project or whatnot."
Rolling her eyes and grumbling under her breath, Buttercup watched as Mr. F chose a few papers from a stack. He placed the papers on Butch and BC's desk. The green Puff snatched up all the sheets, taking the ones that she needed.
Butch gave her a look. "I'd like a sheet too," he stated.
"I'd like the magic word." Buttercup's back remained facing him.
"Fine. Please?" asked Butch, rolling his eyes.
She tossed them over her shoulder and he tried to catch them. However, since paper is so thin and hard to throw as well as hard to catch, two of the sheets floated to the floor. "Bitch," Butch muttered as he reached for the ones on the floor.
Buttercup tensed, kicking him without looking at him. Uttering an "ow!", Butch sat up and glared at her. "What the hell?"
"You're one hell of a nice guy," Buttercup replied sarcastically, glaring at something in the distance. She crossed her arms.
Butch snatched a pencil and started writing. "Yeah, well you're...you're one hell of a cheerful gal."
"I'd be a lot happier if it weren't for the fact that I'm stuck here with you," sighed Buttercup, turning around to give him a look.
Butch waved her away. "Whatever, okay? Now be quiet. I'm trying to work."
"Asshole," muttered Buttercup, turning away from him. She hit him one last time before focusing on her work. Butch stared at her incredulously for the second hit, but he also soon returned to working. Neither of them wanted to be caught talking by Mr. Fickleson.
Boomer stopped flying when he got to a large, shiny mansion. He landed in the courtyard, tugging at the dark-blue handkerchief tied around his neck uncomfortably. Boomer could feel his stomach doing somersaults, and probably a few dives and flips too. He was nervous.
Part of the reason was because Ross was living with Michael and Michael's Uncle Danes, but there was something else that made Boomer nervous...
"Ah, Boomer! Nice of you to join us!"
The blue Ruff blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. He turned and managed to smile. Ross and Mike were sitting under a white gazebo not too far away, snacking on cookies and tea. It looked like a scene out of a painting...except for the fact that both boys were dressed modernly and the table was a mess.
Floating quickly over to his friends, Boomer cleared a seat beside Mike of books and pencil cases. He set the items on the table, sitting down. "So what's up?" he asked, taking a cookie.
"We were just discussing our project." Ross smiled, chewing on a delicious cream-filled éclair.
Boomer nodded, letting the yummy aromas wash over him before he took a bite of his own cookie. "Sounds good." He paused, grinning. "Tastes good too." He took an éclair, deciding to try one.
"Yeah, the cooks here are amazing," Ross replied.
"It seems that they baked this for the exact amount of time. I'm happy to see that they used less-fattening cream and it's also supposed to be non-artificial. It seems that your cooks are willing to pay for the best quality ingredients; this tastes like it was made in Switzerland."
Ross stared at Boomer in amazement, his eyes wide. "How did you...?"
"Boomer's an awesome cook," Mike said, his mouth full. "Sometimes he lets out a spew of knowledge and it's freaky."
The glow of pride from his friend's praise vanished suddenly as Boomer sent Mike a look. "Hey!"
Mike shrugged. "It is weird when you show off amazing knowledge though; you're usually kinda—no offense—clueless."
"Double hey!" said Boomer. "What? Why is everybody always surprised that I know things?"
Ross laughed, "Well, I didn't know you could be so teasing, Mike."
"You don't know the half of it." Mike smiled as Boomer rolled his eyes and nodded in agreement.
"Mike's really shy and nice but sometimes even he can be such a big jerk." Boomer nudged his friend.
"Well, at least we agree that the food here tastes awesome. I'll be sure to let Michael know," Ross replied.
Boomer paused. Just the name Michael made his stomach flip. Sure, it brought back good memories of friendships too, but that was a different Michael.*
Ross waved excitedly at something in the distance. "Ah, there he is now! And how convenient; he's with the others."
"'Others'?" repeated Boomer, turning to stare. His mouth dropped open at the giant crowd of people gathered in the courtyard. Danes stood front and centre, and even though it was completely sunny, a servant scrambled after him with a black umbrella.
"What's with the umbrella?" asked Mike, his mouth full again. Boomer already knew why so he kept his mouth shut.
"It's sort of an Asian thing with how Danes doesn't want to tan so he uses an umbrella to block sunlight," Ross admitted, "even though we're not Asian, Danes' skin is sensitive so he uses an umbrella to keep himself from tanning into charred black."
"Oh, I see." Mike swallowed his food.
Boomer couldn't help but wonder how much Ross really knew about Danes...
"Hi, Danes; Michael," Ross greeted, smiling. "Boomer, Mike, and I were just studying for Socials."
Danes stopped walking in front of the gazebo, frowning. He turned and nodded at Michael. "Ross is studying. And what have you been doing?"
Letting out an annoyed hiss, Michael rolled his eyes. Boomer felt his heart stop pounding as fast when he realized that Danes wasn't showing any signs of major hostility.
However, it seemed that his relief was short-lived as Danes turned his penetrating gray eyes on the blue Rowdyruff Boy. "I take it these are your Socials partners?" he murmured.
Even though Mike had no idea who Danes was, he also shrank back in nervousness. Boomer swallowed hard as Ross replied cheerfully, seemingly oblivious to the tension hanging in the air: "Yup; they're my friends Mike and Boomer! Michael knows them from school."
"Yes, I believe he does," Danes responded absentmindedly, still keeping an eye on Boomer.
Before Boomer could say anything, Shamus stepped forward. "If they are working, then we should be on our way. We do not wish to disturb them," he suggested. Boomer gave Shamus a grateful look despite the fact that he knew Shamus also wasn't a fan of the Ruffs. Shamus returned his look of gratitude with one of disguised disdain.
"Thanks, Uncle," Ross called as the two men walked away. The servant rushed after Danes. Behind the two uncles were an older man and a taller man. Boomer eyed them as they walked past, and they in turn eyed him.
Ross caught him staring. "Ah, those are our friends Coal and Maxim," he explained.
"I know," Boomer muttered under his breath.
Ross blinked. "Pardon...?"
"Ah, nothing. Sorry." Boomer turned his attention away from the two men. He fidgeted uncomfortably. He wondered where Jamel was...
Ross flicked crumbs off of his notebook. "So our fridge model is nearly done," he began.
Boomer listened to Mike and Ross exchange words, but it didn't last long. The air of comfort had vanished for him, and he couldn't stop squirming in his seat. He raised his hand.
"Yes, Boomer?" Ross gave his friend an amused look. "You know this isn't class time; you don't have to raise your hand."
Embarrassed, Boomer lowered his arm awkwardly. "Sorry," he said, "I guess I just did it without thinking since it's sort of like we're at school."
"Yeah, except with yummy food," Mike agreed.
"So what did you want to say?" asked Ross.
Boomer squirmed again. "I have to go use the bathroom," he blurted.
Blinking, Ross smiled. "Oh, sure. We have tons of bathrooms, but the closest one is over there." He pointed at a large black door. "It's down this long corridor when you enter the house; sixth door on the right."
"Thanks." Boomer jumped up.
"Wait, there's more." Ross' face had suddenly darkened. "There's a grand staircase near the bathroom. Please don't go up there."
"Oh...okay." Confused, Boomer thanked Ross before flying off. Why would I want to go up the staircase? Now that he's asked me not to, I kind of want to. I would've originally never thought of it though. Boomer stopped in front of the door and pushed it open, taking a step inside. As the old door creaked shut, the noise echoed within the hallways. Boomer winced as the door slammed closed. He walked quietly through the giant house, his breathing low. He could feel his heart speeding up.
As he walked, he counted the doors. One, two, three, four, five, and...six! Boomer quickened his pace and walked toward the sixth door, taking hold of the golden handle. He was about to pull it open, when he glanced to his right. There was indeed a giant, grand golden staircase with red carpeting. A twinkling crystal-covered chandelier dangled from the ceiling.
Curiosity tugged at Boomer, but he forced himself to rip his gaze away from the stairs. He walked into the washroom and did his business, noting how elegant the bathroom was. When he came out, he was about to fly back to his friends, but then...
He hesitated.
The staircase was still calling to him, his curiosity having been peaked. He was intrigued by Ross' request not to go upstairs, and he was even more intrigued as to why Ross' expression had turned upset.
Boomer took a deep breath, quashed all his nervousness, and took a step toward the stairs. That one step led to perhaps a dozen more, until he was on the first step of the stairs. Boomer then continued to climb, counting. He knew he could float up the stairs with ease, but something about the atmosphere had left him too enchanted to fly. He felt as if some force was pulling him up, and he couldn't stop himself anymore. Boomer felt as though to pay respects to something, he had to walk up instead of fly.
Soon he was finally at the top, and what he saw disappointed him. There wasn't anything upstairs! Boomer glanced around; the halls were still grandly decorated and beautiful, but it looked just like the rest of the house.
He wondered what about this section had made Ross tell his friend not to go there, but now that Boomer had disobeyed Ross, he hadn't found anything interesting. And that was when Boomer fully snapped out of his daze. Oh shit, he thought, his eyes widening in realization. I disobeyed my friend's wishes! He got ready to hustle down the stairs before anyone caught him. What kind of friend am I!? As silly as the request was, I still have to honour it!
He was almost at the staircase when he crashed into somebody. "Ow!" he muttered, taking a few steps back. Remembering how he hadn't wanted to be caught, he felt himself panicking suddenly. "I didn't mean to come up h—" he tried.
"I wouldn't do that, if I were you."
Boomer stopped completely as his eyes stretched so wide they couldn't widen any further. He swallowed as he looked up. "Jamel...?"
"Hello, Boomer." Jamel's eyes flashed as he took his top hat off and bowed, purple cape billowing from a nearby breeze. He sighed as he put the hat back on his long red hair. "You should know that this area is forbidden."
"I-I didn't—"
"Tsk, tsk," Jamel tittered. "Don't lie to me, Boomer." He leaned down until he was face-to-face with the boy. "I know you knew." His tone dripped with warning.
"I'm sorry! I don't know why, but something was pulling me up the stairs—" Boomer tried to explain, still panicked.
"You expect me to believe that? This house isn't haunted." Jamel narrowed his eyes. "Or at least, I don't think it is."
Boomer cowered. It wasn't that he was scared of Jamel, but rather, he was scared that Jamel would tell Ross. He could only imagine Ross' disappointment (despite the reason for telling Boomer to avoid the staircase still being unclear). "Th-That's not what I meant! I did come here of my own free will, but it was like a force was calling to me."
Jamel looked up, his gaze sweeping across the hallway. Boomer followed the man's line of sight, settling his eyes on a lonely black door. Jamel's lips moved just slightly as he started talking, his tone much slower this time. "Perhaps he was calling for you."
"Whom?" asked Boomer, completely confused. Jamel's cryptic words didn't help.
Sighing, the older man tore his gaze away from the door. "Or perhaps not. He's not around us anymore, after all." He glanced at Boomer, studying the boy's expression.
"Who?" repeated Boomer, panicking again.
"Since you're already up here, I wouldn't recommend going into that room." Jamel pointed with his cane at the door at the very end of the hall. "It's forbidden."
Boomer swallowed hard. "What's in there?"
"Bad memories, Boomer, bad memories." Jamel turned away and started walking off.
"Wait...! Are you not mad at me? Are you not going to tell Ross? Are you not...going to fight me?" Boomer called after him.
Jamel stopped. "I may not like you Ruffs, but unlike some of the other idiots here, I can actually stand your presence. Besides, I have no wish to have to explain to Ross why his friend is suddenly injured quite badly." Eyes flashing, Jamel glanced back at Boomer. "I deal with you Ruffs a lot more daily than you'd think." He held up his hand and waved, his long sleeve sliding down to reveal multiple bandages and scratches.
"What happened?" asked Boomer quietly.
"I was babysitting my friend's cat," laughed Jamel.
Boomer paused. That excuse sounds familiar...
"Ta-ta, Boomer." Then Jamel disappeared.
Already following the man, Boomer glanced back at the door one last time. His mind was spinning again. He knew that Jamel was technically giving him a "second chance", but Boomer was still unsure if he wanted to just go. Taking a deep breath, Boomer floated toward the door. When he got to it, he gripped the handle and paused. He stared at the harsh black paint on the door. Boomer could feel guilt swirling within him, but something was calling for him again. Sighing, Boomer looked around. When he didn't see anyone, he pulled the door open and stepped in.
The first thing that he noticed was the musky stench. Coughing, Boomer wiped his eyes. The room was dusty; obviously having been neglected for a very long time. Cobwebs decorated the old room. It consisted mostly of a desk, bookshelves, and a grand bed. There was another door to somewhere else; probably a bathroom. Boomer knew he should leave, as he had already seen the so-called "forbidden room", and again found nothing, but he was still curious. There has to be something about this place that is so forbidden, he mused.
Taking a few steps forward, Boomer stepped onto the carpet. He looked down. For some reason, the carpet was all rolled up rather than flat out. Faint outlines of something lay on the floor.
Shrugging it off, Boomer reached the desk. He glanced at the bookshelves, scanning the contents. Most of the books were too dusty to read the spines, but a lot of what he could make out had to do with philosophy. Deciding that he wasn't curious enough to check those old books out (and since he didn't want to leave any traces that he had been in the room behind), Boomer left them alone.
He looked down and noticed a dusty, worn-out and faded book lying on the desk. It seemed to have once been red.
Boomer took hold of it and picked it up, coughing as he opened the book up. It was a photo album. He quickly flipped through the pages until he noticed something: an image of many people caught his eye. In it, a seemingly much younger Ross was smiling widely. Michael stood beside his friend, also smiling, but more in a calm manner. Danes and Shamus stood behind the two boys, but there were two other men as well.
One of them Boomer was shocked to recognize as Damon, and the other was so strikingly familiar to Ross he nearly dropped the book. The man had the same curly dark-black-brown hair; just slightly longer and tied back in a ponytail. He looked cheerful and happy.
Boomer swallowed hard, eyes widening as he tried not to freak out. He tore his attention from the faded picture to another one. This one showed a beautiful woman with blue eyes and long golden-brown hair. She was smiling, hugging Shamus, Damon, and the man who looked like Ross.
As Boomer flipped on, he could see a lot of pictures of the woman with the man that looked like Ross. But soon she disappeared from the album, and the man appeared less frequently. When he did appear, he seemed less happy than he had been at the beginning of the album. A lot of the pictures seemed more grim after that.
Damon also appeared less often.
Boomer could also see lots of photos of Ross and his friends, and some of Danes' men. The album wasn't full yet—the last photo slipped in was one of people wearing black; near the end of the middle of the album. They were standing above something and looked sad. Boomer's eyes lingered briefly on the picture, particularly on Shamus and Ross.*
Before he could study the picture fully, however, someone cleared their throat and their voice sounded behind him. "Didn't I warn you that this room is forbidden?"
Freezing, Boomer slowly turned until he met eyes with a familiar someone. Jamel.
The man narrowed his eyes as he got up from leaning against the wall and walked over to Boomer. He plucked the album from the blue Ruff's hands, and scanned the pages. Jamel sighed, "It's been awhile since I've seen these photos."
"You knew I would come here, didn't you? That's why you told me about the room."
"Yes. But it's only because I want you to see proof of the truth." Jamel looked at the photos one last time. "I figured these pictures would help. So besides the fact I can stand you and I didn't want to explain to Ross that you have a rivalry with us; that's another reason why I didn't attack you."
"What do they mean?" breathed Boomer, taking a few steps backwards until his back bumped into the desk. His heart was pounding. "Why is Damon in there too?"
Jamel's expression faltered as he paused. "...Damon was once our friend."
"I don't understand." Boomer's breathing was coming in quickly now. "Why—?"
"I'm sure Danes has already told you," Jamel interrupted, snapping the book shut. A cloud of dust floated into the air. "Damon betrayed us by killing Ross' father."
"So that man who looked like Ross...?"
"If you're talking about who I think you are, then yes it probably was Ross' dad in the pictures you saw," Jamel replied. "That was why I said what I did about the house supposedly not being haunted and him calling for you. I was talking about Ross' dad."
Boomer clutched his shirt, near the heart area. He could feel it aching. "And what about that pretty woman...? I don't see her around anymore either. Did Damon also...?" He choked on his words and couldn't continue.
"No... She...She died naturally. Her name was Sylvie; Ross' father loved her. Damon wouldn't kill her; he loved her as well." Jamel's eyes clouded with grief, if only for a few moments. He looked up and could see the blue Ruff's pain-filled expression. "What's wrong now?"
"Danes told us that Damon killed Ross' father, but it hurts even more when I know Ross' dad had a face. He had a story; a life. And did Damon really take that all away? Damon didn't... He doesn't seem like that kind of man."
"Look at these photos: they're part of all the proof lying around that Damon was a traitor and a liar! They're proof of the fact that Damon killed Tyrone." Jamel's tone sounded frustrated. "And if you know the truth, you can't go on defending him, or you'll be in big trouble with Danes. Besides, do you want Ross to learn of your connection with Damon and how you are still willing to support him despite the hideous truth? Ross would hate you forever."
Boomer cringed, trying not to panic. "But...But... I can't believe that Damon would—!"
"People hide things, Boomer. Don't be naïve."
He could feel tears coming to his eyes as he thought of his past with the kind-hearted Damon. He took a deep, shaky breath. "Okay...I have more questions. What was the name of Ross' father?"
"...His name was Tyrone."
"And why is this room forbidden?" Boomer felt sick because he had a feeling he already knew.
Jamel looked around. "This is—or was—Tyrone's room. Actually...this is where he died. Where Ross and Shamus saw him, lying on the floor, dead; with Damon standing above the body.
"I wasn't there then, but when Danes chased after an escaping Damon, I was dispatched along with the others. I was still new at the time. We chased him pretty far, but he escaped into the forest.
"There was no sign of him for quite the long time."
Boomer's eyes widened. "So this is where the crime scene took place...?"
Jamel nodded, tapping the floor with his cane. "Look," he commanded. Boomer looked. The rolled-up carpet and faint outlines faced him. "What do these chalky outlines look like?"
"They look like..." Boomer stopped as realization struck him like a huge punch to the gut. He gulped as his eyes widened and tears pricked his eyes. "They look like the outline of a body."
*(A/N: Reference to my fic "Hung Up on You"!)
ME: Okay, so that's the latest chapter. Honestly, photo albums play a big part in both of my biggest stories so far. "Hung Up on You" focused a lot on the photo album telling a story, and now so does "Call of the Wolves".
BRICK: Wow; drama, much?
ME: Indeed~
BOOMER: Wasn't expecting my role to turn into that.
JAMEL: I'm a little surprised I didn't get more mad at the boy.
ME: Well, your reasons for being a bit less hostile this chapter are listed.
JAMEL: Right...
BLOSSOM: And next chapter I'll be paying the unconscious Brick a visit?
ME: Oui; more drama for everyone! Anyway, read and review guys.
BLISS: And then hopefully Kuku will update soon!