Chapter 44 Chapter notes

Something weird is happening. Maya wakes up with a blazing fever and achy hands. Dr. Pierce is spooked.

And Chief Littlefoot is frantic.

The chapter title belongs to Brian Holland, Lamont Dozier and Linda Ronstadt

Chapter 44 Heat Wave Sunday, October 29th

On Sunday, Bella sleeps in, but Charlie wakes early. He jumps out of bed, already thinking about his day with Maya. He calls her, but to his disappointment, it goes to voicemail.

Downstairs, he fries bacon and eggs while a pot of coffee brews. After eating, he washes up his few dishes and goes upstairs to shower. After toweling off, he opens his closet and finds some unfamiliar shirts hanging right in front. He smiles as he takes them out to look at them. Bella must have gone shopping.

Three are used but in very good shape, much better than his current ones. When Charlie sees the last one, his heart skips a beat. It's yellow. More accurately, it's a light mustard color, with thin black stripes. It looks new.

He recalls the dream about the dog attack, where he'd fallen on the ground by Bella's truck, yellow shirt dyed crimson. It was one of those colorful dreams, like the others that had been prophetic. He feels goose flesh creep over his body, and decides he's not tempting fate. The yellow shirt is yanked off of its hanger, folded, and set aside.

Two of the shirts go back in the closet. Charlie's favorite is the blue and green plaid, which is made of a soft, heavy-weight flannel. When he slips it on, he is gratified to see that it still has all its buttons. He tucks it into his khakis, grabs up the yellow shirt, bags it, and takes it straight away to the cruiser. He'll give it to Mark. He's about the same size as Charlie.

And after the dream, he doesn't want to look at the shirt again.

Once he's back in the house, Charlie sits in his chair in the living room and tries Maya's phone again. It rings several times and she finally answers, but her voice is no more than a throaty croak.

"Hey, Chief."

Charlie's eyebrows draw together. "Maya? Honey, what's wrong?"

"Not feeling too good this morning."

Charlie is on his feet. "You're sick?"

She groans. Her breath is an audible rasp. Charlie doesn't wait to hear more. "I'm on my way. Be there in a few." He snaps his phone shut, grabs his stuff and in minutes, he's standing at Maya's door, ringing the bell.

When she answers, Charlie nearly falls over. Maya looks like she's about to die. Her eyes are red and weepy, her hair is matted, and her mouth is crusted at the corners. She gestures him in and he stares at her, open-mouthed.

"I think it's probably the flu, Chief. It's going around."

"What can I do to help?"

"Just something to drink. Iced tea?" She gives him a weak smile and he gently pulls her into a hug, surprised at how hot her body is, even through her clothes. He leads her back into her bedroom and tucks her up.

"Maya, you have a fever. I need to take your temperature."

She reaches into her bedside table's drawer and comes up with a digital thermometer. Charlie pops it into her mouth, and when it beeps, he whistles. "102 degrees. Honey, you need to see the doctor."

Maya moans and rolls over. "I just need to sleep, Chief."

Charlie is having none of it. He pulls her up, puts her shoes on her feet, and hustles her out the door. In minutes, they're in the emergency room. The intake nurse gasps when she sees Maya. They're not just coworkers, but friends.

There are only a couple of people in the waiting room and in a few minutes an orderly appears at the double doors with a wheelchair. Maya is too sick to complain and Charlie helps her into the seat. As the orderly wheels her away, she reaches back for Charlie's hand. And his heart overflows with love.

When they arrive at exam cubicle five, Charlie helps Maya out of the chair and onto the exam bed. She falls back and puts her arm over her head. Charlie realizes that this is the same cubicle that Bella sat in the last time she was here, the first time he'd laid eyes on Maya. The day that changed his life.

A tall, slim nurse named Belinda pushes the curtain aside and greets Charlie. She looks around, probably expecting to see Bella in some state of injury or illness. Honestly, he knows these folks so well, they're all on his Christmas card list.

Her jocularity evaporates when she spies Maya. Belinda walks to the side of the table and takes her hand. "Honey, what's going on?"

Maya is near tears. Haltingly, she says, "I was okay when I went to bed. When…I woke up, I puked." She turns her face to Belinda. "My head feels like it is going to split wide open. Do you think I need a…a…tap for…men…"

"Meningitis? We'll ask Dr. Kean. Honey, I need to get your vitals." She pops a thermometer under Maya's tongue and feels for the pulse in her wrist. She wraps a blood pressure cuff around her upper arm and when it beeps, she unwraps it, writes all the numbers on the chart and gently squeezes her arm. "I'll be back with the doctor in a few minutes."

Before Charlie can go into full-blown panic mode, the curtain is pulled back and a short, balding doctor walks in that Charlie has never met. He has Maya's chart in his hand but he doesn't acknowledge Charlie. His attention is solely on his patient. They are clearly well acquainted, as he makes no introduction.

"BP, pulse, respirations, all up." He shakes his head solemnly. "Belinda will take a nasal swab for rapid flu. You told her you woke up sick? Just a few hours ago?"

There's an urgency to the doctor's voice that sets Charlie on edge. And not just his voice. He stares at Maya with an intensity bordering on alarm.

Maya pushes hair out of her face and sits up. "Yeah." She begins to pull at and flex her fingers alternately with rubbing her temples. "Doctor, I feel terrible."

Dr. Kean sighs and pats Maya on the arm. He leaves when Belinda comes in to swab for flu. That takes just a moment, and when she and Charlie are alone, Maya begins to cry, which breaks Charlie's heart. He has no idea how to help her. His feeling of powerlessness is crippling, and an amazing thing happens.

Charlie last cried when Renee walked out and took his baby daughter with her, leaving him alone in a house he hadn't wanted, without the only thing that he'd actually wanted: Bella. He'd made up his mind on that day that he would never again let anyone get close enough to make him cry.

For seventeen years he's lived his life according to that code, until he'd met this amazing woman. And now her pain is his pain. He feels a tear slide down his cheek and knows that this is the woman he's been saving his love for.

Charlie holds Maya's hand as they wait for the results. After about twenty minutes, Dr. Kean returns. "Your rapid flu test was negative. We're doing a lumbar tap for meningitis. Be a few minutes."

Maya starts to cry again. Belinda comes in and tells Charlie he'll have to leave. He goes outside to smoke a cigarette and instead smokes three. When he goes back in to the little waiting room, he sees all the magazines he'd read the last time he was here. And the time before that. After sitting for about half an hour he begins to pace, and finally Belinda comes to tell him that Maya's procedure is finished.

He hurries to her cubicle as the doctor pushes the curtain aside and disappears down the hall. Maya is drugged but conscious, and reaches for Charlie's hand. "Don't leave me, Chief," she murmurs.

Charlie brushes the hair from her face. "Never." She smiles weakly and flexes her hands, trying to pull at her fingers, but still feeling the effects of the relaxant. Charlie massages her hands and she sighs, rolling toward him on the hospital bed.

Belinda comes in about an hour later with discharge paperwork. "We'll call with results," she says, handing him a sheaf of papers. Charlie fetches the cruiser and picks Maya up at the patient entrance/exit, sitting in her wheelchair, looking like she's about to pass out.

Once back home, Maya falls onto the bed and Charlie rubs her back until she falls asleep. He sits with her, holding her scorching hand in his, and feels his love envelop and surround her. It overflows, and he imagines it covering every surface in the room, filling it up, seeping into every corner. He is overwhelmed, overcome, and over-the-top in love with this woman.

As her breathing slows and she enters a deep sleep, Charlie straightens her blankets and goes to her kitchen, thinking he might need to go shopping for some groceries, but after checking her pantry and refrigerator, sees that she has plenty of food in the house.

He sits before her big screen TV and watches the sports channel, finding no pleasure in the game without Maya sitting beside him, swearing at the bungling referees. After about an hour, his phone lights up and he opens it quickly before it can ring, so it doesn't wake her.

"Chief, this is Samantha, at the Masen district office. Sorry to bother you on a Sunday, but we have a problem."

Charlie sits up and turns off the TV. "Go ahead."

"We found a hiker, up on Trail 42. His girlfriend reported him missing after he'd failed to turn up after his day in the woods. She's staying at the Motel Six in town. They're from New Mexico." Charlie groans. He's lost track of the number of tourists who visit with no understanding of the dangers and complexities of the area.

"What happened to him?" Bear attack, probably.

"Not sure, but he's mauled pretty badly. Blood everywhere. We found a print that you gotta see. A naturalist is on her way from Seattle to take a look."

"I'll be out there as soon as I can manage it." Charlie stands up and paces the small house. Maya moans from her bed. Her sister, Carmen, lived here last year when the infamous and now extinct 'gang of five' roamed the streets, breaking windows. He looks around for Maya's phone and finds it in the kitchen. After locating Carmen's number, he calls her.

"Ah, Madre de Dios," Carmen says, when Charlie explains the situation. "Don't worry, Chief, I'll be right over. I'll bring her here to my house."

Exactly eight minutes later, he hears a car in the drive and Carmen bursts through the front door. She sits with Maya for a few minutes while Charlie brings her up to speed on the events of the morning. "The doctor said he'd call with her spinal tap results this afternoon," he says, as Carmen clucks sadly. "I gave her Maya's cell number, so take her phone."

Carmen gets up and pulls open some dresser drawers. "Chief, can you carry her to my car? I'll grab some of her stuff." Charlie nods, smiling weakly. They both call him 'Chief'. He pulls the covers down and carefully lifts Maya into his arms, but she doesn't respond. The heat from the fever radiates off of her in waves. Her head lolls as he carries her out to Carmen's Toyota and places her in the back.

Carmen is right behind him. She throws the bag in the passenger seat and climbs in the car. "Thanks, Chief. I'll call with the results of her tap." Charlie watches the car make its way down the street, quelling a fierce urge to chase it. After it makes a turn and is out of sight, he sighs and goes back inside. He locks up Maya's house and calls Mark on his cell to coordinate their approach.

Sunday, October 29th noon

Maya wakes up and pukes in the car on the way to her sister's house. She tries to apologize as Carmen races down side streets and runs stop signs in an attempt to shorten the trip. She stomps on the brake and the car is still inching forward when she's out and hauling Maya to her feet and into the house.

Maya falls onto the spare bed, almost comatose. A thermometer is nudged under her tongue and registers a whopping 106 degrees.

Carmen goes outside and wipes the vomit off her car seat, sick with worry. Back inside, she sits with her sister, sponging her face with a damp cloth and urging her to drink water. Heat radiates off of her in scalding waves and sweat soaks the sheets, plastering Maya's hair to her head.

While Maya sleeps, Carmen searches meningitis on her computer. What she reads isn't comforting. When she feels she might go mad with the worrying and waiting, the hospital lab calls. They treated Maya's case as an emergency, to get the results back faster. She does not have meningitis, but probably another unspecified viral infection. Carmen calls Charlie to tell him the results, but it goes to voicemail, and she leaves a message.

Afraid to leave her sister's side for long, Carmen quickly makes herself a glass of tea and fetches the English essays that she needs to read for her sixth-grade class. Maya tosses and turns and moans, alternately holding her head and flexing the fingers of both hands. This series of actions wakes in Carmen a long-forgotten legend of her youth, a tale of Wolf Protectors and the cold ones who were a threat to the Quileute people.

She puts the papers aside and sips tea, letting her mind go back to the days when the Littlefoots were a happy family, living by the sea. On stormy nights, their father would sit her and Maya on his lap and tell them the old legends of the tribe, of the demons called cold ones, and the men who had transformed into Wolves to protect the tribe.

As little girls, she and Maya had shrieked in mock terror, delighting him and amusing their mother. As they grew up, the legends turned into whispered tales and rumor. There weren't any Wolves roaming the streets, so it all seemed too fantastical, too bizarre, to be true.

Before she'd graduated from high school, Carmen found out she was pregnant by a white man named Dale Anderson, whom she'd been dating on the sly. As soon as she had her diploma in hand, she and Dale married. They moved to Seattle where he had taken a job, but the marriage broke up after a year. Four years later, with a BA in education, Carmen moved to Forks with her son after landing a teaching job at the middle school.

But Carmen never gave up on the tribe as Maya had. She has friends there still, but she's felt shut out these last few months. Her once gossipy chums have clammed up, and she's not sure what's going on there anymore.

All she knows is what she remembers from the stories that were whispered in church or in the checkout line at the market. They were imparted as legend in the same way as their mother had warned them of La Llorona, a ghost who wanders the borders of rivers in the southwest, looking for her lost children, who she allegedly drowned.

Are the stories true? Ghosts and Wolves and creatures that sucked blood from living victims? To savvy kids learning about space and science, these tales spread by wrinkled old men seemed like silly superstitions. Stories to keep kids in line. So they grew up believing that the old folks believed the stories, and nothing more.

Afraid to take a breath, Carmen looks over at her sister, who even in sleep cradles her sizzling head with both hands. When the thermometer is placed under Maya's tongue, it rises incrementally and steadily, finally beeping at 111 degrees. Before Carmen can fully process this, Maya throws off the sheets and staggers to the bathroom, where she is violently sick.

Carmen runs to help her sister in the bathroom. After walking Maya back to bed, and feeling as if this can't possibly be happening, she steps softly to her phone and calls their uncle, the Chief of the Quileute.

She taps her foot anxiously as she waits for him to answer, and when he finally picks up, doesn't even give him a chance to say 'hello'. Quickly she explains the problem. He tells her he'll be at her house with the tribal doctor as soon as he can locate the man.

The thermometer verifies that Maya's temp has gone up another degree. Carmen grabs a bottle of water out of her refrigerator and wets a clean cloth in the bathroom for Maya's blazing head. Maya moans when the wet cloth is placed on her forehead, but drinks all the water. Bleary red eyes find Carmen. "What is wrong with me? My head is going to explode."

As the sky darkens, the doorbell rings, and Carmen escorts Chief Littlefoot and Dr. Pierce in. The Chief embraces her distractedly and they walk into the spare bedroom. Dr. Pierce sits on the bed and does a thorough exam, taking Maya's temp, feeling her joints and observing her for a few moments. Throughout the poking and prodding, Maya remains as still as death. Carmen wonders if she has fainted.

Dr. Pierce stands up and motions them out of the spare bedroom. Once in the kitchen, he lights a cigarette. "I don't know why or how, but this woman is experiencing the initial manifestation."

Carmen covers her mouth with both hands and takes a deep breath. "They're true," she whispers. "The stories we heard as kids."

Her uncle nods. He looks stricken. Dr. Pierce puffs on his cigarette. There's a charged silence in the house, apart from the quiet moans from the bedroom and the sound of the doctor's foot, tapping on the floor.

"Yes, yes, the legends that we all heard as children are essentially true," her uncle tells her. "There's a treaty in place to protect the tribe from the cold ones, but we promised not to tell their secret. We can hardly claim to be protecting that secret if everyone on the reservation knows the truth." He says this haltingly, as if he's overcome by emotion. It's a side of her uncle that she's unfamiliar with.

Carmen remembers different facets of the legends that her father used to tell Maya and her. "How can you keep it a secret? Don't people talk?"

Chief Littlefoot barks a brittle laugh with no humor. "Oh, they talk. But there's never any corroborating evidence, so it's all simple conjecture. The chatter about it has become more widespread with the number of transformations since last year, but it's a bit like kids believing in Santa Claus. There's talk about him, but you never see him."

"You're telling me that all the stories are the literal truth. Boys in the tribe turning into giant Wolves and the Cullens actually drinking blood. This isn't a scary story or a metaphor for another condition or situation. Wolves and vampires. It's real."

Dr. Pierce tugs at his tie, which he loosens with a quick pull. "Yes, yes, all true, but let's get back to Maya. I'm extremely troubled by this transformation. First, she's by far the oldest of Ephraim's line to phase and I don't know how dangerous this will be for her. She's been in close proximity to Dr. Cullen for almost a year, but that shouldn't have mattered. The Quileute and the Cullens have never lived nearer to each other than Forks and La Push."

"What does it all mean?" Carmen asks. She notices that Dr. Pierce, usually a vigorous, healthy man, looks drawn. Older. She knows his family well, grew up with his daughter, Lisle. Spent lots of time at their house, and even though her parents were strict about her and Maya's schooling, it was the doctor and his determination to impart his values to Lisle that ultimately convinced her to go to school and get her own degree.

Chief Littlefoot taps the table rhythmically, meeting no one's eye.

The doctor takes a pull on his cigarette, a habit he's never even tried to break. "It means we've been making assumptions about this process based on the two earlier events. We assumed the person to phase must live on the reservation, but Maya lives in Forks. We assumed that the process was reserved for teens and young adults, yet Maya is thirty-six years old. Everything we thought we knew has to be tossed out the window, and every descendant of Ephraim Black must be warned that they might also phase." He pauses for a moment and says, "You, too, are at risk, Carmen."

They hear a commotion as Maya bolts into the bathroom and slams the door. Dr. Pierce gestures with his cigarette. "That much is at least normal. She can expect gastrointestinal upset for the duration of the process, approximately seventy-two to ninety hours."

The doctor looks at his watch. "I've got a shift in the evening clinic, so I need to get back to La Push." He stands and tucks his button-up tight into his khakis. He's gotta be at least sixty years old, Carmen thinks, and his hair is still as thick and black as it ever was. At six feet tall, the doctor is a good-looking man. And one of her favorite people in the world.

Carmen walks out with them, still turning over the doctor's words in her mind. You too are at risk. "What will we tell Charlie? He took her to the ER this morning and called me only when he had to go into work, but I'll bet he shows up sometime this evening."

"Keep him away from her," Dr. Pierce says seriously, as he pulls her into a quick hug. "He would only need to touch her skin to realize she has more going on than a viral infection. We'll think of something better by tomorrow."

Her uncle seems lost in thought for a moment, then looks up at Carmen. "I think it will be impossible to keep this away from Charlie. And if we tell him about the Wolves, we'll have to tell him why they transform in the first place. Maya will have no choice but to stop seeing Charlie. It's the only way to keep him safe and the secret within the tribe."

The doctor's big white car makes its way down the tree-lined street, heading into the sunset. Carmen sighs and goes back in to sit with her sister, whom she knows better than the Chief does.

And nobody tells her sister what to do.

When Sam drops by Quil's house to check on him and bring him his groceries, he mentions that Chief Littlefoot's niece has begun her initial transformation. "She's a half-Quileute woman who is thirty-six years old and doesn't even live on the reservation," Sam says with wonder. "Nobody knows why this is happening."

Quil knows why. With a sigh, he tells Sam to go back to town and call a meeting of the full Council right away. "I'll be there in two hours. That should give everyone time to get there. Tell them this is important, Sam."

Ninety minutes later, Emery shows up to escort his grandfather to the Town Hall. He carries Quil's tatty notebooks, but it's not really necessary anymore, as the Chief had the whole mess photocopied. Still, Emery lugs them along in a big plastic bag, then slips out as the meeting begins.

At the appointed time, all members of the Council grow quiet as the Chief says, "What is it this time, Quil?"

The old Indian pulls a drawing from his bag and passes it around the table. Each Elder glances at it and then hands it on. When it reaches the Chief, he swallows, licks his lips and says, "Oh, my good god."

Quil sighs and nods. "I had the vision and made this drawing many years ago. It was one of hundreds that made no sense at the time. When I heard about your niece's manifestation, I pulled it out and spoke to Wolf about it. And now I know what it means. I think I know what it all means."

The drawing is of a big man. An old man, who kneels before a circular stone fire pit. Flames leap into the air, showering sparks. In his hand he holds the Wolf amulet that is passed to every Chief. The Quileute believe it to be the conduit that allows the magic to flow through. It allows the tribe to transform into Wolves to protect the tribe.

Lightning streaks across the sky and snow falls onto the landscape. At the bottom of the drawing, Quil had scrawled some words. "Pain. Sorrow. Woe. Mutilation. Fear. Death.

All eyes are on the Chief, who stares at the drawing with a horrified expression. "This is you, Jonas," Quil says. "You have dabbled in the ancient magic. Please say that you didn't do this during the storm of September."

With his mouth gaping open in shock, the Chief says, "I did it the night the storm hit."

Billy Black speaks in his slow, deep voice. "Is this true?"

The Chief nods slowly. "I had a dream of a vicious attack on the reservation. That's why I performed the spell." He hangs his head.

Quil pales. He pushes himself shakily to his feet and leans over the table with a focused intensity, staring his Chief with wide eyes and a mouth gaping open in horror. "Good lord. Was it a full moon when you did the spell? A full moon during the storm of September?" Wolf, for the first time in decades, gives a soft whine. No one but Quil seems to hear it.

"It was snowing, Quil," the Chief says, his voice pleading.

"Can somebody find out?" Quil asks.

Dave pulls out a sharp cell phone and snaps it open. After a moment, he says quietly, "That was the day of the full moon."

Quil falls back into his chair. "I think you did it wrong. I think that the magic has…overflowed, and that all the problems have been becauseof this." The Council waits for him to elaborate the point, and he counts the events off on his fingers.

He sticks out his thumb. "First, Michael got a wild hair across his ass and broke the treaty! He foolishly went onto Cullen land and spied on them." Index finger goes out next. "Jasper lost control and came onto the reservation and abducted Emery." Middle finger next. "Then in a kneejerk reaction, the Council banished the Cullens for breaking the treaty that we had already broken." Ring finger goes out. "Then there's all these visions and drawings that are coming into sharper focus. I am communicating with Wolf more and more."

Dave says, "What can we do about it?"

Quil gives a short, humorless laugh. "I didn't have a vision about that. I don't know that anything can be done. It might have to play out, but I found a few more drawings. I'm not certain about this one. The vision was blurred. It was…painful. I turned my face away from it. Then I drew this." He slides a worn, yellowed piece of paper to the middle of the table. In the corner is scrawled 11/29/79. It's a simple picture of a caduceus. It's a picture of two snakes winding around a winged staff.

It's on pins, bags, signs, banners, and letterheads. The symbol for medicine.

He had received the vision and drawn the symbol twenty-six years ago. He looks over to Wolf, who sits very straight and pants silently. "Here's another. Wolf won't comment on it, which I find unusual. The vision was a simple brown Wolf, alone in the forest." The drawing is exactly that—a brown Wolf, alone beside an ancient cabin, high on the mountain. First Beach is just visible on the edge.

Quil knows that the Elders of the Council, old men who have seen fellow Quileute transform into Shapeshifters, who have sat face to face with vampires, who not only believe in the ancient magic but have seen it firsthand, are sometimes overcome by the power and mystery of their own tribe.

Chief Littlefoot sits frozen in his chair. His gray hair, usually braided so neatly down his back, is unkempt. The wispy hairs hang in his face, combined with his pallor and overall expression of horror, make him look like a vagrant.

He's still the Chief, though, and he pulls himself together. He grits his teeth, after taking a deep breath says, "What can we do, Quil?"

The old Seer falls back into his chair and holds his head in his withered, aged hands. Hunched in his plastic chair, surrounded by the drawings he'd scrawled over the years from the visions he'd gotten by eating a poisonous herb in the blowing snow—an act he did for his tribe, that will most likely end up shortening his life—he looks ancient, near death.

"From the direction that I feel Wolf has been leading me, I think things will reach their climax during the upcoming full moon, which is on Thursday." He wipes his face with a paper napkin. "We'll just all hope that Bella Swan doesn't commit suicide due to our foolishness." Due to your foolishness. He slides that drawing to the middle of the table, and it's as shocking now as it was the first time they saw it.

Dead swan, her muddy feathers buffeted by the surf at First Beach, her orange bill laced with seaweed.

Her dead eyes staring out at the cloudy sky, sightless, glassy in death.