Chapter 6 – Hey, Brother
The obituary for Lynette Bishop was published, online and in print by a local paper several counties over, about a week after Ruby's run-in with the ghost of Lizzie. The date of death for the woman was only three days after said run-in, and the extensive summation of her life told the wolves and elders and various other relevant parties little that they hadn't already known or suspected.
Lynette had gotten her daughter killed and herself blinded and paralyzed in a gruesome DUI wreck while trying to outrun the drug dealer from whom she'd stolen quite a lot of cash and product. The woman had served most of a ten-year prison sentence, during which she'd gone sober and done much to contribute to various outreach and support programs for inmates and addicts as well as their children. She'd continued said work upon her release, until her deteriorating health, a combination of the original injuries and a cancer diagnosis, had left her barely able to leave her apartment and scheduled to soon enter hospice care. Her passing had been expected, but her various friends and colleagues reported that she'd spent her last days seemingly happy and at peace, eager to see her daughter again.
None of that explained how the fuck Lizzie had managed to possess Ruby for, apparently, the express purpose of hitching a ride to accompany her mom along to the afterlife. Maybe the timing had been a complete coincidence. Maybe poor Lizzie really had spent the last fourteen years wandering aimlessly on the stretch of highway where she'd died, just waiting for someone, anyone, to help her find her way home.
Still, how had Ruby ended up being that person? As far as she knew, she'd never before had the ability to see dead people, let alone interact with and get body-jacked by them. There was recent precedent for the latter (Thanks, Grandpa), but she hadn't actually seen his disembodied spirit before, during, or after the event.
Granny and Old Quil seemed to have an idea of what was going on, but neither was talking. Well, they were talking to each other, surprisingly—not even shouting insults and death threats, just whispering back and forth about seemingly weighty topics and clamming up whenever Ruby or anyone with superhuman hearing got close enough to start to discern the actual wording.
It was really, really annoying.
And the excruciating headache and all-over feeling of raw, violated nerves that the girl had been battling since the incident certainly didn't help. Thankfully, she had plenty of work to distract her and to give her a perfectly reasonable excuse to remain cloistered in either her room or her van while she chipped away at all her tasks and projects and classes.
"Oh, come on! Just fuck already!"
The van was often the better choice. Granny was doing a lot of catching up, too—on the decade of TV shows and movies she'd missed while living alone in her off-grid cabin. And Granny's version of media consumption was loud and opinionated and not conducive to anyone else's concentration on anything else.
Plus, Ruby was getting pretty sick of vacuuming up popcorn that had been thrown at the screen.
Sighing and kneading her throbbing forehead—and pointedly not touching the itchy line of five stitches holding together the small gash on the back of her skull—the girl wondered whether it would be worth it to move all her gear after she'd just moved it inside. Mom was gone for the next few days for work, as usual, so Ruby had her bedroom back, but she was honestly coming to really, really appreciate the solitude and privacy of living in her van. It was a bit cramped as far as workspaces went, but at least it was peaceful and quiet.
"No! You morons! Don't fall for that crap! You're gonna get your fine asses killed! How you gonna make gorgeous babies together if you get your fine asses killed?!"
Granny had a definite penchant for any kind of drama featuring main characters with painfully long-running will-they-won't-they vibes—also known as a hefty dose of vitamin UST.
Ruby didn't watch much TV. She wasn't a fan of unproductive activities—she inevitably just obsessed over all the useful things she could be doing instead, and that level of worry and fixation was more stressful than actual work. She'd never been good at any degree of escapism, healthy or otherwise.
"Honey? Hey, Ru? Got a sec?"
It took the girl a few moments to realize that Granny was calling for her rather than heckling the current episode of whatever show she was binge-watching. "Oh, sorry," Ruby murmured, saving her work and standing up from her desk to venture sedately into the cozy living room. "Did you need something?"
"Mind running to the store for me?" the tiny old woman inquired with a fond grin on her weathered face. "There's five bucks in it for ya."
Ruby actually despised shopping anywhere on the rez, and even fifty bucks wouldn't have been all that tempting. Still, nothing good would come from denying Granny's objectively reasonable and polite request or from turning down the generous reward being offered. "Sure," the teen agreed, doing her best to force a weak smile, which she was certain looked more like a constipated grimace. "What am I picking up?"
Granny handed over a list, which Ruby didn't bother even glancing at, just stuffing it in her pocket and grabbing her keys, coat, and boots and venturing out into the frigid, overcast morning. The Kayad household was nestled at the edge of the forest on the fringes of what was considered the main La Push settlement, but on a good day (meaning decent visibility and dryish road conditions), a trip to the small general store didn't take too long.
She pointedly did not acknowledge anyone who happened to be walking along the side of the road, especially one particular man who seemed dressed for a different century and actually tried to flag her down.
Nope. Not dealing with anymore ghostly bullshit. Fuck off, Casper.
Ruby made it to her destination and hurried inside, trying not to shiver as she navigated the narrow, cluttered aisles of miscellaneous goods. There wasn't much on Granny's list, but the last item was of course located on a high shelf all the way at the back. The girl pouted up at it, cursing her miniscule height and mentally concocting and dismissing various plans for securing her goal without having to trudge to the front of the store and rouse the groggy cashier from his retail stupor.
A light cough behind her had the girl whirling around to find a gawky teenage boy, probably a bit younger than she was but thankfully at least a foot taller. He gave a hesitant grin and offered, "Want me to grab something for you?"
"Please," Ruby murmured, pointing to the item and accepting it gratefully when it was handed over with no attempt to taunt her. "Thanks."
"No problem," he replied. That should've been the end of the interaction. The helpful stranger should've just moseyed off to finish his own shopping, good deed done. However, the boy remained, shuffling awkwardly and stealing glances at her from underneath thick black lashes, which matched the rest of his long hair. "Um," he finally ventured, "You're Ruby, right?"
She nodded, hesitant and wary.
As though sensing her mounting tension, the boy stuffed his hands into the pockets of his ragged jeans and slouched down a bit, trying to make himself look smaller. (It didn't work, but the effort was noted.) "I'm Embry," he greeted. "Embry Call."
Also known as one of Ruby's apparent legion of half-brothers. Once she looked for it, his resemblance to Sam—the shape of the brow and nose and jaw and the slightly too big ears—became apparent. Thanks, Dad.
"I heard Billy- uh, Chief Black say that you were good at computer stuff," Embry babbled on, seeming oblivious or uncaring about their familial connection. "My mom owns the bakery, and I've been trying to convince her to set up a better website for it. The one she's got now is pretty bad. She made it in some community college class years ago, and she totally only got a C. I know she's lost out on a couple of contracts because it doesn't look professional at all. An explosion of goofy clipart, really. And that's the nicest description."
There wasn't a question anywhere in the outburst, so it took Ruby a long moment of blinking stupidly at the boy to pin down what he was hinting at. "I can give you my card," she declared. "I have some in my van. But it might be a little while before I can take her on as a client. I'm in the middle of a few other projects at the moment." Not to mention trying to figure out the newest wave of supernatural nonsense that was determined to ruin her life.
Embry grinned, which made him look a lot less like Sam, if only for the fact that Sam rarely smiled at all and never anywhere near as widely. "Thanks," the boy chirped, holding out a hand for the shopping basket. "Are you close to done? I'll just walk out with you if that's ok."
Ruby nodded her assent and surrendered her shopping, unsure if she was impressed or annoyed at the chivalrous gesture. Well, she was unsure about a lot of her feelings at the moment. This was her little brother—half-brother, whatever—and she was meeting him for the first time. And he likely had no idea about their shared paternity. He was asking for her help, and she kind of wanted to give it to him free of charge and no strings attached, but to do that, she'd probably have to explain why, and… she didn't think she was ready. She didn't have even an inkling about how to begin the surely awkward conversation that would be required. She needed more time to prepare herself for the possibility of rejection.
Checking out occurred in a bit of a daze, as did the leisurely stroll to where her van was parked at the edge of the cracked tarmac pad that passed for a parking lot. Only then did Ruby realize that Embry had picked up her shopping bags and dutifully, silently followed in her wake.
She unlocked and slid open the side panel and then climbed inside her home/office on wheels and beelined to the spot where she kept her stash of crisp business cards, one set for her website design business and another set for her essential oils business. She'd designed both cards and both the websites they advertised, which were good examples of her work; plus, maybe Ms. Call would want to order some oils, too.
"Um, here," Ruby offered as she held out the little rectangles.
Embry didn't accept them right away, too busy gaping at the van's interior. "Wow," he finally murmured, taking the cards with barely a glance. "Jake said your van was cool, but he didn't mention that it was a whole tiny apartment."
Pride welled in her chest, and a response spilled out of her mouth almost without permission: "Do you want a tour?"
He nodded, bobbleheaded and pretty adorable in his enthusiasm as he jumped inside. Unfortunately, he was already slightly too tall for the space, but not by much. Although he had to stand with his neck or knees slightly bent to stay upright, he didn't seem too uncomfortable in the brief time it took Ruby to show off Jezebel and all her assorted features. The young woman even opened the pop-top roof to reveal the cozy little sleep loft.
"This is so awesome," Embry remarked after briefly poking his head through the hatch in the ceiling. "Man, I gotta get a job and start saving now if I want to afford something this awesome by the time I get my license."
Ruby had never been prone to having her mouth outpace her brain, so she was surprised when it happened yet again: "I've been looking to hire someone to help me sell at craft fairs and farmer's markets and other stuff like that. It would mean giving up some Saturdays, but we could use the drive time for me to teach you how to fix your mom's website yourself."
"Really?" the boy responded hopefully. "That sounds great! I don't mind about working Saturdays. I usually just hang out with Jake and Quil, and I can do that any day."
"It would help me out a lot," she replied. "Everything I've read has warned that doing a booth alone is hard, even if just for the fact that you won't have anyone to watch it while you take a bathroom break. And I… I'm not the best with people. You seem friendly, so customer service hopefully won't be too much of a challenge for you."
"Oh, nah," he declared, waving off the concern, "Piece of cake. Sometimes literally. I help my mom in her bakery when she's short-staffed. Mostly on the register and waiting tables and packing orders." Offering a self-denigrating grin, he added, "Everything but the actual baking. I'm terrible at it. Still, I get all the day-old product I can eat, so I can't complain."
With a low chuckle that seemed to bubble out of her without permission, Ruby teased, "Well, first rule of working for me is don't eat the product. I prefer not to have to drive you to the hospital to get your stomach pumped."
They shared a laugh, and it made Ruby feel… lighter. She liked her little brother. Not that Sam wasn't great, too; he was, but he was also a very serious person—they had that in common, which was nice but also a bit intense at times. For all that Embry gave off vibes of being just as solid and dependable, he definitely radiated a lot more optimism and joy.
So, Ruby found herself asking if he wanted to be dropped off somewhere, and he agreed with a bright smile. Soon, they were both buckled in and cruising along the few blocks to the beach, chatting amiably about the van again, examining the perks and challenges of owning and operating such a large and unique vehicle.
The spot that Ruby chose for dropping off her brother had a clear view of the cliffs in the distance… and on that day, a clear view of the three idiots taking turns jumping off the highest one.
She had to slam on the breaks and slam her eyes shut and attempt to breathe past the sudden surge of terror. Heights were the worst, and even seeing others fall like that made her sick. "Fuck," the girl gasped. "Oh shit. Oh fuck. A-Are they…"
"They're fine," Embry soothed, a note of annoyance in his voice, though it didn't seem to be directed at her. "Just Sam Uley and his cult showing off. They do it all the time… Are you ok?"
Forcing herself to nod but definitely not ready to open her eyes yet as her heart raced and threatened to pound its way right out of her chest, Ruby croaked, "Heights. I-I can't…"
"That's alright," Embry said. "I get it. Snakes are my thing. Seeing one on TV is almost as bad as seeing one in person." His full-body shudder actually shook the van. "Take a minute. I'm not in any rush."
Ruby nodded and indeed managed to get a hold of herself fairly quickly. "Thanks," she finally declared, peering over at him through cracked lids. "Caught me by surprise."
"I'll bet," he chuckled, rolling his dark eyes. "It's not really something that anyone sane would expect or do…" Nodding at her hands, which were still white-knuckled around the steering wheel and shaking quite badly, the boy wondered, "Are you gonna be able to get home?"
Ruby nodded once more and little by little managed to make her fingers unclench from their phobic death-grip. She huffed out a breath, stating, "Yeah. I'll be- I'm good. Sorry."
"No apology needed," he insisted. "I'll call you tonight, ok?" Upon receiving another weak nod, he smiled once more before jumping out of the vehicle, waving happily as she executed a tight U-turn (all the better to not be facing any repeat performance from the cliff jumpers) and sped off down the road.
The drive home was uneventful. There were still a few people out walking, and each one she passed made all her recently rattled nerves writhe in renewed horror as she remembered her encounter with Lizzie.
Getting home would've been a relief, but she arrived to see that Old Quil's truck was parked in the driveway.
The impromptu trip to the store suddenly didn't seem very impromptu.
Sighing deeply, once again sincerely considering a permanent move to her van, Ruby got out of it and brought the shopping inside. Head down, face concealed behind a curtain of dark hair, she dropped the bags in the kitchen and waited anxiously for her granny's inevitable summons.
"Ru, honey," the old woman soon called from the little table on the back porch, "C'mon and sit down a sec. We need to talk."
Are those words ever used in a non-ominous sense? the girl wondered with a weary sigh, venturing toward the inevitable bad news.
xxXxx
"Ruby was here," Paul announced as he and his pack brothers walked along the beach to return to Sam's truck. Their morning of cliff diving had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, a much-needed bit of careless fun and camaraderie while they could afford to let their guard down. For Paul, it was a bit of a confidence boost before he left to complete his first eight-hour shift at Haven House, a women's shelter in Port Angeles.
Sam gave the air a single sniff, likely detecting the distinct van exhaust and herbal medley, and agreed, "Yeah… You think she saw us?"
There was a loud scoff from nearby, and the trio of wolves suddenly turned their attention to farther down the beach, to the trio of young teens who had the potential to become wolves in the future.
Pointedly not looking at the shifters but scowling nonetheless, Embry Call seemed to be the scoffer.
It probably wasn't a good sign; he shouldn't have been able to hear them from that far away.
"Got a problem?" Paul challenged as his trio passed the other.
Jake and Quil merely glared, but Embry piped up, "Nothing I'd want your help with. Don't you have some steroids to inject? You know that stuff shrinks your balls, right?"
Even his two friends seemed shocked at the quiet kid's clapback, which was a bit clumsy but got points for sheer audacity.
Unfortunately for Embry, Paul was used to hearing such stupid insults and had prepared many appropriate responses. On that day, the older teen chose to quip, "If you wanna see my balls, you're gonna have to buy me dinner first."
Jared howled with laughter, though Sam just sighed wearily and rolled his eyes.
Red-faced and spluttering and glaring more and more hatefully by the second, Embry insisted, "Don't act like you need any excuse to wave your balls around."
"Riiight…" Paul drawled, "Still sounds an awful lot like you're asking to see my balls. Be careful with that, kid. Next time, you might accidentally proposition someone who's a lot less patient and understanding than I am. And in case that was too subtle, thanks for the offer. I'm flattered, really, but you're very much not my type." Though I'd sell you my left nut for a chance with your sister, he thought but didn't say. He was not opening that can of worms.
There was more spluttering, and Jake and Quil each grabbed one of their friend's elbows, dragging him away from the confrontation that he was clearly losing.
The wolves let them go and even continued to walk along the beach, moving out of normal hearing range but well within spirit-warrior hearing range.
When the kids thought that their conversation could not possibly be overheard, they began whispering heatedly back and forth. The highlight was Embry's furious insistence that "No! It isn't right! Ruby's really nice, and they scared the hell out of her! She almost had a panic attack! It's fine when their stupid macho crap isn't hurting anyone other than themselves, but they need to realize that what they do affects other people!"
Paul nearly stopped walking and only didn't because of an insistent nudge from Sam, who murmured, "I'll ask her next time I see her. Relax."
But Paul couldn't. Once the idea that he'd somehow inadvertently hurt Ruby entered his head, it was all he could think about.
Sam, however, clearly had his focus split; despite his obvious worry for his sister, he remarked, "Embry's gotten a lot taller than his friends. And I certainly don't remember him being angry and confrontational. Isn't he the one who cried when he found out where meat comes from?"
"He shouldn't have been able to hear us," Jared agreed.
"Shit," grumbled Paul. Everyone in the know about the big wolfie secret had been fervently hoping that no more boys would phase. The Cullens were gone, which should've meant that the pack didn't need to grow.
The fact that it likely would anyway meant that there were still leeches in the area.
"Might want to talk to the kid," Paul pointed out. "A paternity reveal on top of phasing would probably lead to a much worse freak-out. Plus, you know how terrified all of us were the first time. Maybe if we warn him, he won't have it as bad."
With an aggrieved sigh, Sam declared (not for the first time), "The council doesn't want us to."
"Fuck the council," spat Paul. "They're not the ones who have to deal with a surprise species reassignment! I thought I was dying, and then I thought I'd gone insane! And none of that was nearly as bad as realizing what I'd done to Ruby, even before I knew she was my imprint! It's a total dick move to just… just let that happen to people! To kids! To do nothing to even try to stop us from inflicting damage that we can't ever take back!"
He'd been doing a lot better lately with managing his anger (having already attended several anger-management classes, which were more like group therapy combined with a support group but overall more helpful and less annoying than he'd feared), but his last human memory—Ruby's broken, bloody body collapsed in the mud because of him—and the knowledge that it had been entirely avoidable made him vibrate with fury. The whole reason that Sam and Jared had even been at the school that day, had been close enough to pull Paul off Ruby before he managed to kill her, was that they and the council had noticed that he was displaying all the signs, that his first phase was imminent.
The council had a lot to answer for, and no amount of respect your elders bullshit was going to keep him from calling out their callous incompetence.
"If I'd known what was happening, I never would've gone to school that day!" Paul insisted, old hurts reopening like infected wounds that needed to be drained. "I never would've put myself in the position of being close enough to hurt anyone!"
The guilt was a heavy weight that would always be with him, but the council had placed secrecy over the mental and physical well-being of not only the wolves but also every member of the tribe and the surrounding community. And the old geezers had obviously learned nothing from Paul's violent pre-phase outburst if they were still insisting on secrecy, on letting distraught teenagers get blindsided by the change and potentially hurt themselves and those around them.
"And now Ruby's hanging out with Embry, apparently!" he continued. "She might end up standing right next to him the first time he phases! And he won't know shit! He won't know to get away from her before he hurts her! She'll get hurt again! He'll probably never forgive himself! Is that what you want?!"
"Of course not," Sam snarled in reply, his voice low to the point of almost being subsonic.
It probably wasn't fair to play on the protectiveness and burgeoning sibling love that the alpha felt toward his newly revealed sister and brother to convince him to do what Paul wanted. But Paul didn't care, especially if his efforts kept Ruby safe. "So, tell those pricks where to shove their moronic rules," he growled. "Or better yet, don't tell them a damn thing! It's not like they bother to tell us much. Just do what you believe is right. That's why you're the alpha."
Sam didn't respond, but he did frown heavily. He did seem to be thinking hard, carefully considering Paul's words.
xxXxx
Living with Granny wasn't all bad. In fact, it was actually kind of nice. Unlike Mom, she cooked and hugged. She even hunted and fished and foraged, which helped reduce the grocery bill by quite a lot. Plus, most of what Ruby knew about herblore had come from Granny, so having her around was a great source of wisdom and even an extra set of hands for the growing, gathering, and processing steps of the essential oils business. In fact, if Granny could've been trusted not to call customers idiots to their faces, she definitely would've been the first person Ruby asked to help her with craft fairs, farmer's markets, and various other venues.
But, alas, Granny definitely could not be trusted not to call customers idiots to their faces. (Granny was, in fact, almost guaranteed to call most people idiots to their faces.) It was fine, really. Everyone had their strengths and weaknesses, and Ruby knew that effective management hinged on assigning the right person to the right job.
Embry was friendly, outgoing, kind, patient, and calm; he also had retail and customer-service experience. So, even if he hadn't been her secret half-brother, Ruby would have felt pretty confident about hiring him. She definitely wasn't hiring him because he was her brother.
She also definitely wasn't considering the best way to tell him that he was her brother. Or, well, probably her half-brother through their shared degenerate father, according to her mother's hateful comments, which really weren't concrete evidence of anything… But if Ruby told one potential brother, she wouldn't feel right about not telling the other two possibilities her mom had named: Terrence Steelhead and Bryce Yarrow. And that wasn't counting at least two additional sons whose paternity had been confirmed when their mothers tried and failed to go after Josh for child support. Ruby knew of the boys but not their names or locations; however, she could probably track them down with a little effort. And that was… a lot of half-brothers. A lot of people to deal with, especially for a girl who wasn't very good at dealing with people at all.
"Ru? Ruby? Ruby, are you listening?"
The girl looked up from her contemplation of the faintly iridescent surface of her rapidly cooling tisane, an antianxiety blend courtesy of Granny that had been getting a lot of use in the Kayad household. Blankly, Ruby blinked at the other three inhabitants of the small backyard table.
Sighing, obviously not pleased to be ignored, Granny grabbed one of the girl's hands and squeezed. "Pay attention please, sweetheart," she instructed. "This is important."
"Important enough for you to plan an intervention, clearly," Ruby grumbled.
"We're all on your side, dear," insisted Sue Clearwater, there in her capacity as therapist and nurse. "We just want to help you get through this, but we can't do anything if you won't let us."
Ruby didn't feel at all guilty about skipping her mandated therapy appointments. It wasn't like she'd just no-showed without reason. Each cancelation had been given with a polite forty-eight hours' notice. She had a lot of work to do, so sitting around whining about her feelings would have to wait until she was caught up.
Or until never. Never's good, too.
"I'm not going to talk to you," Ruby insisted, surprising herself by speaking up. (Maybe there was a little something extra in the tisane.) "And sitting in silence for an hour would be a waste of my time and yours."
Sue nodded sagely and sipped her own beverage before replying, "I see. Can you tell me why you don't want to talk?"
Ruby merely stared back, incredulous and wondering if such transparent tricks really worked on the woman's usual patients. If that was what therapy was all about, then the decision to avoid it was obviously prudent.
"Swing and a miss," Old Quil chuckled, his weathered face morphing into a scowl to meet Sue's answering moue of disapproval and distaste. "Oh, relax," he griped. "You'll have plenty of other chances to talk the kid into head-shrinking, but a change of topic is probably best for the moment."
Loathe as she was to agree with any of her ambushers' proposals, Ruby found herself nodding.
"Super," the ancient man barreled onward without receiving any further input, digging a pair of photos out of his pocket and placing them on the round metal table. "Recognize these two ladies?"
Reluctantly, Ruby reached for and scooped up and reoriented and looked at the pictures. One was a bit older than the other, faded and frayed around the edges, but each showed a different pretty Native woman in probably her late thirties or early forties smiling and posing for the camera (film rather than digital). The faded and frayed print showed a tall, slender woman in front of an empty easel set up along a stretch of beach; the crisp one showed a tall, curvy woman leaning against a thick tree trunk in a dense forest.
"They came to dinner that one time with the rest of you," Ruby replied, still rather unsure of how she felt about what she considered the main event of that evening: Paul's groveling apology and promise to be better. Then, a sinking feeling of dread began to settle in her queasy stomach. "T-There weren't enough chairs…" she remembered, also remembering how oddly the elders and the pack had looked at her when she insisted on fetching two more seats rather than rudely letting the two quiet women stand sedately behind… behind Sam and Chief Black.
The two women had sat down, but they hadn't said a word. They hadn't eaten a bite. They hadn't interacted with anyone or anything. They'd stared intently at Ruby throughout the entire meal and the conversation that came after. It had been… weird and kind of distracting…
"Allison Uley," Old Quil stated, motioning to the picture in Ruby's right hand, the woman in front of the tree. "Sam's mother. She died in 2003 of a brain aneurysm." With a gesture to the picture in Ruby's left hand, the woman in front of the easel, Old Quil continued, "Sarah Black. Billy's wife. She died in 1999. A drunk driver ran her off the road."
Ruby stared at the photos for another long moment before placing them both back on the table, facedown. She forced herself to keep breathing, slowly and deeply, vaguely feeling Granny grab one of her hands. The overarching theme was nothing that Ruby hadn't already guessed, but somehow, every little bit of information that confirmed the theory came as a shock. "And I'm guessing I can't just turn off this… ghost-vision thing," the girl dazedly wondered.
With a shrug, Old Quil leaned back and folded his scarred hands over his slight belly, confessing, "I can work with you to try, but to be honest, I don't know. There are a few ways that a person can go about gaining an ability like yours, assuming they weren't just born with it. The safest is the intentional route. For simplicity's sake, imagine the physical world and the spirit world as being separated by a wall. Seeing what's happening on the other side generally involves a lot of focused effort, meditation and reflection and study and the like. Guidance from someone who's already been through the process. You have to know that the wall and what's on the other side of it exist. You have to find the wall. You have to explore the wall. Then, you have to find or build a window. You have to clean it and polish it and oil the hinges. You have to figure out how to unlock it, how to open it, how to keep it open. And most importantly, you have to know how to close it back up again and lock it up tight and put up anything from curtains to bars to a burglar alarm."
The unspoken implication was heard loud and clear: so that what's on the other side can't come through.
Ruby shivered but couldn't manage to tear her own eyes away from the old man's dark, piercing gaze.
"For anyone who's had a brush with death," he continued, "Whether it was a near death or a death that they were revived from, that's like… being thrown hard against the wall or a window. Usually, hard enough to cause some damage. A crack or even a hole in the glass or the plaster. Fixable, over time, if you have the right knowledge and tools. After being thrown so hard at the spot, it's not too difficult to find again, even without guidance, and it's likely to always be a bit of a problem area. It might never be the same as it was before it was damaged, but, hey, even cardboard and duct tape will keep the rain out, for a little while. It's not a common situation by any means, but it happens enough that plenty of people know how to help. And expectations as far as quality of life for those affected are overall pretty good, as long as they put in the work to repair the damage and adapt to the changed situation."
Granny squeezed Ruby's hand, which made the girl realize that the old woman hadn't let go. And that helped, actually.
Ruby squeezed back.
"Your case is different," Old Quil murmured gravely, "At least as far as I can tell. You'd been wandering near the wall, probably without noticing, and passing the occasional window, leaning too hard against the glass and opening 'em by accident. Not a lot. Just barely enough to let in a draft. Nothing that anyone who wasn't poking at the particular windows would've noticed or cared about. But once the imprint happened, you suddenly had a lot of attention from the other side. Nosy ancestors who would've had to be content with pressing their faces up against the glass and just watching everything play out from a distance. Except you were still wandering close to the wall, and those drafty windows weren't secure. They got pushed open more and more and let the ancestors shout and reach through, enough that you heard 'em and felt 'em while you were in a vulnerable dream state."
Another shiver rattled the girl's spine from top to bottom. The nightmare she had when she tried to run… The bruises and scratches…
"But that still should've been the extent of the experience," he said, adding an aggrieved sigh. "Spirits usually can't fully return to the physical world after leaving it. They're not supposed to be able to do so at all unless they're summoned or invited. And possession is… rare. I'm not really sure how Reuben managed any of it, except for the fact that he always was a stubborn bastard who had no respect for rules or laws or sensible limits."
Granny snorted but didn't bother to disagree, her small, calloused palm a warm anchor.
"The ancestors may have shoved open a few unsecured windows," Old Quil continued, "But Reuben smashed a window and demolished its frame and then a chunk of wall big enough for him to waltz on through. Sure, he meant well. He obviously saw that you were struggling and suffering. But just cuz he left when his task was done doesn't mean he cleaned up after himself. Instead of some cracked window panes or holes in the plaster that just need a bit of patching and monitoring, you've got an entire section of missing wall, meaning that for you, the spiritual world is spilling over into the physical, and there's nothing in place to even try to stop it. You're defenseless against any spirit that makes contact."
There was a long stretch of intense silence filled only by the chirping of insects and the croaking of frogs and the rustling of leaves.
Finally, with a look of sorrow and pity, Old Quil admitted, "I know how to guide a person through putting up curtains or bars or a burglar alarm, fixing a few cracks or holes. But I'm not sure what, if anything, can be done about the destruction left behind when some idiot utterly wrecks an entire section of wall... You can't patch something that just isn't there anymore."
xxXxx
The women's shelter was… odd. Paul didn't know what he'd been expecting. Heck, he'd been pretty surprised that they'd agree to let him work there. In his effort to secure as many community service opportunities as possible, he'd cold-called and applied to just about every type of establishment and program he could find that was within running distance but not so far away that people would grow suspicious about how he was getting around without a vehicle.
(Running as a wolf was a lot faster than driving. And more fun. And didn't involve paying for gas or flipping out and nearly phasing every time some idiot cut him off.)
The building was nice but needed a fresh coat of paint and some minor upkeep. From the outside, it looked like an average apartment block, two-stories tall and perfectly square, maybe twenty to twenty-five units total, the middle bit taken up by an overgrown courtyard cluttered with dingy toys, mismatched patio furniture, and some abandoned attempts at container gardening.
Paul's immediate guess was that he would be doing a lot of cleaning, repairs, and landscaping. No problem, he thought as he followed the shelter's manager to her office, obviously what used to be a rental office for the complex. Well, maybe he wouldn't wear a collared shirt next time, but other than that, he was fine with manual labor galore.
"Take a seat, Paul," she said. Her name was Iris Vance, and she looked to be in her late fifties or early sixties, petite and pale and freckled, frizzy hair a mix of blond and gray. She stared at him over her wire-frame glasses, hazel eyes sharp and searching. Dressed smartly but casually, she gave off a sense of being approachable but tough—kind but no-nonsense. "I want to be very clear with you," announced the woman. "We don't get a lot of male volunteers or personnel. Partly, that's because we don't get a lot of male applicants, and we get even fewer for honest reasons. Survivors of abuse, both women and children, are rather unfortunately seen as easy prey by all manner of psychopaths and perverts."
Horrified by how much sense that made, Paul could only stare wide-eyed and nod, not even bothering to fidget in the tiny visitor's chair on the other side of the manager's tidy desk.
"Also, it probably won't surprise you to hear that survivors of abuse perpetrated mainly by men tend to be uncomfortable and fearful around men," she continued matter-of-factly. "Our current residents, twelve women along with five children, were asked before your placement was approved. They're somewhat uneasy with but not overly averse to it. And anyway, short of moving to the middle of nowhere or never leaving their homes, learning to cope in the presence of men is a skill that has to be dealt with eventually. Best to start off in a controlled environment with, hopefully, a well-behaved and respectful individual who's fully aware of the situation and prepared to back off in a hurry if needed. That means watch the tone and volume of your voice. Be mindful of your body language and attitude, and don't bother coming in if the latter is going to be foul. Definitely never even set foot in the area if you're drunk, high, or hungover. Or in a state that might be mistaken for such. While you're here, you're a bit of an ambassador for your gender, and aggressive or inappropriate behavior will not be tolerated."
Again, Paul nodded. He supposed that made sense, too, although he definitely wouldn't have picked himself as an ambassador for his gender. Someone a lot smaller and nicer would've been a better choice, but it sounded like there weren't many people interested in volunteering—or at least volunteering for non-horrifying reasons. Jeez, how sick do you gotta be to go trawling for victims at an abuse shelter?
Ms. Vance seemed satisfied with the reaction and added, "The main reason I accepted your application is that Billy Black and Old Quil vouched for you." She held up a hand to stall the young wolf's expression of surprise. "You disclosed the incident that landed you in trouble, and I normally wouldn't take a chance on someone with any kind of violence in their history. However, Billy and Quil both seem to believe that you're genuinely remorseful and working hard to improve yourself and your behavior. If that's the case, then I think you're going to get a lot more out of seeing the aftermath of abuse firsthand than you would picking up litter on the highway. After all, every boy who can be taught not to solve problems with his fists is one less man who will solve problems with his fists. Understand?"
"Yes, ma'am," he answered instantly. He still expected that most of his work would be manual labor, but there was suddenly a lot of pressure attached. He didn't like that, but… well, his enjoyment wasn't really the point. Paul was there to atone for what he'd done and better himself so that he'd never do anything like it in the future.
"Excellent," said Ms. Vance. "All of our current residents have been here for a month at least and are adjusting well. However, if we get new residents, it might be the case that I have to ask you not to come in for a short time while they get settled and comfortable. If that happens, you don't have to wonder that it was anything you did. I'll tell you immediately about any issues that I or others have with your behavior, and I hope you feel that you can come to me with any questions or concerns of your own. As I said, I want this to be a learning and growth experience for you."
Paul gave another nod, feeling overwhelmed. Maybe the old folks' home would've been a less… intense way to begin his hours.
"Alright then," she drawled, standing from the desk, "Let's get started."
xxXxx
Ruby worked until her eyes lost their ability to focus on the computer screen, and after that distraction was no longer viable, she cleaned and organized the whole house (except Mom's room, where Granny was sleeping like an absolute log) and then the shed where she kept her distilling equipment, soon to be accompanied by soap- and candle-making equipment. Branching out was something that the girl had planned from the very beginning of her venture, but the expansion was still stressful. And the confusing mix of pride and eagerness and anxiety and dread certainly wasn't helping her mental state.
Grimy and sweaty but shivering in the cold darkness, Ruby sat on the front porch steps and considered what to do next. Something, anything, as long as she didn't have to think about… things. As long as she didn't have to sleep.
A vulnerable dream state was what Old Quil had called it. When prompted, he'd elaborated that consciousness was (or was supposed to be) rooted firmly in the physical world, but unconsciousness tended to get a bit more nebulous in the separation of physical and spiritual. Ruby's psych and literature teachers probably would've called it a liminal zone: an in-between state.
And if Ruby's awful ancestors could easily reach her there to torture her about not hopping aboard the soulmate train (and by that, I mean Paul's diseased dick), then she'd avoid said place as much as possible.
Sleep is for the weak.
She flinched harshly, her sluggish synapses comprehending seconds later that a noise had startled her. It was her phone, vibrating beside her on the deck. Caller ID showed a local number but no name, so she answered in her most professional voice: "Hello, this is Ruby. How can I help you?"
"Uh, hi. Hey. It's Embry. We met… earlier… Oh my god, I just realized what time it is! I'm so sorry! Did I wake you?"
"No," she replied without thinking. "I was up. It's fine." He didn't talk for a few seconds, long enough for Ruby to bring her cell down from her face and actually look at the time. Huh. Just past three. How 'bout that. Not too shabby for a person who doesn't consume caffeine.
Finally, Embry sighed, "Still. Sorry. I meant to call you before, but I… got distracted."
"Are you alright?" she wondered. She remembered that he had indeed promised to call her, but in the wake of the intervention, she'd completely forgotten. It felt cruel to let him feel guilty about something that hadn't affected her at all.
His bobbleheaded nod was almost audible through the speaker as he insisted, "Yeah. Just… This is gonna sound weird…"
"No weirder than anything else I've heard today," she reassured with a weary chuckle. "Well-" A jaw-cracking yawn paused her words and made her burning eyes water like hell. "Yesterday, I suppose. Go ahead."
"Do you know who your dad is?"
Ruby was suddenly wide-awake and acutely aware that her secret half-brother had probably heard her sharp intake of breath, which was an answer in and of itself. So, there wasn't much point in not telling him the truth. "Yes," she drawled. "I found out recently. Around two weeks ago. I'm still… processing."
"Oh."
There was a lengthy lull, and a soft rain began to fall, pitter-pattering on the roof and the driveway and the lawn and all the leaves on all the swaying, creaking trees.
"Mom worked late, so I stayed up to talk to her about your job offer and about getting your help with her website. But she… she just… kind of freaked out when she heard your name. She forbade me from taking the job and from ever talking to you again but wouldn't say why. I got mad and went for a walk. I was so upset I felt sick, shaking and… and… It must've taken me a while to calm down, but when I did, I realized that she acted the same way she does whenever the subject of my dad comes up. She's never like that except when it has something to do with him, and she won't tell me who he is…"
Ruby swallowed thickly, thinking hard. But she didn't end up thinking for long. "Do you want to come over?"
"I… Can I? Now? Is that ok?"
"I wouldn't have offered if it wasn't." Then, she remembered that vampires and shapeshifters were on the loose, and the thought of her little brother wandering around in the dark with them made her queasy. It was bad enough that he'd been doing so most of the night. "Actually, I'll pick you up. It's too dangerous to be walking. Where are you?"
"Outside the gas station. The payphones, y'know?"
She did indeed know, and as the rain worsened, she insisted, "Wait inside. If whoever's working gives you a hard time, pick out some snacks. I'll buy 'em when I get there." She would probably buy some snacks regardless; the Surprise! We share a degenerate and possibly dead dad! conversation definitely called for excessive amounts of processed sugar and trans fat (and alcohol, but no one was likely to sell any to her).
Embry made a noise like he was going to protest… but then didn't. And when he actually answered, his voice was full of relief and gratitude. "Thanks. I'll see you in a bit."
They hung up, and Ruby was immediately on her feet, ignoring how much she teetered dizzily before finding her balance. She ran inside to splash some water on her face… which turned into washing up a bit because she looked like she'd been dancing with dust bunnies. Then, she put on boots and an old hoodie, grabbed her keys, and set out.
The drive that wasn't too long in dryish conditions took longer in the rain. Fortunately, the huge tires on Jezebel had excellent traction, and Ruby had just replaced the wiper blades.
She could've done without once again passing the old man in the decades-old outfit, who made another attempt at flagging her down, much more insistently than before. But her attitude toward him remained indifferent at best. Actually, it worsened when she noticed that he didn't look at all wet or cold. The rain didn't seem to touch him.
Eventually, she pulled into the gas station and parked as close as she could to the well-lit entrance of the attached minimart. Seconds later, she was out of her van and pushing through the little store's swinging door. The overhead bell made a bit of a racket, attracting the attention of the two people standing at the checkout counter.
One of those people was Embry, who looked exhausted and bedraggled but glad to see her.
The other person was the cashier, an average teenage girl who seemed vaguely familiar, who looked tired and annoyed and not pleased to have either of them in the establishment.
"I'm gonna grab some stuff," Ruby declared. "I'll just be a sec." Not waiting for any acknowledgement, she breezed through the chip section and then the candy section and finished up at the drink cooler. Grabbing one item from each area (sour cream and onion Ruffles, peanut butter M&Ms, and a Sprite) wasn't excessive by any means, but it was definitely more junk food than she usually bought in a single trip or even a single month. Paying for her modest haul as well as a bag of Fritos and a Coke for Embry proceeded quickly and without issue, and less than five minutes after exiting her van, she was returning to it with the ingredients for heart disease and diabetes in tow, her little brother once again gallantly carrying the shopping bag.
Unfortunately, as they stepped out into the rain, both teens froze at the sight of Jared Cameron leaning against the driver's side of the vehicle. Soaked and shirtless, he looked weary and aggravated, and the scowl on his face deepened when he noticed their approach. "What the hell are you doing?" he demanded in a low rumble. "You know better than to be running around at this hour. It's not safe."
For a long moment, Ruby stared at him in confusion… It took her the entirety of said long moment to remember that he was a wolf as well. She was so used to dealing with Sam and Paul that she'd totally forgotten about the third musketeer in their quaint little boy band. Of course, that realization brought with it a new set of problems, mainly, "I wasn't aware that being friends with my stalker gives you the right to question any of my actions."
Jared grimaced but made an obvious effort to calm down and sound less angry and confrontational as he defended, "That has nothing to do with it. I'd be concerned about anyone-"
"Embry's been wandering the rez for hours, apparently," she interrupted. "You obviously didn't intervene to scold him about this make-believe curfew, so try again. Or better yet, go away." Clearly, sleep deprivation made her brave as well as chatty. Or maybe she was just getting absolutely sick of staying silent in the face of hypocrisy, stupidity, cruelty, and other negative behaviors from those around her.
Narrowing his eyes, the shifter huffed and stood up straight, shaking his dripping hair in a purely canine fashion. "I think I liked you better when you didn't talk," he complained.
"And I definitely liked you better when I forgot that you existed," she fired back.
He growled at her—literally—which made Embry bristle beside her, puffing up like he was about to answer the challenge with some ridiculous macho display that would probably get his ass kicked.
She pressed the button on her key fob that activated the van's side awning, which promptly popped out just enough to bonk Jared in the temple. As close as I'll probably ever get to whacking him on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper, she thought to herself, trying not to cackle deliriously at the bewildered look of shock and betrayal on his damp face.
Embry had no such restraint regarding his amusement and snorted and laughed quite inelegantly beside her, his previous show of aggression washed away by humor.
Before the situation could escalate, the bell from the store's door sounded yet again, heralding the arrival of the cashier, who stayed underneath the small overhang and out of the rain as she crossed her arms and glared at all of them. "No loitering," she drawled. Then, specifically turning her gaze onto the looming freak of nature, she added, "And no harassing customers."
Ruby nodded in acknowledgement and would've been happy to leave, but she needed Jared to get away from her van first, which he didn't appear inclined to do.
He was far too busy staring open-mouthed and wide-eyed at the cashier, his angular face devoid of all anger and annoyance and instead full of wonder and warmth and adoration-
"No," Ruby rasped, instantly comprehending what had happened and having a vivid flashback to that day in the tribal center, that fleeting moment of inadvertent eye contact that had set her on the path to where she was at that moment and where she'd probably end up in the future: hunted and owned and vulnerable to forces that couldn't be controlled or denied, terrified and helpless and shackled to a supposed destiny that she never would have picked or tolerated, pressured from all angles to somehow find a way to forgive and move on and love when she didn't think she could—when she didn't think she even wanted to.
And it was happening again: the spirits had meddled and chosen some unsuspecting girl to toy with and micromanage and assign to be the coveted and obsessed over lust object of an unstable boy who might accidentally tear off her face or worse whenever he had a bad day.
Ruby considered sabotaging the relationship. She could order the cashier to call the police because the strange shirtless weirdo was peddling drugs. It was what half the rez already believed about Sam and his minions, so the lie would probably work to scare off the cashier before she could get drawn in and told the secret, before her entire understanding of reality could be shattered and replaced with one infested with monsters, before she could be brainwashed by the pretty fairy tale about soulmates and true love and happily ever after.
Unfortunately, Ruby's throat seemed to have seized, and she was having trouble getting words out or oxygen in. Run, she wanted to scream at the cashier. Run before they guilt you into staying, before the spirits wrap you in invisible chains and your mind and body aren't yours anymore. Run and don't look back.
But Ruby had tried that. Ruby had failed. So, really, she couldn't save herself, let alone anyone else. The overwhelmed teen swayed dangerously, tilting from one side to the other and startling when Embry caught her with a gentle hand on her elbow and a look that radiated confusion and concern. It was enough to make her shake herself and keep from swooning, which would've been ridiculous as well as embarrassing. Another tense few seconds were required to force some air into her lungs, and during that time, she decided that she needed to leave. "Move," she demanded, in a voice that she barely recognized, full of frustration and desperation and ire.
Jared stepped aside in a hurry, and Ruby liked to think that he did so because he was afraid of her, not because he was afraid of Sam and Paul, not because he wanted her gone so that he could commence wooing his newly allocated future baby-mama.
The victory was small, hollow, possibly just another pathetic delusion—like free will and bodily autonomy—but as Ruby drove away with her secret little half-brother riding shotgun, she resolved to score more of such victories however she could.
xxxxxxxxxx
Happy April Fool's Day to you all. No, this is not a joke. This is a real chapter, a nice long one—just under 10k words. Yes, the chapter title is because I couldn't think of anything better and happened to have an Avicii song stuck in my head. Hopefully, the explanation of the spiritual fuckery was clear enough. It's difficult to describe such things without leaning heavily on clumsy metaphors. Also, I hate the women's shelter scene. No matter what I did, it still felt like Paul was getting tips on gaslighting abuse victims. Did anyone else get that sense? Just me? How adorable is little brother Embry? Anyways, drop me a review and give your opinion on those and other subjects :)