VI. - October 8, 2025 [Twenty-five years after first incident]

My dearest Lissa,

You will not believe the week I have had. It is Ted's fault, really. He's the one who got caught by the hunters and needed me to rescue him.

One of the most famous of their kind had died and they were using Ted as a ritual killing in a competition, all to see who would inherit the gem that their leader's family was named for. I entered it as a hunter and met Elsa, the daughter of the leader. She helped me free Ted, but I did not know that touching the stone would reveal what I am. Her stepmother used the stone to force the wolf out. Ted tells me that Elsa and I killed them all, but I know there are more out there. Las ideas no se pueden borrar.

Of course, the full moon was only five days after that- last night. I have never had two transformations so close together. It is going to take me a little longer than it usually does to recover, but I will. I plan on returning to Elsa's home to thank her for her help when I have the strength to do so. I have never met a person so violent that holds the kindness she has. Ted and I could use her. She will be a good friend to have in a world like this one. Caminar con un amigo en la oscuridad es mejor que caminar solo en la luz. Y dos es aún mejor, ¿no?

I have given it some thought, and I have decided that I should come by the house soon. To say goodbye. I know naught of you, but you do not have to worry about me anymore. I am no longer alone. I think it's time that I move on, no?

I will always miss you, mi hermanita,

Jack

.

Leaves crunch beneath worn military-style boots as the traveler makes his way down the street, pulling his coat tighter around himself against a gust of chilly November wind. The rainy season had ended just in time for an early winter. Without the wind, it wouldn't be particularly cold at all; Mexico has always been a bit warmer than the States. But Jack Russell hasn't stayed in one place long enough to get a grip of its weather in some twenty-few years, the climate here thus forgotten to him in his travels.

He looks out of place in his old home town, a bag slung over his American-clad shoulders, his guitar hanging around his front. No one would recognize him were they outside themselves. His name is less than a memory to the people here after all the years. The few that he sees, he doesn't recognize them himself. It has been far too long since he has been here.

Despite the years, however, he does recognize the street. Because while the intersection signs naming it are straight and shiny, there are still more rundown houses than there are fully painted ones. Some of those houses look like they haven't aged a day since he left. One in particular has a garden of browned weeds taller than the windows, and he thinks of the kind old man who had once tended it. Dead by now, no doubt. But it had been pristine once, lined with more laelia orchids than he'd had the patience to count. He never really had appreciated it as much as he should have.

The weeds sway in the wind, and Jack moves on.

He makes his way further down the road, where the houses are thicker than they are on the far end behind him. They don't touch, not this far from the town center, but the gaps between the structures grow smaller with each that he passes. It's a little difficult to push away the urge to duck into one of them to shelter from the sharp breeze. But Jack doesn't plan on staying long; he's a stranger here, and it's better that way.

There's a mossy dwelling with a rusted blue mailbox at the edge of the pavement, and he nods to the grizzly old man sitting on the porch. He doesn't remember the man's name; he doesn't want to. That information is locked away behind a door forever sealed shut to him. And that's why he's here, after all, to finally say goodbye to the life that Jacob Russoff had fled. His feet feel heavy just thinking about it.

But the thought is gone as soon as it's come, fleeting with the wind. If he thinks about it too hard, he may never leave. Ted wouldn't like that. It had taken him long enough to get here- he'd forgotten how precarious a task hitchhiking often is. The States' Acción de Gracias isn't more than a week away, and he'd meant to be here by Día de los Muertos. It really is a good thing that his wayward friend is staying at the Bloodstone Manor with Elsa, safe from trouble.

Another gust of wind hits Jack, the cold nipping at his ears. He should have bought a hat. And gloves. Maybe a scarf. His coat can only cover so much skin.

He watches a lone dog lope across the empty street, ribs showing beneath thin brown fur. It reminds him of himself, scrounging around to get by. He wonders if his wolf form looks anything like it. Skinny. Mangy. Hungry. Yes, he'll have to catch a bite before he leaves town. Perhaps the diner on Avenida Juárez is still in business? They'd been a neighborhood favorite, back in the day.

A smell reaches his nose, then, one so strong and distasteful that all concepts of food vacate his mind. His lips curl almost instinctively, one hand subconsciously moving to grasp the strap of his guitar as if someone might steal it.

Two shadowy figures race by behind the houses on cue, exchanging hushed whispers. One of them holds a bag of the same foul-smelling substance.

Well, there's another thing that hasn't changed in all his years gone; teenage boys and their drug labs. He can't say that he's much surprised by it. The smell has always made him feel ill, though. Which is why it truly is rather unfortunate that the source of the god-awful stench seems to be the very place he came here to look at.

His childhood home has been reduced to little more than a pile of dust and splintering lumber, worn down by the decades of vacancy. Jack grimaces as he takes in the sight of it- the shattered windows, the collapsed porch roof, the gaping holes in the roof- oh, the years have not done her well. He's almost surprised when his boot scuffs against a shingle hidden beneath the dirt; he'd have thought all of them long gone by now. Because even though the roof is sagging in on itself, he can't see any of the rough scales on the house.

As he sets down his travel bag, he wonders how much of the damage had been done by the local boys and how much from exposure without maintenance. And how much by the wolf, by the blood-hungry creature that had torn its way out of him.

He can't see anything particularly suspicious from this angle of the house; the boys that he'd seen hurrying away had probably come from whatever cavity the beast had ripped through the small structure. The story of what had happened that night, it must be so well known amongst the townspeople. Perhaps, then, it is lucky that they do not remember him.

Jack stands there, arms crossed across the guitar, hands shoved into his armpits, and tries to piece the house back together with his mind. But his memories have faded, and the house has changed far too much. He can't even recall what color it had been. For all he knows, it could have been pink or brown. There's no way of knowing, not now. There's not a sliver of flaking paint left.

The house truly is a sorry sight.

Leaves scrape loudly against the ancient cobblestone road. Jack winces. He turns his full attention to the wooden husk before him- to look it over one last time, to memorize the shape of it. The shape of home.

There's a strange emptiness to him, the cold numbing whatever sadness that he's probably meant to feel. Well, he supposes that this part of his life ended long ago anyway. What has he to mourn? There isn't anything left for him here. Yes, he really should get going. Ted and Elsa ought to be worried about him by now. They're likely searching for him at this very moment, hiking their way through the Mexican wilderness. And while it's an amusing picture, he knows that it's a safer bet to meet them halfway.

With that in mind, Jack reaches down to retrieve his bag.

And that's when the gravel beside him crunches with the sudden arrival of another.

A pair of sandaled, cloth-wrapped feet comes to a halt off to his right. Travel pack forgotten in an instant, he straightens up and lets the woman stare at the house with him. There's an understanding silence between them, an air of something more than familiar. It doesn't take him long to figure out why.

Jack would recognize her scent anywhere; Lissa Russoff was the once that he told Elsa about before she saw him transform beneath the Bloodstone's bleeding rays of terror. His sister is alive.

He could weep in joy. He almost does. But, no, crying has never been a trait of his.

The hem of her skirts flap gently against the back of his legs, but he says nothing of it. He'll let her have the honor of speaking first. All the letters that he's sent her over the years, with her unable to send anything of her own back to him…It's only fair. He's more than happy to let her have the first word.

And when it's quiet for a few minutes longer, Jack patiently holds his tongue. Because he's not seen her since they were children, and even the silence between them is blissful. The whole climate feels warmer with her beside him; he'd hate to ruin such a precious moment.

"They started a meth lab in it two months ago." She says in near-perfect English, and the sound of her voice cutting through that of the wind nearly startles him.

Jack's eyebrows raise so fast that he hardly notices it. He blinks, because it usually only takes a couple of months for farmers or peddlers to move into an abandoned place. "It took them that long?"

"That's what I said when I found out."

He hums in thoughtful response, and they fall silent once more. The house creaks in the breeze, and Jack wonders if a particularly strong gust could push it over altogether. They are both strangers here, him and Lissa.

Lissa. His lips lift upward in that same bubbly joy as before. He hadn't fathomed that he'd ever see her again. Not after all of this time, despite how young they had both been. He had spent so long fearing whether the wolf had gotten her or not- he hadn't been sure when he'd told Elsa he had recognized someone once. He had hoped, but…

The beast had really spared her, and here she is beside him.

Jack shakes his head in amazement and turns to finally take in the sight of her. And he finds that she looks like their mother, at least so far as he can remember, near-black hair braided out of sight down her back. There's not a strand of graying hair on her head- and isn't that a funny thing, in comparison to himself? Those who don't know them could mistake him as her father if they tried hard enough. He still thinks that their mother might've been taller, though.

It's only after a moment of looking at her for too long that he realizes she's studying him in the same way, standing him side by side with his eighteen-year-old self in her mind. He glances away, smile softening.

"I didn't think you would come." He admits, one hand coming to scratch at his ear despite the chill in the air.

She shrugs. In the exact same way she always had as a child. "I guess both of us needed to move on."

And while those words sting his heart, warping his expression into something mournful, he knows that it's true. They've both sat and wondered about one another for long enough. They aren't just strangers to this place, but to each other. Knowing that, Jack doesn't quite know what to say, what he should or shouldn't ask. He opts to set his guitar on the ground.

"Maybe." He murmurs with the slightest of nods. Then he raises his eyes back to her, because he'd rather focus on reconnecting than on following through with the farewells they'd never shared. "You look well, hermanita."

The corners of her mouth finally turn up, her eyes meet his own, and it's like not a day has gone by since he last saw her. "Y tú, hermano mayor."

It's with those words that he surges forward and embraces her at long last, holding her perhaps even tighter than the fiercest hunters he's crossed. Jack buries his face in her hair, laughing to drown out what's nearly a sob. When she melts into his arms not a heartbeat later, he's grinning so hard that it hurts- and it feels good. He hasn't felt this happy in a long, long time. It feels as though a massive burden has been lifted off his chest.

"I have missed you so much, Lissa." He murmurs before he pulls away. It's the first time that he has said her name aloud in years, he realizes, his eyes scanning over her once more. "Are you well? Do you have family?"

Her smile is softer than he remembers. Mellowed down by time, into something more fond than mischievous. "Yes." Lissa tells him. "A husband and a daughter, Nina."

Jack's heart swells with pride at the news. Not because he is an uncle, but because his little sister has made a life for herself, even after what she must have seen on the night of his first transformation. He almost doesn't know what to say. "I am happy for you, Lissa. Truly."

Her eyes sparkle with the reflection of that same pride, and it's then that Jack finally understands that what had happened that night, it hadn't tainted her view of him. Not irreparably. She doesn't see him as the monster that most of society would, but as her long-lost brother, just as he sees her. His letters had probably helped, but…

All these years and they reunite just as they had left one another. He never would have thought that he'd be so lucky. Standing beside her now, he can scarcely believe it. Luck, on his side. It almost never happens. He wonders what he did for the cosmos to bless him like this.

"Are you happy?" Lissa asks him, breaking him from his musings.

He thinks about it for a moment, thinks about Elsa and Ted, and offers a lopsided smile. "As happy as I can be, the way I live. I have friends who protect others from me, who protect me from them. It's more than I could ask for."

"You deserve to be able to ask for more than that." She says sadly, her eyes suddenly heavy with grief for the time they had lost because of his curse. "Mamá should have told us what happened to Papá, how la maldición del lobo works. She was not fair to you."

"You blame her for the way I live?" Jack frowns, tilting his head at her. "She was just trying to protect us, no?"

"Ella debería haber sabido mejor. Te odias a ti mismo."

He hates that she's right about their mother. She should have known that not telling them of the curse would protect them from it, that he would transform and be lost as to how to go on living, that he would forever be scared of himself. No, it's not fair.

But Jack understands it a bit differently, that she wasn't just trying to protect them. For her, it had been a reassurance. She had wanted to convince herself that her son could never turn into such a foul creature. She had wanted to live in a blissful reality where the curse didn't exist, where they would grow old together like any other family. And, in the end, where had that gotten any of them? Where has it gotten them?

He's pretty sure that she died that night, struck down by a vicious creature of Hell. He hasn't looked into confirming it at all, doesn't want to, but it is what he has chosen to see as the truth; the wolf has racked up quite the kill count over the years. The number that he gave Verussa Bloodstone is probably nowhere near accurate, not that he'll ever know what it really is.

Jack swallows thickly and averts his gaze back to the house, displeased with the thoughts that the turn of conversation sparked. The wind whistles between rotting boards, and the silence of the neighborhood is almost suffocating.

He doesn't hate himself. His sister may believe that he does, but… "Not anymore."

Because, if anything, he pities himself. The younger version of himself, the one who had dreams of whom he would become. That boy deserved better.

But, now? Jack is tired. Tired of wishing, tired of regretting. He came back here to move on, to let go, didn't he? Well, he will. He'll let all of it go, let her go, and finally begin to forgive himself for all that he has done. It's about time.

So, he grabs his guitar and tightens the strap around him. He shoulders his pack, tries not to grimace at the weight, and smiles. "Hasta el próximo mes, como siempre."

He hasn't missed a letter yet.

Translations:

* Las ideas no se pueden borrar - ideas cannot be erased

** Caminar con un amigo en la oscuridad es mejor que caminar solo en la luz. Y dos es aún mejor, ¿no? - Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light. And two is even better, right?

*** Mi hermanita - my little sister

**** Acción de Gracias - Thanksgiving

***** Día de los Muertos - Day of the Dead

****** Avenida Juárez - Juarez Avenue

******* Y tú, hermano mayor - and you, big brother

******** la maldición del lobo - the curse of the wolf

********* Ella debería haber sabido mejor. Te odias a ti mismo. - She should have known better. You hate yourself.

********** Hasta el próximo mes, como siempre - until next month, as always