1 - a story
Her scent was everywhere; fresh and familiar – almost painfully familiar. He had not thought that he would remember the smell of her so clearly – more clearly than he could recall her face – but he did. Of course, the fact that he was in wolf morph probably had something to do with it.
He sat down on his haunches, watching the house. The lights were on in only two windows, one of the top floor and one not far from the door – the living room, he recalled. It presented a contrast to the blackness of the surroundings. It was a welcoming sight. He drew in the cool night air through his nostrils until everything around him was etched into his mind; until he knew all the fragrances as if they had been properly introduced and he had studied their biographies. It was good to be home. To feel the scents of pine trees and berries; and those of crumbling paint and planking, still soaked by the rain earlier that evening; chilly spring air with just a touch of winter lingering; a morning mist beginning to form; the smell of a deer which had passed just before he had arrived... the various smells of the barn, and the countless inhabitants it had held, scents etched too deeply into the wood of the walls itself to ever truly fade. Some of those smells reminded his wolf body in no uncertain terms that it was time to eat. How long since he had eaten? He did not know – it was irrelevant. He was used to hunger, and paid it no mind.
What was relevant, what he at that moment savoured above everything else, was the familiar smells of everything around him, everything that was Earth, and most importantly the smell of one of his closest friends, of her. Cassie's scent, accompanied by a male one he did not recognize, left a near straight line from the barn's door to the house's door. She must have been barefoot, he thought, to leave so clear a scent. The fact that it had rained heavily during the previous evening and all older smells were washed away helped, too.
So long since he had smelled anything familiar. If he had not been so weary, if he had not been in wolf morph, he might have wept with relief.
He was finally home.
For some time he sat watching the house, wondering if he dared demorph and ring the bell.
At last, having heaved a great wolf sigh, he did so. He grew out of his shaggy, grey morph and resumed his own form. On feet as silent as the morning mist he hade his way to the door. He hesitated only once before knocking. There was, he noticed, no functioning door bell, so knocking would have to do.
The door rattled and the knocking echoed dully. Even though he repeated it twice, louder each time, there was no reply.
Cassie's scent had been strong enough to convince the wolf that she had entered the door only an hour or two before, and had not left since. Of course, she could have morphed and flown out a window without him being the wiser, but he doubted the possibility; he denied it. If so, he decided, he would remorph wolf and curl up on her doorstep to wait. He was in no mood to go searching any longer, or travel anywhere further.
After a fourth knock he tried something new. "Cassie – open the door!" he called, adding: "It's me."
Only when the words had left him did he remember that they had not met for many years and there was no guarantee that she would remember his voice.
He told himself off sharply for being silly. Of course she would remember his voice. No matter that he had lost track of days, months, years: he could not have been gone so long that one Animorph would not recognize the other.
He heard a metallic whine of protest as the handle was pulled down and the door opened – just a crack, to begin with, which slowly grew until the door was completely open.
Cassie stood with one hand still on the door – that grip did not ease, and at the sight of him her expression did not alter, aside from a flicker in her eyes. Her face was not much changed; a bit more adult, less teenager, visible in the slightly sharper features around her eyes and mouth; but it was much more haggard, even a tad gaunt. Her eyes were beyond recognition: gone was the caring warmth, and in its place was only saddened apathy.
Despite all he had seen, from the One's enslavement of Ax, to the Elŷrrian slave camps, from the Yeerk pool to the customary devastation left wherever the Kelbrid passed, even the slow and agonising demise of his best friend, all seemed to fade into the background in the light of Cassie's dead eyes.
Something, he knew instantly, was very wrong. His spine turned to ice, and his mind exploded into futile protest, rage blending into despair.
Not this. Not now.
Through his entire experience in Kelbrid territory, and beyond Kelbrid territory, he had survived on the determination to return home, to safety and peace, to his parents and to the only other remaining Animorph. The vicious Kelbrid had not taken that from him. They had not killed the memory of kindness. The deceitful Elŷrrics had not corrupted that hope. They had not been able to shatter his dreams of Earth.
Unless this was another Elŷrrian trick, and he was still trapped in their nightmarish realms, forced into their services, cowed by their cruel, mind-warping tiaras...
No.
He was free of them. Free, free, free. And never would he go back, never, never: he would rather turn himself over to the Yeerks.
He shook his head and took another look at Cassie. How frail and fractured she looked with those eyes.
Beneath his primary reason, he had come hoping to have someone to talk to, someone he trusted, and who would listen without judging him. Someone who would understand, and could share his losses.
The deadness of Cassie's eyes dispelled that hope. It was she who had a story to tell, and he would have to listen. Still, he felt little disappointment. He knew few people who truly deserved happiness, but Cassie was one of them, and seeing her in this state made him too angry to waste any energy on disappointment.
"Hello, Cassie," he said. When there was no response, he waved a hand in front of her face, catching her attention, pulling it to his own face. "Hello, Cassie," he said again.
Cassie stared at him, as if unseeing. "Marco," she murmured, her eyes flickering again. She reached out to touch him – his arm, then his face, as if to make sure he was real. Tears welled in her eyes, and her hand clenched into a fist about the fabric of his uniform's collar. Her gaze had fallen away from him, and apparently she no longer saw him.
Marco put an arm around her shoulders and led her back to the room she had probably come from – the living room. The room beside the door, with the lights on. She sat down on the sofa, watching him as he pulled up an armchair to sit opposite her.
Cassie sat with her shoulders slumped in defeat and her hands resting palms-up on her lap. Marco took one hand first, then the other, and squeezed them both comfortingly. When she looked at him, though, he had to look away; he could not meet that sadness yet.
His eyes strayed to the corner of the room. It was a surprisingly lifeless room, as if no-one lived in it. There were no decorations aside from two photographs; one of Cassie's parents, working together in the barn, and one of Ronnie and Cassie, both smiling. Ronnie stood behind Cassie, his arms around her, his hands locked into hers, and his chin on the top of her head. There was such life in that picture; in no way did it fit into the room.
Marco noticed, too, that in that picture, Cassie was clearly pregnant.
Looking down at her hands, he noticed a single gold ring on one finger: an engagement ring. But no wedding ring.
"Jake... couldn't come," he said lowly, deciding to solve the mysteries slowly, instead of asking blunt questions. "He asked me to check in on you... make sure you're okay." Cassie's hands were limp in his own, even as he pulled his thumbs over the back of her fingers to clench her hands. "I told him you were fine. I thought you'd be fine... you'd have Ronnie looking after you, and I seem to have guessed correctly..." He sent a meaningful look at the photograph. "But obviously something's gone wrong," he continued seriously, as a cold tear landed on his hand. "So, Cassie – what's wrong?"
Cassie shook in a sudden sob, folding forwards as if all her strength had suddenly left her, making Marco catch her by the shoulders to keep her upright and lean her back into the sofa. She crumbled and curled into a ball, but by then the sobs had faded. Perhaps she had cried too often.
Marco sat watching her, unsure as to what he should do. She probably needed a hug, a kiss on the forehead... some sort of comfort. But it was not his place to hug Cassie – that was Jake's place. Or Ronnie's..?
Again he told himself off. Jake was dead and Ronnie had apparently abandoned his post.
Awkwardly he patted Cassie's shoulder, moving to kneel on the floor before her, his face almost level with hers.
"Tell me what's wrong, Cass."
Cassie gave no reply, barely acknowledging that he had spoken. She looked towards him, dazedly, the emptiness in her eyes making him realise that she would not reply.
Hunger, ever unwelcome, rumbled in his belly.
Marco sighed. "Okay, tell me later... would you mind if I eat something first?"
The other Animorph said nothing. Marco's stomach prodded him with another pang of hunger. "I suppose you don't mind if I steal from your kitchen, either?"
Still, no reply.
Marco grimaced mentally. He took the listless Animorph beneath her arms and hoisted her to her feet. Only after having held her up for several moments did she seem to comprehend that she was supposed to stay upright, and made an effort to do so, allowing Marco to ease his hold.
How long had she lived like this? How did she survive? And living alone, too. "Come on," he urged, leading her towards the kitchen. "You look like you could use a meal, too."
