Here, friends, is the end of our little tale. I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I have. As this is the first fic I've ever finished, I'd like some feedback on it as to how it was, overall. I would appreciate if everyone who put it on their favorite or alert list would review, but I'm smart enough to know that's never going to happen. So if you have a few seconds to spare, I would really be grateful for any comments or constructive criticism you might have for a new author. Now, enjoy the last part of Full Moon over Amity Park. There will not be an author's note at the end, so here I say goodbye to you all. What a long, strange ride it's been… oh, and if you have any interest in a sequel, put that in a review as well.
---
A dim sort of light, bred from a lilac-scented candle, spread lazily over the gleaming white walls of the room, which shone white briefly before settling into a mat of shadows. The match fizzled for a minute, then burned down to his fingers with a soft yet menacing hiss, taking the extra scrap of light with it. Letting the stub drop to the equally white, smooth, uncarpeted floor, he tucked his arms and hands beneath himself, tail finding its way over his coal black nose.
It would have been a silent night. Outside the one small, barred window set into the wall, great thick flurries of perfect snow clumped together in the air and fell, accumulating gently into piling drifts. You could have set off a small bomb and the noise would have evaporated into the all-encompassing quiet.
It wasn't quite silence. It was a hush. A hush is what you get in churches at midnight, when the congregation sits in anticipative quiet, waiting with bated breath for the sermon to begin. Silence is the dead-air feeling you get when everything alive has gone and you are alone. Danny wasn't alone, as would be made perfectly clear in a few, brief seconds…
He screwed his eyes tightly shut, wanting to forget, wanting to sleep, wanting to be a real wolf. Wanting to wake up and find that his old life had been a dream, as it so often felt these days, and he had always been a huge white wolf with dangerous eyes and a flaring temper. That, oddly enough, would be easier to face.
In the days following Halloween, to which Kai had begun speaking in reference as 'the first week of the rest of your life', quite a lot had happened very rapidly, in what seemed like not enough time. There had been a few hectic nights during which Sam and Kai had been forced to continue their regimen of stabbing and healing him every night until Sam had gotten fed up with it all, and told him to confess to his parents. Everything came out. Everything, without one detail spared. They had, surprisingly, understood. Maddie, for her part, had spotted a golden opportunity to test out an invention that, conveniently enough, she had designed recently for werewolf prevention. He suspected Kai.
That had lead to the room. Or set of rooms, really; Kai, having no place better to go, had agreed to stay and keep him company/keep watch over him incase something failed so a divider had been set up. There was a door in the middle, for easy access.
On certain days, Sam or Tucker would spend the night with him, as he no longer found the need to sleep much. It was a godsend, really, even though they couldn't be there all the time. Kai by herself could be very boring though she was good enough to realize when he needed to be left well enough alone.
School was, honestly, a disaster. Though no one could remember why, Dash suddenly had a distinct fear of Danny… but somehow him screaming and tearing down the hall whenever the ex-halfa walked his way was more annoying. It pointed out that there was something about Danny worth screaming and running away from. Still, his grades had suffered little due to the sudden increase of study time, and his friends were still there for him.
Drake had disappeared.
Day after day, usually right after he had woken up or when he was about to drift into sleep, tidbits of memory of that day would come speeding back, only to leave him again. Something huge had happened… but what? He knew he'd gone out of control, done something to Drake… there had been other wolves… but something else of great import had happened, and he couldn't recall what. It was damned irritating. It would be just on the edge of his memory… but he could remember what the cat Bartholomew had said. "There is no present or future, boy, only history repeating itself over and over…" He hoped it was true.
Ever since that day he'd been more nervous around Sam than ever before. His plan- which he hadn't even been aware of possessing –to ask her out on the way home had been ruined, and his confidence dashed. He still loved her, yes, with a fiery passion that almost made him fear sleep for the dreams it produced, but he had no way of orchestrating his point.
So he'd bought her a gift. It was nothing much, and in no way a declaration of his undying love or any of that malarkey, but still he'd been too shy and afraid to give it to her. No matter how much nerve-steeling he did, how much he rehearsed what he'd say, he couldn't. Things had been easier, he reflected, when denial had just been a river in Egypt.
All this had lead, in essence, to him lying on the bed that Christmas Eve, only two months after his bite, braced for the torrent of sound about to leak out of the other half-room. He was not disappointed. Breaking the hush, a shaky, wavering musical note slid off the piano keys and through the cracked door into his space. Then, it began.
Hearing Kai play the piano was like watching crazy Uncle Fred put up Christmas lights using only an heirloom ladder, duct tape (the silver kind) and a Black and Decker cordless drill. It was grim, but somehow fascinating. You just couldn't turn away.
Danny tried to identify the piece she was slaughtering currently, and after a while placed it as the ragtime tune 'The Entertainer'. The notes sounded as if someone was laying them with a sledgehammer, and half were wrong. It was strange, he mused. It had begun with him trying to play the piano in his spare time, and quickly become Kai's passion. After only a few weeks, he surpassed her in skill but not effort. He'd given it up, and she'd moved it to her side of the room for nightly practice.
Horribly enough, she preferred show tunes, rock music, and, on the worse nights, disco. Those were the times he prayed for death.
Still, it was Christmas. He wondered… but no, it was impossible. A pipe dream. He couldn't even go out of the house, let alone…
Creaking footsteps and the slight slam of the piano cover being shut signified that Kai had given up on the music for one night. Her door opened fully and shut again, and bedsprings wailed as she sat on her bed. "Danny?" she asked, concern bandying about in her voice. He could hear her tail swishing violently around as it inevitably did when she was curious.
Honesty, the complete kind, was a stranger to them. Secrets, obviously, were not to be fully shared with other werewolves, as they would get leaked to other brothers and sisters of the fang. Still, she might be able to help… after weeks of watching her write letters which she never sent, he knew she must have some knowledge of love. "What?" he grunted, not making eye contact.
A demure little cough was ushered in. "Merry Christmas."
"Thanks." A hush-filled pause, partially taken up by words unsaid and thoughts unseen. Then, "Can you give a Christmas gift to a Jewish person?"
She considered this, her golden eyes peering out the rime-encrusted window to the blanket of white beyond. "They have a gift giving holiday, right? Passover or something like that? Besides, it's the thought that counts."
"Did you get something for Drake?"
A careful silence, as Kai was choosing her words. "No," she said slowly, "I expect Drake got exactly what he deserved this year without my help."
Danny wanted to ask her if she'd ever felt the same way about anyone as he did with Sam, but decided not to risk it. "Only, I got Sam something," he began again from before, "but I can't get it to her until after winter break, and then it won't be… Christmassy."
She got up, and traveled to the closet. When she returned, a glowing, spherical object swaddled in multi-colored cloth plopped out of her hand and onto the patchwork quilt that covered his bed. He sniffed it. It smelled of magic, and death… like a crypt after most of the rotting has already happened. Not unpleasant just… different. Maybe slightly creepy, at worst. "What…?" he began.
"Take off the rags," Kai said evenly, drawing a nervous paw over her ears. He did so. A glass orb rolled out, filled with purple and green smoke which revolved inside at its own pace, devoid of wind. At some effort, he turned partially human and picked it up, letting it slip to his claw tips. The smoke within made no reaction other than to keep doing what it had been. "It's a miniature ghost portal, Dan. But it's not like the big one. It connects with one room, inaccessible from anywhere else, where your ghost side is trapped. No more than a wisp, he is… but if you could restore him to a host, even quickly…"
More hush. Somewhere outside, a group of especially determined carolers had begun singing Silent Night. "How…"
"Triple possession. Doesn't work for long; you'd get sick and die. But as long as you transfer him back to the ball within… oh, about an hour, you could…"
"Be a halfa again," he breathed, stroking the surface reverently. "I could give Sam her gift without her ever knowing I was there…"
She smiled. "Quite right. Now, I'm not doing you any more favors. From here on out, you're in this alone, got it?"
He nodded. One problem solved, nine-hundred and ninety-nine left to go.
---
Bartholomew stood over the Book. There were plenty of them in his wide, cramped, oil-lamp lit library, but none like this one. It was three-thousand volumes of Encyclopedic human history, from the first man onwards, condensed into one. The words, in some places, were peeling. Towards the end of the text, where a dwindling number of blank pages represented history yet to be, the ink was freshly laid and writing itself. History in action.
His quill lay untouched on the lectern's oaken side. He'd never used it. He preferred interfering with the steady flow of current events in a more subtle, chaotic way. That's what the wolves were for.
The telltale floorboard groaned as Antigoras entered, dripping a trail of sickening innocence behind him. Barty regretted inviting him for Christmas. "Yes?" He asked, glancing at a nearby hourglass and jotting the time down on a scrap of paper. "You need something, then?"
"Not as such," the fat white cat replied, extending a pudgy arm. "I just thought you might appreciate some plum pudding. Cook whipped it up special for us."
He sighed. Antigoras just couldn't make anything easy for him. Giving in, he turned and glared coolly at the offered meal. "Give it here," he growled, snatching a glass bowl from the other's weak grip. He lowered a spoonful onto his tongue. Grudgingly, he had to admit it: Drake was damned good at KP duty. "Thanks," he snorted through another spoonful of the sugary treat.
Antigoras sat down on a padded wine colored piano bench, where he casually asked, "You've been in here a long time, old lad. What have you been thinking about?"
Bartholomew ran a free hand over the lectern, brushing it against the yellowing pages of the Book. Any volume, he thought, that deserved to be pronounced with a capital letter and no title deserved respect. "We are old, Antigoras," he sighed, launching off on a tangent. "As old as the stars. Life can go on without us; we know it to be true. And yet, here we sit, backs to the wall and masters of eternity. What have we done, when it all comes down to it?"
"Er…"
"Exactly my point. Nothing. You asked, I think, what I am thinking about. The answer is, sadly enough, everything. It is all I have ever thought about. The needs of the many as opposed to the needs of the few. But now… now I am feeling pity for the Fenton boy. I find myself awake at night, wondering what will become of a few individuals. I am old, Antigoras, and I am tired."
"Um…"
"The time has come, I believe, for us to rest. Not to leave; we shall always be here. But if your assistant gets a break, then we should as well. Good night, my friend. Tomorrow is, at last, another day."
"Er… what day is that?"
The corners of Bartholomew's mouth turned up in a smirkish smile. "Tomorrow, dear Antigoras, is the first day of the rest of our lives."
---
The ghostly specter of Daniel James Fenton, trapped at the age of fifteen, hovered a few inches off Sam Manson's devilishly black carpeting, his hair as white as the snow outside, and totally human. Pale light from outside flowed through her window and turned her skin a milky white, her hair raven onyx with streaks of silver.
He smiled a melancholy smile, eyes lingering over the curves of her form before laying the open jewelry box on her bedside table. The light caught its contents, too, creating a small sparkle.
A ring. Not a particularly original gift idea but, hey, it was the holiday season. And girls liked that sort of thing, right? So he'd got her a silver one, which had, admittedly, been hard to pull off. When he'd picked it up from the store, he'd had to wear oven mitts to keep from passing out. All in the name of love. On the silver band were two small diamonds set around a large, obsidian stone. It looked good. Very Goth-y. The band even had a pattern of bats.
He sighed deeply, and as he turned to leave, he whispered into the darkness, "I love you, Sam. I will forever, wolf or no. I love you."
---
Kai sighed and gave up on the piano once more. Tinkling out a few random, clunky notes, she shut the lid again. It came down with a final sounding 'clunk'.
There was a desk next to the piano. She'd had it installed for covert letter-writing, once she'd discovered that Danny no longer bothered with the instrument. Privacy, after all, was a virtue that she prized. There was so little of it in modern culture. The room had been built, naturally, to keep Danny sane during the transformation. Comfort was an optimal bonus, but not required.
She uncapped the ballpoint pen she kept handy, (blue ink- his favorite color) and wrenched a piece of lined paper forcefully from its tablet. Laying the paper flat against the wood of the desk, she began to write. And it continued. The tradition had been going for years. She wrote him a letter every night, without fail, and then stuffed it in her drawer never to be read by human eyes again. She licked the pen tip to start the ink running as she bought time to think of what to say.
Pen connected with paper as it formed, in a crowded cursive scrawl legible only to those who could read Latin shorthand or whom had worked in an insane asylum, the date. December 24th, 2007. She paused, the pen shooting up an inch off the surface, then lowered it with surgical precision and added, Dear Euin. Another long, icy pause happened. She didn't instigate them; they crept up on her. And now, it was beginning to dawn on Kai that, for the first time in half a century, she had nothing to say to him.
He would be in his sixties now, she mused. Probably with a nice wife and a widespread family. Maybe even grandchildren. She needed, really, to stop this charade. But old habits die hard, and this one was always a comfort to her. It was like having an imaginary friend who, in the back of your mind but also in real life, existed somewhere.
The pen was writing of its own accord now, as she was sure she was not dictating the heartfelt but extremely sappy words of regret that were spilling forth onto the page. Angry with herself, she broke the line of contact and hurled the pen across the room with such vehemence that it sailed clear through the door and thumped against the five inch thick window pane. The drying ink left a blue trail across the bottom of the paper where she'd yanked it away. She scrutinized it as if trying to give it marks. Ye Gods, had she really been writing poetry? Why didn't she just go get the dagger now and end it all?
Damn Christmas. She would have picked that day to give in, to go with Drake to the castle of Fate and accept her destiny. Damn, damn bloody Christmas. She should have gone on New Year's. At least that was already depressing.
But life went on. Outside, the snow continued to come down in white sheets. Inside, Danny's family would be going to bed. And everywhere else, life went on. Fate went on. History plodded relentlessly forward, sweeping her up with it. Leaning back in her chair, she smiled. The good of the many of the good of the few. It was a nice mentality. And it was hers.
And, because she felt like it, the whole world was hers. It was a mindset you worked yourself into. Anyone can do it. It's a matter of belief.
And, there and then, she believed. She wanted, above all, to believe.
In the drawer, under stacks of paperwork and unsent letters, the scrying glass was conjuring up a picture. Somewhere, a larger than life dingo with bright green eyes and a hat (and, most importantly, opposable thumbs) was writing a letter. A letter dated 24th December, 2007.
Addressee: Kai Wolfstein.
And life was good.
---
Sam heard a lot. You pick up many things as an insomniac, hovering between sleep and waking. One of them is often not sleep.
She smiled to herself, eyeing the ring where it sat. She knew now. She could remember. But it was okay if he didn't want to tell her outright, right now. It was understandable, what with the wolfishness and all. When he was ready, he would tell her.
She slumped against her pillows (black) and pulled her covers (still black) up to her chin. The night, refuge of Goths worldwide, was her friend. It was warm and comforting, even in the dead of winter.
She thought of him, his smile, his sincerity, his sense of heroics. The adorable way he rubbed the back of his neck when he was embarrassed. She loved him. Hell if she didn't; he was too wonderful, too amazing, too him not to love.
And though she knew he couldn't hear her, or maybe because of it, she whispered to the darkness. The words felt good on her tongue, like sweet honey. "I love you too, Danny. I love you too."
---
Time waits for no man, even if he is a werewolf. Instead, it flows around them, those unfortunate few trapped within a life without aging, tearing away the people that they love and wiping away all they know until all that is left is dreams. Dreams, Technicolor miracles that they are, and misbegotten memories that haunt the minds of man and wolf kind alike.
Dreams are a good thing. They remind you, on a base level, that you are human, even if the rest of you isn't. Or, at the very least, that you started out human. They remind you that there is a place, in the darkness behind the eyes that never forgets, never lets go. A place that hangs on to those we care for long after they are gone and we are left alone. Even when everyone else is gone, they are still with you in heart and soul.
What we all want, it seems, is more time. We wish for it, beg for it, would kill for it until we realize what it means to be the only fourteen year old among a group of old friends who are decrepit and barely conscious. And in the moment we realize that one day all we know will be gone, we have our eyes open for the first time, and can truly see. Man is born blind, and walks through life that way. Only with eyes open can we observe the world for what it is.
But Danny wasn't giving up. Because in the end, what matters isn't that you got the girl, or even that you managed to hang on to her for the duration of your life. What matters is that, as Kai had said, you lived life to the fullest while you still could. Because when you've got an eternity on Earth, the present is all you have.