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The howl wasn't like anything I'd heard before. To be fair, it's not like you constantly hear these noises in Los Angeles, but there was still something particularly haunting about this one.
I sprang out of bed. Given that I was only in my pajama pants, I wouldn't exactly look intimidating to the intruders. That is, if there even were intruders here.
I grabbed the first thing I could think of. For some reason, probably from that time I'd brought steak up to my room out of a desire to eat alone, there was a sharp knife in my desk drawer.
The blade felt alien in my grip. Here I was, carrying a weapon I had no business carrying. I was a lot of things, but a potential killer wasn't one of them.
But a lot of people have had to kill in self-defense. And I'll be one of those people if necessary. I'd rather not be a death statistic.
There it was again. That howl. It was long and low, yet still quite loud. If I'd tried to make that noise myself, I would have run out of breath before long.
With every step, my grip on the knife tightened. I'd used it to cut any number of things before, but none of them were living. And yet, there has to be a first time for everything.
"Mom! Dad!" I called out.
Instantly I regretted doing so. Most likely it was just the sound of the air conditioner, humming along as it aimed to cool the house down.
My foster parents would thus enter my room and tell me that there was nothing to worry about, that I was overreacting as usual. But calling for Mommy and Daddy at night was something eight-year-olds did, not eighteen-year-olds.
They don't need to be awake right now. I can figure out what this is on my own. Even just grabbing the knife was a bit excessive.
Still, I tiptoed downstairs and into the kitchen. My house wasn't big, so hiding wouldn't be an option for long. I probably wouldn't be able to run without going right by the intruder.
That left only one option, the most dangerous option: To fight.
I held the blade in my right hand, ready to make mincemeat out of our attacker. I didn't like fighting most of the time, but I'd do whatever it took to protect my family.
"Come out, come out, wherever you are!" I announced, in a tone reminiscent of a game of hide-and-seek. "And don't you dare harm my family!"
I turned on the light in the kitchen; perhaps that would startle the intruder long enough for me to call the police. When I did this, however, there were no obvious sounds of discomfort, nor did I see anybody else in the room.
Whoever it is, they're probably just outside the house. They're trying to taunt me, probably. But why do they want me?
Then I remembered the dream with Lupa. Perhaps it had only been a dream, but it sure felt more vivid than an ordinary night vision.
She'd told me I had a destiny to fulfill, that I was "worthy" for some reason…what had that all been about? But if being worthy entailed having strangers lurk outside my home, was it really worth it?
I seized the phone and punched the digits nine, one, and one. There was a brief pause before a female voice on the other end asked, "What is the nature of your emergency?"
"I heard a howl," I said quickly. "It was just outside my door. And I think they want to get inside."
The dispatcher didn't ask for any other details. She promised that there would be police at my house within five minutes.
Five minutes might not sound like much time, but when you fear for your life, it can feel like an eternity. I had only just turned around from the phone when it happened.
A blurry four-legged figure leaped through the kitchen window, shattering every bit of glass. Billions of shards flew everywhere, some of them impaling the creature's fur, but it didn't appear bothered by that.
How am I going to explain this to Mr. and Mrs. Stark? They're still not here.
That changed a few seconds later. Both of my foster parents, with the agility of people half their age, sprinted down the stairs and into the kitchen.
"Why did you call for us, Brandon?" Mrs. Stark asked me. "It's just a dog."
I frowned. Even if it had been a dog, would you be okay with a stranger's pet crashing through your window? More importantly, this wasn't funny at all, for the creature standing before me and baring its fangs at me was most definitely not a dog. Indeed, it wasn't a creature you'd keep as a pet.
It was a wolf.
"The police will be arriving in four minutes" I snarled at my foster parents. "They'll put an end to this. That's not a dog."
Mr. Stark gave me the stereotypical look of parental disappointment.
"It is a dog, though. That's what I see before me, and there's no need to call the cops over a chihuahua."
"A chihuahua? Oh, that's a good one!" I exclaimed wildly, brandishing the knife in front of me. "The wolf is going to kill us, and you're pretending it's just a pet!"
The wolf lunged at me, and I raised the blade to defend myself.
Somehow, my reflexes were strong enough that I was able to stab the creature in the stomach. I was about to congratulate myself when I heard the wolf moan in pain, as well as Mrs. Stark gasp.
"Brandon, did you just…stab a chihuahua?"
I couldn't tear my eyes off the creature whose stomach I'd just cut open. I couldn't even process what I'd just done.
"It's not an effing chihuahua! It's a wolf!"
Out of the corner of my eye, I was able to see my foster parents glancing at each other worriedly. Perhaps they thought I was hallucinating; in that case, it's understandable that they would be frightened.
I expected the wolf to bleed a great deal, perhaps leading to its death. At a minimum, it was sure to retreat now that it knew I was capable of inflicting some serious pain.
But that's not what happened. A little bit of blood came out, but the wound healed itself almost instantly.
"What the hell!" I shouted, readying my knife to stab the wolf again. "It's not working!"
"It's already bleeding out, Brandon, you don't need to attack it anymore!" Mr. Stark exclaimed. "Just have mercy, okay?"
I shook my head, keeping my eyes squarely focused on the creature. "I can't have mercy on a wolf that's about to maul me! That's just not the way it works!"
A few seconds later, the wolf dove forward at me. This time, I was too slow.
The creature latched onto my body, and that wolf was heavier than it looked. The wind was knocked out of me, so I didn't have enough energy to shake it off. Instead, I grabbed my knife off the floor (which was hard enough as it was) and drove it into the wolf's side.
Come on, start bleeding.
Some blood poured out of the wound, but it wasn't red. It was golden brown.
Okay. This isn't an ordinary wolf, but why is it at my house?
"We're going to call the police, you know, if you keep terrorizing this little animal!" Mrs. Stark exclaimed. In any other context, I would have taken this voice very seriously indeed.
"They're already coming! They should be here any minute!"
"He just wants to play, Brandon, and you're going to do all that to him? Why?"
Shaking my body in a vain attempt to remove the wolf from me, I kept on stabbing it. I saw more and more blood gush out, which was my goal: To keep the wolf in enough pain that it wouldn't attack me back.
This didn't work long enough, though. Eventually I felt a hot, searing pain in my left arm, which made me grimace.
That thing just bit me.
Almost immediately, I knew that my foster parents couldn't possibly be seeing the same things as me. If they'd been aware of the whole situation, they would not have yelled at me for attacking a chihuahua. They wouldn't be standing by now as my left arm began bleeding.
I must've stabbed the wolf fifty times. Each time more blood spurted out, coating the floor in the golden brown substance. Despite this, the wolf's strength did not appear to wane at all, even if it did close its eyes with each stab.
The creature opened its mouth yet again, prepared to take another chunk out of my left arm. Before it could do so, however, I managed to summon the strength to kick it off of me. One bite was all it would achieve.
The wolf crumpled to the ground, perhaps unconscious, perhaps only stunned. Whatever the case, I knew I'd only have a few minutes at best.
I glanced at my bad arm. Blood and saliva combined to create a truly disgusting image that was probably ripe for infection, even if the wolf didn't carry rabies or anything like that.
The best move is to get a rabies shot. I'm pretty sure that disease is fatal otherwise.
But the police will come soon, and if Mr. and Mrs. Stark are any indication, they won't know that it was a wolf. And if I go to a clinic to get the shot, they'll probably lock me away after I get it. Then again, I would be safe from the wolf.
No. I have to take my chances. Just try and stop the bleeding any way I can.
I grabbed a nearby paper towel as my foster parents looked on in shock. After soaking it with warm water, I applied it to my upper arm.
The bleeding slowed down a bit, but not much. Since the "base rate" of blood loss wasn't that fast, I decided that it would be safe for me to make my getaway by road.
Zeus: So you decided to flee the mortal authorities after you were attacked by the wolf?
Defendant: What choice did I have?
Zeus: It's important not to break mortal laws unless absolutely necessary. Had you remained at your place of residence, it's entirely possible that you could have talked things out with the police, avoiding arrest.
Defendant: Please cut me some slack, my lord. I was under pressure, and when I'm under pressure, I often make poor decisions. Perhaps that's something I need to work on.
Zeus: Indeed you do.
I think Mr. and Mrs. Stark were both too stunned to say anything as I seized my car keys from the mudroom and put on my shoes. Neither of my foster parents tried to stop me from leaving.
Neither did I hear the wolf stir. It eventually would, of course, but it was remarkable that stunning it worked temporarily, yet stabbing it with a steak knife would only make it angrier. This world made no sense sometimes.
Just outside the house, sirens were blaring, piercing the night. It was nearly as haunting a sound as the wolf's howls had been.
Shit! The cops are here; have they come to take me away?
I didn't even want to think about where they'd take me; indeed, I didn't have to think about it at all. Now that I was eighteen, legally an adult, I'd be shipped straight to jail for killing a chihuahua or whatever my foster parents thought I had done.
Or maybe they're the cops I called. But there will be a lot of explaining to do.
"Hands in the air!" a cop barked at me, confirming the former theory. Perhaps one of the Starks had tipped them off, but I couldn't worry about how it had happened right now.
I realized that I didn't have the knife on me anymore, which was honestly a relief. I didn't need them to feel threatened by it, because I'd heard that if cops felt like they were in danger, they did not hesitate to shoot.
I raised my hands in the air, but I kept running as I did so. Then, I somehow kicked open the window of my car, which was in the driveway; the police somehow hadn't blocked that path.
"Absolutely not!" I yelled.
I couldn't see the policeman's face, but I could picture his sneer in the night. "Why shouldn't we arrest you, young shirtless man?"
"Because it was self-defense!" I shouted. "I would have been mauled to death if I hadn't stabbed the wolf!"
"The wolf? The Los Angeles Police Department was told that a dog had entered the house."
"Yes, it was a wolf," I snarled. "And it bit me; I'm bleeding like crazy from my left arm. So if I could get some treatment, that'd be great."
One of the police officers, a relatively young-looking Asian-American man with closely cropped black hair, walked up to me. He wore a scowl on his face.
"Well, Mr. St. Lawrence, telling stories like this isn't going to win you any brownie points at your trial. Lying under oath is a crime, and we have it on good evidence that it was a dog. Mr. and Mrs. Stark are well-respected members of this community, so why would they lie about their son not being in danger?"
"I don't know!" I replied indignantly. "I'm just trying to figure this all out too! And we only have minutes!"
The cop frowned. "Your wound isn't bleeding very quickly. What are you referring to?"
I didn't waste any time. Even if the police officer didn't believe me now, he might become convinced if I stuck to my story.
"The wolf isn't going to stay down forever. I must've stabbed it fifty effing times, but it still wouldn't die! And it's coming for me!"
"You think it went for you specifically?"
I shrugged angrily. "Why wouldn't I? Why would it choose my house as opposed to all the others in L.A.?"
"Well," another cop, this one a woman, interjected. "All of that only matters if it is indeed a wolf. And we don't have any reason to suppose that it is."
I shook my head vigorously. "No reason at all? Is my word not enough?"
The policewoman shook her head. "I'm afraid not. Look, there's a bigger dog coming!"
My heart skipped several beats as I turned around to find a wolf approaching. It may or may not have been the same one as in the kitchen, but if not, the two wolves were identical.
This wolf's fangs were dripping with blood, as though it had just had a feast. Its eyes were wild, and it glanced at me with absolute malice.
At the same time, this was also my chance to get away. Perhaps this wolf would provide enough of a diversion for me to get in my car and get the hell out of here.
So I didn't let my chance go to waste. I climbed haphazardly through the broken window into the driver's seat. There were shards of glass scattered all over it, but I could worry about that later.
As soon as I turned the engine on, the car's alarm sounded loudly enough to wake up the whole neighborhood. Of course. The car thinks someone is "jacking" it in order to make a quick getaway. And it's not wrong on that second part.
I took a deep breath as I felt pain radiating across my left arm. Not only was I no longer applying pressure to the wound there, but the pieces of glass that had punctured it were making themselves known. I had half a mind to start howling like the wolf, but I knew that would be counterproductive.
"You won't get far, Mr. St. Lawrence!" the female cop shouted at me. "You can run, but you can't hide, and sometime soon, we'll find you, and you're going to stand trial!"
The woman spoke with so much pomp and circumstance that it sounded almost like an empty threat to me. But I couldn't stick around in order to find out; I had to get moving.
So I floored it, putting my foot down hard on the gas pedal, accelerating to thirty miles an hour within seconds of pulling out. The primal instinct within me didn't care how many more laws I needed to break in order to escape. I just wanted to get away from the police and the wolf, to put as much distance as possible between myself and the scene of the crime.
As I swerved around parked cars and negotiated the (admittedly minimal) traffic in the city, my thoughts turned to Lupa.
Minutes after my dream of her, a far more vivid dream than most, a different member of her species had invaded my home. That could hardly be a coincidence, could it?
Remember your fatal flaw. That was a piece of advice she'd given me, though I hardly had time to ponder it as I went to whatever lengths necessary to escape Los Angeles.
For about ten minutes (not exactly; I wasn't the best judge of time), I drove in what may indeed have been circles. I might have lived here all my life, but L.A. wasn't the easiest city to navigate, especially at night.
The cops are going to find me if my movement patterns are predictable. I can't just go somewhere because it "feels" right; I have to have a solid route away from the city. I need a plan.
And then I realized something. It was a rare moment of clarity in all of this, but it was still invaluable.
I don't know how much this is worth, but I have to make decisions grounded in reason. Yes, I must think quickly, but I need to think rationally as well.
Something told me that I should drive north out of downtown; most likely, this was the voice of reason, forcing me to remember the least busy way away from Los Angeles. That's how I would run the smallest risk of being caught.
But that risk was still substantial. As I drove through one of the back streets, which I thought wouldn't have much traffic, I ended up hitting what seemed like every red light. It may have only seemed that way thanks to how frantic I was, but it was far from welcome.
At every stop sign, I pictured a police car somewhere behind me, which wouldn't have to stop there. It was rapidly making up ground in this chase, even though I couldn't see it.
On top of all of this, my bad arm throbbed with every beat of my heart. It was impossible to keep pressure on it while I drove, so I was left to do my secular equivalent of praying that I wouldn't bleed too much. The last thing I wanted was to feel woozy behind the wheel; it had been drilled into my head that this was just as dangerous as driving under the influence.
Fortunately, I didn't hear any sirens coming my way. It seemed that the police were either occupied with something else or had simply given up on catching me. Those two weren't mutually exclusive.
Honestly, given my luck, I doubt they've given up.
The police weren't the only ones I was worried about. Whether there had been one wolf or two back there, the fact remained that I'd been found exactly where I was. Somehow, that creature had known my address, and had been determined to catch me at all costs.
But why? Why do they want me so badly?
I shook my head, preferring to focus on the road. Once on the highway, it would be a lot harder for the cops to catch up to me, or for the wolves to find me.
Lupa thinks I'm worthy. I guess she assumes I can survive all of this. If anything gives me confidence, it's that.
And I had no reason not to trust Lupa; after all, she'd been right about enemies coming to my house. It just couldn't be a coincidence.
As I turned out of the city and onto the highway headed north, I remembered something else, something that was not so pleasant.
The second wolf, or maybe the first wolf that turned up later, had blood on its fangs. It could have been a different person they mauled, but how many people would they be willing to maul in order to get to me?
Once I was on the highway, a rather unsettling possibility struck me right between the eyes.
