[ THE HUMAN CONDITION ]
Chapter XXIV: Fallout
❝Men go to far greater lengths to avoid
what they fear than to obtain what they desire.❞
— Dan Brown, The Da Vinci Code
THE NIGHT OF THE FULL MOON CAME, and I headed to a clearing several feet off from my house, where the overhead brush came apart to reveal a glistening moon. The moon was bright as its beams shone down on me, but I tried disregarding its illumination, my eyes in pursuit of Arcus. He was meant to have been here before me. It was odd being the first one there, left to wait, my patience wearing thinner by the second.
He materialized in front of me after my third look around. His hair was still long and dark, his skin tan and translucent, his lean body dressed in the same grimy attire he died in. I frowned at him.
Taking a moment to gaze up at the moon, he saw my frown belatedly. He gave me a shrug. "What? I have nothing to indicate the time. I come in accordance to what feels right."
"You don't have a watch?"
"A wat—what on Earth possessed you to think I have a watch?" Exasperation saturated his tone, his eyes squinting at me like I was a whole new person for my admittedly stupid question. "I have nothing to indicate time, and that is that."
"Okay, Grandpa," I said, eyeing him evenly. "Explain how you got here at all, then."
I could tell he wanted to roll his eyes, but he prevented himself from doing so. "This point of yours is frankly pointless. Now, I've come here to help you learn control and that's what I intend to do. Granted, Taha Aki would have made a better teacher but I'll try my best... Moving on. Have you felt any different since waking this morning?"
Now that he mentioned it, I felt absolutely nothing off from usual that day, all through school and tedious homework pile-ups to meeting him now, I felt normal. Well, my definition of what normal was.
Shocker.
I shook my head. His frown lines deepened into his pasty, lustrous skin, like he had any mortal ability to do so. I honestly might have imagined his humanity.
"That's odd," Arcus said, putting his thumb over his lips. I kept my eyes on him as he looked toward the sky. The moon was still there, exactly like it was two minutes ago, but he gave it a good ogle, an askew appreciation I didn't understand. "Is there anything off from how you usually feel?"
He wasn't my therapist, so I didn't let the dam holding back my thoughts and emotions burst. It had been almost two days and in the events leading up to today, I was beginning to hate everyone and everything on this stupid, godforsaken reserve. Arcus was my ghost grandfather who appeared when I was endangering myself or on the struggle bus regarding supernatural business, and Roman was off in Seattle drowning in responsibilities, and Paul was avoiding me like his life depended on it for reasons beyond my comprehension, and Embry was still expecting me to have a talk with him (apparently he'd wizened up from my Kallie spat since Monday, and he was willing to hear more about our ongoing fight) but I was avoiding him like my life depended on it. The boys ate lunch together like best buds, but I'd taken to eating in the library like Kallie and I used to do so long ago. I really wanted someone who didn't loathe my personality, not a person turning their nose up at my acquired-taste self. Even Paul, my male mirror, was up-in-arms over my continuously-worsening attitude.
I was going to talk with Embry, eventually. It was reassuring that he wasn't letting his bond with Kallie get in the way of him hearing where my ire was coming from. When he first confronted me he'd claimed Kallie was just "jealous;" having had time to digest what angry words I shot back and realize he overreacted without knowing the full story, he knew there was more to it. I appreciated the gesture. Embry was mature and considerate, not letting the imprint bond blindsight him completely—unlike some people. Looking at you, Jared.
Paul was still annoyed with me over a lot of things, none I could fault him for. There was me working with Jeremiah in a project, then me not telling the pack what I knew about Victoria, then me hiding things from him and always putting him at the bottom of my priorities, then me apparently putting myself before everyone else. None of it was particularly wrong for him to be angry about. We did try talking about it, but neither of us were good for serious talks so it quickly fell apart. Leaving our status as "complicated" was the easy, band-aid solution for a couple of dunderheads terrible at expression. Our emotional intelligence was a solid zero, on both our parts.
It was just so frustrating. It felt like the world was against me, crushing my spine down to nothing and leaving the pack virtually unharmed. I was pretty good at holding myself together, but one day I'd detonate. I'd fucking explode, and my guts would get all over everyone. Life was a prison and I was locked in solitary, except my solitary had spectators I couldn't see staring at me through glass walls.
"Alissa? I asked you a question."
"Oh, right," I said. My thoughts reluctantly had to be left behind—all dust, no oasis. "No, I haven't."
Arcus nodded but looked skeptical. "Alright, I'll take your word for it. I have a new question to ask you, then. Are you a quick learner?"
I reflected back on every subject I ever took, every hobby I ever picked up. Was I ever any good? Before the supernatural bullshit took over my life and I lost what made me a unique star out of billions, I liked to read. I watched movies and went hiking and had sleepovers with Kallie. Before Jared became a douche he was my best friend; we'd play tag outside, go in the woods to build makeshift forts, see who could chug down Mt. Dew the fastest after a popcorn and triple-fudge brownie feast, play competitive Mario Kart with Paul. This is all irrelevant, you idiot. How good were you at picking up shit?
"I guess I am," I said quietly, gnashing my teeth.
Arcus nodded and faced me with his whole body. "I was a terrible student when I was your age and learning from Taha Aki and my father," he admitted. The glasses framing his eyes stayed put. "My father's the one who taught me 'anchoring.' He taught me a lot of what I know, and Taha Aki gave me grounds to perfect my craft. It's a hands-on experience; unless you have a superior gifted with the moon's blessing combating you, learning your weaknesses and giving you the power to improve, you'll never reach your full potential. But I'll try my best."
I snorted. "Tough luck of us ever getting good old Richie boy to teach me. Remember what we both know?"
"Yes," he said. His eyes were sad. "We'll find a way to help him, I promise."
I nodded and took a deep breath, steeling myself for this lesson. "You're right. Let's get this over with first."
Arcus nodded and came to stand in front of me, gliding over the forest floor like Jesus on water. "I should first tell you we're using a clearing for our setting with an agenda in mind. Care to guess it?"
I searched for a viable answer from what little I knew. It was a difficult task, given what bits were blurred and unreachable. "Uh... I dunno. Because the moon's not blocked by any trees?"
"Good answer," Arcus said and laughed, "but no. There's a calm in the air. There's serenity surrounding us. The perfect place to learn control is a place that has no distractions, no triggers, no watchers coming to witness your screw-ups. A picturesque, natural scene that will make you feel like you're one with the Spirit Warriors."
I concentrated on the clearing, feeling for the serenity he promised. There was something different. An unplaceable different, however. I was skeptical of what he was here claiming, part of me thinking it was bullshit—but he was my superior in this situation, so I had to have some level of trust. He was my teacher. No teacher would teach me anything if I spent all lesson denouncing him in my head. I had to listen and do as he said. Otherwise I'd never learn.
Show them. Show them you're better than you are.
"I don't know what I feel here..." I said honestly, looking at him. I knew I sounded unsure. "But I feel that difference you mentioned."
Arcus smiled. "That's energy," he said. "Not energy with a name or energy you know. It comes when the moon is its biggest and brightest, a tap for you to unlock with your own energy. Then it will combine."
That made no sense whatsoever...
I cocked an eyebrow at him. "What?"
He apologetically pressed his shoulders upward in a shrug. "Sorry, that was a horrible explanation on my part. What I mean to say is that we are under duress by natural energy as we are in a natural setting. The forest knows what I am, same as you. Even though the forest is an inanimate haven, it has a presence much bigger than you or me. It knows that we are protectors, not defendants, in its fortress. Under the moon is when it particularly hears and feels us. The moon gives it life."
I took this to be a freedom of speech, some prolific metaphor he was using to personify the forest, so I nodded along with him. "And what does the moon do specifically to help with control?"
Arcus's smile widened. "I mentioned 'anchoring,' didn't I? The moon connects with the forest and allows only those who want to know, feel, and have control to anchor themselves to nature."
"That..." I cut myself off, confused beyond what I thought I was capable of. "Anchor myself to nature?"
"When you allow the peace of a natural setting inside yourself, your anger and fear—the two emotions that bind your powers to you materially—are perceptible. They can be twisted and turned whichever way you prefer, like a knot. If you listen to what I tell you, you'll be able to manipulate how you feel. Anger and fear will no longer rule you," Arcus explained. "You're someone who runs solely on anger and fear. They're the fuel of your personality, and for that I'm offering this trick."
"So I'm the only one having to learn this?" I asked him. Now I was annoyed. I didn't want to be that one idiot descendant with anger issues, needing the moon to save me from a lifetime of mood stabilizers and untimely outbursts.
Arcus shamefacedly met my gaze head-on. "At your age I was struggling with bipolar disorder due to a lack of resources and no support system. Because of that I had a lot of irritability and it played in my control while learning to harness my abilities."
"Oh," I said. My heart dropped to my stomach. "I see... I'm sorry."
He waved me off. "I want you to close your eyes and let yourself mediate—not meditate—from within. Let yourself become the center of the moon and our clearing."
Not responding, I did as he requested. My eyes fluttered shut and I entuned myself with the greens and browns enclosing our tiny spotlight in the woods. I felt moonlight bleeding through my eyelids, turning black to a yellowy hue. I thought about nothing but where I was. I heard the trees whispering from crisp, wintry winds. Night critters calling to each other from the dirt. Whistles of wind blowing through my hair, mussing it into frizzy disorder—
"Shit!" I nearly yelled. I popped my eyes back open. What little calm was washing over me quickly evaporated with my regained awareness. Arcus's face stared back, startled and disappointed. "Okay, I can't do this."
"Do what?" He walked over to me and there wasn't a lick of caution to his step. A look of concern was there in place of disappointment; I had an inkling that he knew something was bothering me.
I sighed, watching it crystallize. "My thoughts are all over the place. I can't just—make them go away."
"That's not what I'm asking," he said. "I want you to think. I want your headspace centered where we are, not where you want to be, or even where your anxieties want you to be. Ground yourself."
I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, I can do that. I can totally do that."
Arcus didn't understand sarcasm, otherwise he would have not just stared at me like an utter creep. I scowled. This was harder than it looked. I initially thought it was an easy practice, being that all it took was me to stand here and be "one with nature." Then it became apparent, clear as ever, that I wasn't the most nature-loving person. I hiked woodland terrain and scaled hills when I was feeling particularly adventurous, but that didn't make me one of the tree-hugging hippies that would have attended Woodstock. Yeah, not quite.
I bit my lip, then released it. I clenched my eyes shut.
Silence enveloped me, only cut through by nature's song. The nightcrawlers, the cold winds, the shuttering trees, the unwavering moonbeams. I could feel it all around me. I was surrounded, closed in by four walls and a roof. Except the four walls and a roof were manifestations of Mother Nature's fortress. Mother Nature's fortress, condemning me to her territory. A trial by combat in the guise of a petty after-school lesson.
There was an uncomfortable feeling thrumming under my skin, where my veins were. It was pumping inside me. Whatever it was, whatever name it went by, the fucker wanted to be free.
Seconds trickled by. I was calm. Under normal circumstances, I would have freaked and paranoidly assumed I was going to explode from the feeling. Arcus was right when he said I could think and still be grounded. I was absorbed in my thoughts but simultaneously still here, in the landscape gallery, exposed and not claustrophobic at all.
When I was completely calm, I opened my eyes again.
Arcus's smiling face greeted me. "I want you to try something for me," he said, stepping away from my personal space. I followed the movement with my eyes. "Take your dominant hand and point it at an open spot in the clearing. In front of you, for example. Your dominant hand is the one marred by the moon, correct?"
I nodded, in a daze.
"Your anger is bottled. Your fear is bottled. You've noticed the pattern, haven't you? Every time our ancestors come to assist you, it's always in the heat of the moment or when you are at your most vulnerable. Fear unleashes the worst-damaging, while anger has little bursts like you'd expect from crashing ocean waves on the sand. I know you don't understand why anger and fear are volatile inside you. You cannot control them because they control you. You cannot control your outbursts because they control you. When you can manufacture fear and anger from scratch, you become the one in complete, self-orchestrated control. Serenity does a thing or two to calm frazzled nerves. You feel it, don't you? You feel the cool, the calm. The woods have fabricated a composure you never would have had without it. I want you to think about this from now on, as it does wonders in steeling you during times of danger and loss of control.
"Now!" He clapped his hands, a toothless grin on his mouth. "I want to test you. While you're in a state of collected poise, I want you to conjure whatever spirits you can. Small, big, anything."
I glanced at him before setting my sights on the clearing. There was nothing there that screamed, "Imminent danger!" I had no encroaching predator to test my true abilities in adversity, but an invisible fiend would have to do. I saw Arcus watching from the corner of my eyes. I didn't want to fail him like I'd failed everyone before.
That same mantra from earlier kicked in. I'll show them.
Bracing myself, I put out my left hand.
Do I think about wolves? How would I bring them to life?
That was a question Arcus never answered, one I failed to ask. I had no other option but to go with what seemed more likely.
Any time I ever conjured a wolf to come to my rescue, it was when I was severely angry or severely afraid. During those times I never thought about wolves. I thought about saviors and defenders. These thoughts were split-second, sometimes not thoughts but feelings. I would want someone to whisk me away. I'd want to be away. Fleeing was the first option that came to mind. Verbal defense my alternative.
Fuck...
I thought about how I felt when Dakota was mocking me, preying on what most hurt me. The different comments he made about my mother. The anger consumed me then, but so did fear. That was the biggest wolf that ever came to my rescue.
I imagined someone in front of me, not Dakota but with the same harmful, self-serving intentions. This someone was a vampire with black hair, hateful red eyes, and a menacing frame.
He's got two seconds to get to you and squeeze your spine from your neck. What do you do?
Fearing the stimulation I gave myself, I immediately threw my hand forward—and a swift, gold-twined wolf emerged. It came out fast as lightning, faster than any vampire I'd seen. It growled aggressively and charged at the invisible vampire that was meant to kill me. Like it knew exactly what I was imagining and where, the wolf lunged and pretended to claw, tear, and mutilate the threat. Its head went back in a victorious howl, a disembodied head dangling from its teeth like a prize. Instead of disappearing back into my palm, it stayed exactly where it was. It looked over at me and toothily smiled, tongue lapping at its mouth. The head had dropped and rolled to my feet One blink, and the corpse of the stimulated vampire wasn't there anymore.
I sucked in a disbelieving breath.
Holy fucking shit.
For hours after that, Arcus instructed me different ways to "power up" my abilities and techniques to save energy. I grew exhausted after the first hour and his immediate proposition was to keep going, this time utilizing a new ability he didn't think I was ready to learn. He called it "Spurts." An alarming word, but I digressed. He demonstrated as good as a rusty spirit could; he showed that, for emissaries with steel control I had yet to acquire, he could deliver blows by different wolves in spurts. Wolves would appear by his side to maim, not kill. They'd disappear just as quickly, replaced by new spirits coming to join the fray. I thought that would be a more-exhaustive approach, but Arcus assured me he thought so too and insisted I had to do it for myself. He was skeptical until he tried it one day, aiming at practice dummies my great-grandfather had for him to use during his training years, and he didn't break a single sweat.
I found myself growing more at ease the longer he taught and I listened. I was actually learning. He was surprisingly patient. He was quick, agile, and helpful. At one point, I smugly stuck up a mental middle-finger at my Dad. Here I was, an amateur doing better than she ever thought possible, and it was thanks to my grandfather. Not my Dad—my grandfather. Worst Father of Year would have qualms with this secret session, but I couldn't care less. I was having the time of my fucking life.
After Arcus disappeared with the promise to come back and teach me more during the next full moon, I left. I went home. I was so absorbed in my own happiness I wasn't afraid venturing through the plants and thickets. The pines towered above me and I didn't take a single pause to mind the darkness. After spending so long with the moon for company, I just wanted to feel like a dark knight.
Then I entered the house, closing the door softly behind me. My father was standing three or four feet away when I made to face the kitchen.
I jumped, my heart taking a big fat leap with me. I took a step back into the door. Knowing he had Dakota's memories made me nervous—his made him callous where mine made my crazy. "Shit, you scared me," I said, laughing to mask my cough. "Thought you woulda been asleep by now... What is it, midnight?"
"Your brother's at Samuel's for the night. He mentioned to tell you he had an early morning patrol," Dad said, his dark eyes eerily like black bulbs. I tried keeping my gaze off them. Difficult to achieve when I was freaked the fuck out by him, his presence, his liking to pre-memory-erasure Dakota, his everything. "Where have you been?"
I froze. "Uh... out. Not up to anything bad, per se, but I was—uh, somewhere that isn't my room."
He sneered, watching me with a gaze that didn't feel fatherly. "Ah, so you were late-night studying with a friend? Or off gallivanting in the woods with that Lahote boy? You're not a good liar. Deceiving me would be easier if you were."
Looking behind him, I hesitated between making a break for it to my room or running back outside. Interrogations weren't my strongest suit. Dealing with them, at least.
I eventually brought my gaze back to meet his. "Yeah, you're technically not my boss outside of sun operating hours so... I don't have to tell you anything. Come back between 9 and 6, maybe I'll be more considerate."
The crow's feet around his eyes hardened. My hand went behind me, feeling and groping for a hard jut different from the rest of the smooth frame. Slowly but surely, my hand managed to locate the doorknob. I quickly secured my fingers around it.
Dad had a disgruntled look to him, like my words left a sour taste. "I don't need you to tell me a damn thing. I know where you went," he spat. I flinched. Oh... fuck. "You went to frolic in the woods with my father. Did he teach you anything worthwhile? I ought to test run with you now, just to know for sure. I suppose you can't be as useless as you were yesterday—"
I didn't like that at all, and the word "useless" sent a surge of anger through me. "Hey, fuck you," I snapped in response. Calm, Alissa, calm. Calm. Down. Yeah, it was too late to placate. I pointed a finger at him, my other hand still firmly gripping the doorknob, and said, "You don't get to have an opinion about me. You don't even pay the bills anymore; Sue and Harry have to in place of your sorry ass. I have no minutes on my phone at the moment because you haven't bothered to put more on it. What kind of father are you? Do you want us kicked off the reserve? Left homeless in the streets? Oh, I know the answer to that. It isn't really you I'm talking to anymore. Still, even before that you were a dick."
A flicker of guilt entered his gaze, not staying for very long. He scoffed—the indignant Dakota in him rising to the surface. "Is that all you worry about? No wonder it's taken this long for you to simply learn control."
He had to be egging me on purposefully, hoping to get me so angry I would forget all of Arcus's teaching. Arcus was his father and Dakota's memories were pushing him to both provoke and initiate a fight with me so of course he had to be surfacing every last technique, instruction, and tip I had freshly learned and then some. This was a losing battle that I was stupidly letting him start and finish. But I just couldn't let myself run away. Running away was for cowards, and I was not going to be one of those sorry shits.
"Yeah, and it's taken you even longer to realize you're a worthless sack of manure," I said, scowling at him. "I'm going to my room—"
Before I could finish, he reached out and slammed me into the door. It was a rough shove, knocking out my knees as I landed. My wrist hit wrongly on the knob, twisting as I was forced to let go, tingling and turning to radio static. I loosed a string of angry verses as I went down and I spat a dying curse when he jerked me back up. I went with his hands, his fingers digging into my shirt. Lifted up until I was where I was already—this time struggling to stand at ease and in pain. It took all my energy to stand upright, leaning back into the door like it was a crutch.
"Jesus fucking Christ, what is wrong with you?" I rasped out. I knew he was an abusive asshole now, but really, I hadn't done anything to make him this mad.
If we were cartoon characters steam would have been coming out of his ears and his eyes would have been blood red like a thirsty vampire's. "I am not worthless, Alissa. You're only a bitter child that asks for too much and expects everything to be handed to her. Don't you think it's time to return back to reality, hm?"
Triggers, triggers, triggers... My eyes widened for a split second, returning back to slits. I triggered him.
I was going to have to fight my way out of this, against an expert, with only a few hours of training at my fingertips. He'd have me trapped otherwise. That's how this was going to go, right? He wanted a fight, and by golly, he'd get one from my impulsive ass.
He didn't want me to learn from Arcus. That had to be his motive for confronting me. Why else would he be so aggressive?
Aggressive. Dad was never aggressive. He was impatient and short-tempered and blunt and stroppy, but not characteristically aggressive. That's how I first knew something was wrong with him; he'd taken his usual fury and maxed it out by ten. He was prone to raising his voice at me, usually because of my interference. He'd often describe me as a reckless princess. I wasn't a model child by any means, but...
This was oddly brutal treatment to give someone you did the tango to procreate.
He went to grab me again, and I sidestepped him. I ducked underneath his arm. As he was whipping around to face me again, a frightening growl rumbling from his throat, I kicked out his knees. Every bit of my leg strength went into that kick.
"You snooze, you lose, spit-stick," I said hastily and did my own turn-around. Fearing what would actually happen if I permitted him to cheese-grate my soul using an army of doppelganger wolves, I sprinted for the nearby hallway that led to my room.
Franken-Dad recovered quickly. He bellowed out my name, the final syllable dropping like a nuclear bomb. My pounding eardrums, beating to the sound of a self-produced horror movie soundtrack, heard his feet begin their own long-legged sprint. All in hot pursuit of me. Angrier than a fucking porcupine that had itself de-needled. Angrier than I was that time I read Animal Farm and got to the part where Boxer was sent to a glue factory to be slaughtered. Freshman year was a—
Shut up, shut up, shut up, you stupid whore! Run like your fucking life depends on it!
I panted and whirled around a corner, taking a near-spill into the adjacent wall. Franken-Dad was still charging after me, seconds away from catching up. He was barely a Mississippi away. I could count and he'd grab my collar, yanking me back into a painful chokehold identical to the kind I would have seen in a wrestling show. I saw it now, in my memories, the dark side that was always acutely aware of every single possibility.
I saw the entrance to my room, a plain chestnut door with only a little ribbon hanging off the doorknob, immediately after I avoided a tumble. The door was just slightly open. Hearing Franken-Dad yell out my name again, threatening to sign me up for boarding school, gave me incentive to run faster. My legs burned like they were made of wooden sticks, catching on fire the longer I fled, but I didn't care. I got to my room but didn't let up from running, doing a dance around the door and quickly slamming my back into it. I fumbled in my clumsy search for the doorknob, finding it just as Franken-Dad crashed into the frame.
I breathed out, slackening my body against the door. His fists pounded near where my head was, inches away. "Open the goddamn door, Alissa."
"Are you insane? Hell no, you psycho," I shot back. Checking to make sure I still felt his presence behind the door, I devised a plan to sneak away. I stared at the window with renewed purpose, already able to see my plan in action. Our house was all on a single level. Jumping from the window would shake the nerves in my legs a little, but I'd be able to walk it off. I wouldn't walk off the irreversible damage of chancing Franken-Dad's wrath. I'd take some leg pain to go, please.
Franken-Dad hit the door again, this time harder and louder, and I flinched on my crept way to the window. He was aggressive to a frightening degree. "I just want to talk."
"Yeah, like I'd bet my life on that horseshit," I muttered, knowing fully well he could still hear me. I didn't bother to tiptoe back to where he undoubtedly had himself stationed, listening for my movements. He could listen and try all he wanted to catch me; I would just have to be faster. My adrenaline had my veins tingling and my head light. I slowly unlocked my window and reached down to the bottom, my fingers squeezing the indented lip there and raising it inch by inch, second by second. Blood circulated in my head like a merry-go-round. I was almost all the way finished when I suddenly heard the doorknob jiggling, the unmistakable sound of a lock unclicking. My eyes widened against my sub-conscience demanding I react calmly in the face of fear—Arcus's teachings weren't exactly important right now.
"Fuck," I hissed and slammed it up the rest of the way. I punched out the screen, watching it fall down to the grass below. The door was being pushed open behind me—slammed, more like. I desperately threw myself onto the bottom lip of the frame, ignoring the painful pressure on my stomach. I grabbed both sides, using them to stabilize myself. Desperate wiggle attempts followed. I wriggled my way until my entire torso was overlooking a five-to-six feet drop. As I imagined myself falling, my heart dropped to the pit of my stomach, too.
"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" Before I could take the plunge, someone roughly grabbed ahold of my foot. I didn't have to look to see who it was, but I did anyway. Franken-Dad had an incredibly cartoonish fury painting his face to be cinched in a half-scowl, half-glower. I jerked my foot in an attempt to loosen his grip, but he just seemed to squeeze harder. I let out a half-hearted hiss.
Like my pain gave him a high, he dug his fingernails into the skin between my pants leg and my dirty white sock.
"Get off me!" I screamed. Yes, I screamed. I never played damsel in distress, but tonight I was a damsel. In distress. I'd scream all I fucking wanted to, if it got him to flinch and forget his place as villainous villain for a hot second. Just long enough for me to run; I could pick up the shards of my dignity at a later date.
Yeah, you're a damsel. A damsel who's no way in Hell helpless.
I narrowed my eyes. I was hanging out of a window and fighting to keep my Franken-Dad from enacting his murderous intents on my doormat body, but I wasn't the naïve, reckless princess he used to lament. I had an agenda he wouldn't fuck with. I had abilities he had no right to take or control.
"Fuck you," I said right as I lifted one of my hands from the window frame and aimed it at him. I imagined vampiric features where the age-worn chiseled jaw and crooked nose used to be. His brown eyes became a sinister red. His dark skin paled to a pasty white. His open mouth had two deadly incisors emerge from the gums. With that frightening image all I could perceive, and my nerves desensitized to this crazy-ass reality Fate decided to chunk me in, from my hand a silver-threaded wolf materialized. It growled as it rammed into Franken-Dad, taking with it every intention I had to flee the scene.
Letting out a grunt of pain, Franken-Dad's fingers unlocked from around my foot. But he had pushed against me in the process.
Still reeling from me using my powers against my own father, I didn't notice gravity had failed me until I was running out of body to adjust on the frame—I would fall to an untimely neck-break if I happened to let this happen. Thinking quickly, I threw my torso upward and stretched my arm until I reached my limit, grabbing onto the window itself. Thrusting into the pane, I made it climb until there was enough room to rotate. Immediately upon flipping myself onto my back my knees locked on the outside of the window and I went backwards, slamming my head directly into the muck-slick plating of our house. An instant tingling struck through my neck up to my cranium, leaving me in partial agony. I yelped in pain and unconsciously groped the back of my head. Fuck. There was no blood, but that didn't stop an unpleasant feeling from spreading. Franken-Dad had by now recovered, and I felt his fingers graze my shoe.
I sucked in a breath, bracing myself for the imminent pain and brought out a full leg, kicking off the window using my left foot. My right leg slid out from the window like a concrete snake—and I went plummeting to the ground.
Already my head had been aimed at the grassy Earth. Without much of anything there to soften my fall, I hit my fallen window screen. With my forehead. Right on the white trim. Both hands went to caress the unphysical wound this time. I wasn't weeping, but I was real fucking close to calling it a day and just screaming and crying and wheezing out my feelings. Some would call this an adventure; I called it a Hell-like vacation from high school drama that I'd rather get burned by a hotplate than have to sit through. The spectator always had it better than the spectated.
I was slow to recover, unlike freakishly indomitable Franken-Dad. "Ah, fuck..." I grunted, blinking my eyes wide open. I saw straight up at my window without having to adjust my head's positioning. The curtains were blowing through the exposed gap somehow, but no angry Bobble Head was popping out. No one was glaring and sneering at me, a taunt to destroy me hanging over their head like a glaring sign. I was gob-smacked. Where'd he go?
I got my answer that next minute, as I was raising myself up to sit. My legs were completely fine, but my torso hurt like a bitch. I did fall on my head. That'd leave anybody out of the works for a while. I was unprepared for when the front door to our house slammed open, the noise eerily echoing throughout the front yard. I watched Franken-Dad come marching towards me through the uncut grass. His face was perfectly blank, unlike the colorful expressions I'd only just adapted to.
"So you're not completely useless," was the first thing he said. He stood over me like a black storm-cloud, peering down with unsaid malicious intentions. Watching me like I was prey he'd taken down, a prize for him to now claim. He'd parade around with my corpse. Maybe he'd send a fucking picture to the Volturi. All in all, he'd do just about every sadistic, unfatherly blow to my pride imaginable, to rub salt in the wound. "I suppose I was wrong to doubt your abilities. Is it too late to retract my previous statements? I made an ill-advised assumption. You're sloppy, but you've got a fight in you. That's all that matters when Death comes knocking at your door. I think with proper training, you may very well be—"
"If you're going to kill me, please, for the love of God, spare me the monologue," I snapped. "What are you, Hamlet? Jesus."
His eyes narrowed. "I have you at my mercy. I wouldn't be so quick to talk cheek if I were in your position."
My ears no longer rung and my body wasn't in the immediate danger zone of hurl reaction. I knew he was going to take advantage of my grounded form the more he talked and I lost concentration, and I couldn't afford that.
I quickly propelled myself onto my knees. Then, before I could chicken out, I jumped up to be on my own two feet. I retreated five or six paces, my eyes remaining on the only enemy in the vicinity, positioning my hand in a sloppy format of what Arcus taught me. I'd fight my way out of this bitch. "I'm not at anyone's mercy, asshole."
Franken-Dad chuckled, his eyes scrutinizing me from head to toe. "You want to rethink that? Say it again?"
"God, you sound like every douche bully I've seen on TV," I said, rolling my eyes. I steeled myself—my arms, my hands, my legs, my back. It's all I could do to keep my fragile conscience from falling apart right then and there. I wanted to bolt, but I also knew there was no use. He'd follow me and fulfill his mission, whatever the hell that was. It'd be a game of cat and mouse. He'd find me out, sense by sense.
Franken-Dad breathed a chuckle and took a step closer. I mirrored his movement in the opposite direction. We stayed like that—him encroaching too closely, seeking to perforate my personal bubble, and me trying my damnedest to get away. He didn't look too friendly, and I wasn't about to try my luck if I'd get myself killed in the process. As I neared the picket fence enclosing our house from the broken blacktop road, I became more and more nervous. My head whipped back and forth, surveying the proximity between me and the entrapping object, as well as the asshole human following me. No alternate route in sight, my brain projected, ignoring the gate just feet away.
"Fuck," I hissed aloud. My attention went back to Franken-Dad. Taking a chance, but knowing it was a damn stupid one, I turned my back completely on him. He wouldn't jet forward to catch my collar; he wanted the thrill of seeing my shocked face when he caught me from the front. Only having a few seconds to get fully away, I jogged the rest of the straight shot to the picket fence—and I grabbed onto the sharply-pointed wood, springing myself atop it like a mediocre track runner.
Stupid fucking idea. The pointy end struck my stomach, slitting open some of my skin. I grunted and quickly tossed my body over to the other side. I hit the surface hard, a tousle of grass brushing against my face. Tendrils of hair went everywhere, slipping from my sloppy ponytail easily.
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
"Was that a smart idea, Alissa?" Franken-Dad sounded amused. I recuperated from the ground in the ensuing silence, gaining enough energy to sit back up from my toppled form. Squinting my eyes, I craned my neck upward. Franken-Dad was looking over the fence at me; our gazes awkwardly clashed. "There was a gate only a few feet away."
"I never have good ideas," I said, straining to avoid a voice crack. I peeled open my flannel top and looked down at my belly button area. Lo and behold, there was blood beginning to trickle from a gash in the vicinity—same with a slit beside it. Yuck. "Also, the gate was locked. I should know. I was too lazy to dig out my key and I jumped it when I came home."
Sometimes I forgot we even had a gate. I was used to it being open twenty-four-seven, the lock half-busted. This fucker decided to switch up tradition for whatever reason.
"I need my keys from you, Alissa," Franken-Dad said seriously, like the word "key" jogged his memory.
I slowly got to my knees, then used one leg—searing from the pressure— to force myself back to my feet. I incredulously looked in his direction. "What? Why?"
I'd been using the car for school after stealing the keys back from him the other night. He hadn't come to retrieve them, so I just assumed his ploy after that abrupt appearance at the Archives was an assertion of how much more power he had than I myself possessed. He was clever already, but Dakota's memories had to have triggered a conniving bearing. A subset of wit that was both nasty and manipulative—and he had a world view completely different from before his almost premature death.
Franken-Dad raised his eyebrows, only seen through the glinting moonlight that danced off his forehead. "You're not at any advantage to be demanding an elaboration from me."
He was right.
I rolled my eyes, choosing to disregard just how right he was. "Oh, quit the almighty act. What's the harm in telling me, Daddio? You think I'll try and stop whatever you plan?"
His silence spoke louder than words would have.
"Wonderful," I said, cracking my knuckles. It was a useless endeavor I only did because I was getting nervous. Well, I was already nervous, but there was a blossoming tension that was beginning to feel like nails on skin more than a small discomfort. It clothed me like a backdrop.
Thinking quick and hoping the moon would help soothe my nerves in the oncoming fight, I did the beginner tricks Arcus taught me so little ago. I jerked out my hand, thinking of anger and fear as fuel instead of a gas pipe waiting to burst, and out came a quick twine of gold. The wolf, small in structure but agile like a predator, charged for the fence, hitting the target as it leaped over the wooden spikes. It had my feisty personality, but there was something unique about the way it threw its head back, a snarl blazing through its teeth.
I didn't have the element of surprise. Franken-Dad had been bracing himself for my attack; he sidestepped the spirit and eliminated it with a quick jet of golden wolves behind him that encircled my tiny pup, incinerating it into dust. They were different from any I ever produced—they were mean-looking, a darker gold than mine's translucent twine, and they fought like killers. I went cold and hot, a trickle of sweat adorning my neck the same a necklace would. He turned to look back at me, his hand raising.
This is like a baby squirrel fighting a fucking snake.
Franken-Dad jumped the fence, barely touching the spikes due to his tall height and dexterity. He had his dominant hand out before I could blink and out emerged an entire entourage of wolves. Golden and largening the longer they strayed from Franken-Dad's hand. They came apart, the apparent Alpha taking the lead. It roared and reared its ugly head, looking at me like I was the enemy—I am the enemy. It came darting at me, mean teeth gleaming with sharp intensity.
I quickly put my own hand out and had to simulate composure, having no time to steer myself out of the fear fogging my senses. Self-preservation kicked in, like the moon was guiding me, and a stream of my own Spirit Warriors came flocking to my defense. They, too, largened, growing in size as they met Franken-Dad's offensive team in the middle. An interface was created that had me backing away like I'd be dragged into their fight if I came too close.
As they clashed, Franken-Dad stalked towards me, no fear at all at engaging in the fatal fight. Frankly he didn't seem to even notice the spirit carnage between us. I had nowhere to go that wasn't road so I turned my back to him and ran out onto it, feeling muddy grass turn to a broken blacktop underneath my sneakers. I was panting and having to hold my stomach, knots twisting and rolling under the skin, when I got far enough away to chance a look back.
My energy was already draining; I could feel it, even with the full moon handy. Arcus had warned me about the side effects of using my powers too much and too soon. He similarly warned me against thinking I was trained enough to engage in any fights with supernatural beings who would crush me like a walnut. Franken-Dad was just as mortal as I was, but from what I heard, he had it in him to take down an army of vampires. He was more powerful than any other entity I knew, dead or alive. He was only rivaled by Dakota.
The spirits behind Franken-Dad disappeared as he clenched his fist. Seeing he was getting ready for a second wave, I readied myself for a line of my own defense. The reckless voice in my head was saying to try Arcus's technique he said wasn't meant for beginners, but I wasn't ready. I didn't even know how to do it. I'd have to do what I did know. What I did know was barely anything except how to give and take. I could reciprocate, but I didn't know how to recuperate or get the upper hand in a fight—and those were what mattered most.
Franken-Dad sent a swirl of shapes at me and, because I had yet to retract what little spirits I'd already provided, I had to duck and dodge, then cut the losses of my simmering wolves and produce a whole new batch. Every tactic, every strategy slipped my mind and I could only think quickly on my feet; I hastily formed a plan that would either fuck me over or provide the advantage. I targeted my hand at the Alpha that missed by mere inches, only able to think of how terrifying this situation was. I thought, I'm fucked. Oh my god, I'm fucked. My thoughts were getting to me, my emotions were getting to me, Franken-Dad's obvious mastery of the elements was getting to me. I started fearing for my life, and this translated to me losing my handle on where I was and what I had to do in order to get out unscathed. My control was scattering, the exact outcome I dreaded.
Still, the moon was a fucking God-send; Arcus hadn't told me the full extent of its influence but I quickly found out I could use it for auto-piloting my powers. It was a stress relief all on its own—like a hug coaxing someone out of a panic attack. It was unseen, but a formidable presence I felt with every breath. Through the haze of self-sabotage, a new voice emerged, helping string together inner commands and acts of defense for the spirits within me to enact. I was still a complete novice, but I did know some things. I'd picked up a few things during my brief training. I knew that the spirits were a part of me, so I was their pilot. What I was, they were. My personality became theirs. Spirits were traditionally nameless and faceless, being they were different from mentors. Mentors were ancestors that came to guide through words. When emissaries came of age, they would then be able to interact with and see the spirits that were once invisible to the naked eye. Through time we had always been the connection between the past and the present—and now, I was failing. I was failing to know the spirits inside me and pilot them like they mattered or had value. I was desperate to stay alive; my only motivation was to stay alive. I was afraid what would happen if one of his wolves touched me. I didn't care about the spirits at my fingertips dying twice or thrice.
As I dodged and weaved and tried keeping up with Franken-Dad's quick maneuvers, every last thing I knew about this life entered my mind and stayed. I screamed into the void and the void screamed back. None of what I knew applied to saving myself. It was all useless and only helped clarify my meaning as a contributor to the tribe and how it was possible I could do any of this. None of it included survival instincts.
At once, Franken-Dad did an 'X' with his arms before thrusting them both to opposite sides. All spirit wolves attacking me disappeared, leaving mine to target their sights on Franken-Dad, the only visible enemy. He eyed their arched backs and snarling mouths with disinterest. I knew why in that next moment.
He took his hand and dragged his other arm to lay overtop, spreading his hands to face my defenders like a flower blossom. Then—it happened. Growls like nothing I'd ever heard came from his hands, then came the bodies, then came a shadowed throng of wolves like nothing I just saw. They came charging for me, dozens of them, and their bodies became huge. They became inches long, then feet long. I began backing up back onto muck-ridden Earth, where the woods to my south were, as they destroyed my wolves in their path. Their eyes were locked on me. I knew if they got to me, something awful would happen. I was completely fucking exhausted. I had no chance of getting away in time, and I was too tired to produce a line of defense. But I was lucid enough to be deadly afraid, my eyes watching the approaching black of death with horror.
The wolves hit me like a Chevrolet truck, and I went sailing backwards. My mind went blank, my body went numb, my eyes shut tight before the stars could take over. I landed on my back.
I had no energy to get up in the resulting agonizing overlay of needles and aches. I thought about giving in to the darkness but decided even that was tiresome. I liked the idea of peacefully falling into slumber more.
Because my ears were filled with cotton, Franken-Dad's slowly loudening voice sounded like a blur in noise form. I just laid there and pretended that my body wasn't in agony as he came closer. It was a long process, but eventually my head wasn't throbbing like I had an excruciating migraine and I could hear night-talk over the ongoing TV static.
"Where are the keys?" Franken-Dad asked, from above me. His foot hit my side and I was struck with a strong sense of déjà vu. What was with people taking advantage of me when I was half-incapacitated on the ground? I didn't have time to question it before he toed me again, more aggressively. "Which pocket?"
Somehow, I managed to say, "Back pocket... left."
He reached down—or it sounded like he reached down—to my level. Next thing I knew, he was rummaging through my left back pocket as I said. I was hit with the jingling of keys. My pocket felt significantly lighter afterward—like he took more than my keys.
My wallet's in there, I thought through the haze.
"Thank you for your cooperation. You wouldn't be in pain if you cooperated sooner," he said, a fucking lie if I'd ever heard one. I could almost taste the bullshit. "Go back to your room and sleep, Alissa. Dream. You may not be completely abysmal, but I know potential when I see it. You have none. You belong with sheep, not wolves.
"It's best if you know your own worth. See to it you seize the delusions," he said, a note of finality in his voice.
I hated myself for being afraid of him and afraid for him at the same time.
When he walked away, I questioned what his intentions were both then and now. I wondered what drove him to be Mr. Hyde, what he saw in Dakota's memories that made him disturbingly merciless. I questioned his hatred for me and the reason why our relationship had deteriorated so much.
After all this time, I didn't know.
