A/N: Thanks and gratitude to SortingHat47 for her suggestions and comments, and for being with me throughout this journey; and for Zarathustra, the fabulous beta, who graciously surrenders her time and talents to make my grammar, punctuation, and Brit-speak look good and read well!
Chapter 6: Awake and Aware
Wednesday, 5 June, 1985—9:17 a.m.
"Hey."
He ignored the voice. He was so tired. He ached. He hurt.
"Come on, it's way past time to get up."
The voice sounded annoyed. The voice could go screw itself.
A hand fell on his shoulder and shook him roughly. He groaned.
"I got some healing potions for you, and some food."
Food? Was he ready for food? His nose twitched, but he didn't smell the bacon or sausage that he preferred on the days just before and after the full moons. Still, the word 'food' keyed something in his stomach.
"Look, if you don't get up, me da'll be in, and you don't want that. Trust me."
No, he probably didn't want that. He opened his eyes, then immediately recoiled, startled. The dark-haired boy was kneeling only inches from his face.
"That's better." The younger man motioned to a metal tray on the floor next to him. "I got you breakfast. Me da wants you to finish it up quick, and then I'll show you what you're to do."
"What — I'm to do?" Remus asked hoarsely. He pushed himself up on one elbow, and eyed up the food on the tray. Porridge. He hated porridge.
"Yeah. I'll explain later." Young Bentley stood up. "I'm going to go find you some clothes. Be back in a bit." Remus watched him carefully lock the cage door behind himself.
Can't trust the injured, chained werewolf to stay put, I guess.
It took him a few minutes to sit up, and he gave himself a quick once-over. Things were scabbing up nicely. There were quite a few bruises from the manhandling he'd received the day before, but he'd had worse. And whatever he had to say about those who'd brought him here, they knew their healing potions. There were two very powerful ones on the tray: he recognized them by the smell as ones he'd used before.
They moved quickly through his system, and he watched the bruising fade from black to greenish-yellow, and the soreness in his body faded. With a sigh, he pronounced himself fit enough to eat the glop the boy had left him. He really hated porridge. The chains around his ankles rattled, and he spared them a disgusted glance. How he'd get trousers on over those…
Remus managed to choke down the porridge and the piece of toast before the boy returned. He nursed the small glass of juice, trying to make it last as long as he could.
"You're a lot taller than any of us," the boy said as he entered the cage. Remus noticed that he carefully tucked the key to the cage deep into his front jeans pocket, before tossing a pile of clothes onto the floor next to werewolf. "So I had Ruthie work some magic to stretch them out a bit. Sorry I couldn't find shoes for you."
Did he want to be thanked? Remus wondered bitterly. He sighed. "Thank you for thinking of it."
The younger man looked surprised.
Oooh, the werewolf has manners. What next?
"You know, it's going to be a bit difficult getting jeans on over these," Remus said, pointing to the leg irons.
"I know." Bentley looked uncomfortable. "Da said to unlock one at a time, and said to tell you that he's got silver leg irons if you put up a fight."
"Of course," Remus replied, with a sardonic half-smile.
The boy not only just unlocked one ankle ring at a time — he would then close it over the nearest cage bar. Remus tried not to let the boy see him cringe at the proximity of his leg to the silver, but was unsuccessful.
"What happens if you touch silver?" Young Bentley asked, watching Remus with curious eyes.
"Burns." He glanced over and saw the confusion. "Imagine taking an iron bar, shoving it into fire for a while, then wrapping it around your ankle. That's what it does to me."
"Blimey."
"Yeah."
More by luck than anything else, he managed to get the clean but shabby underwear and jeans on his frame without bumping the silver bars once. The boy closed the irons back around his ankles, and Remus stood for a moment staring at them.
"I'm sorry," Bentley suddenly said.
Remus's eyes snapped up to meet the boy's gaze. "Then let me go."
"I can't do that!"
"Why? You know it's wrong that I'm here."
"Me da paid —"
"Nobody's paid me," snarled Remus. "I have a job that I've been taken from without permission or warning! I'm not here willingly!"
"But you're just —" the boy stopped.
"Just a werewolf?" Remus demanded. "I don't have feelings? I don't have rights?"
"Mr Carmichael said —"
"Carmichael can go bugger himself." Remus bent to snag the T-shirt off the floor with his fingertips. "Just how much did your da pay for me to lose my freedom?"
The younger man told him.
Remus's jaw dropped before he could stop it. He quickly recovered his composure, though, and pulled the T-shirt over his head, wincing slightly at the stretch of still-achy muscles. "He's insane."
Bentley shrugged. "We've been having some problems. He's hoping having a werewolf will bring in more people and more money."
"And he couldn't have just asked a werewolf to sign on? He had to kidnap one?" Remus asked, tucking the shirt into the jeans. "Surely there was a werewolf somewhere who'd take one thousand galleons to stay here willingly."
"Would you?" the boy countered.
"If I didn't have the job I — shit." Remus closed his eyes. How long would it be before Alatza hired a new tutor? How long would he wait for Remus to return? Would he even report him missing? The hopelessness of his situation hit him with the strength of a Jelly-Legs Jinx, and he fell to his knees.
"You alright?" The other young man's concern would be touching, if he probably weren't worried about making sure his father's investment was intact and well.
"What is your father demanding from me?"
"What?"
Remus took a deep breath and opened his eyes. "You said your father had something he wanted me to do. What is it?"
"Oh. He wants you to help take care of the creatures. He said you should have experience doing that, and you should —" Again Bentley stopped speaking before revealing something he felt would be embarrassing.
"I should what?" Remus asked. His head was beginning to thump.
"He said you should earn your keep."
"All one thousand Galleons of it, eh?" Remus dropped his face into his hands. He had very few options. He could fight tooth and claw for freedom, but he was caged within silver bars, and he'd been warned of silver leg irons. What else did they have planned to keep a rebellious werewolf in check? He wasn't comfortable with trying to overpower young Bentley. It wasn't the boy's fault he was here — plus, he wasn't quite sure he had the physical strength to dominate at this moment. And there was the fact that he already was in leg irons — how far could he get?
So, what did that leave? Do the job, but look for any opportunity to escape.
"Fine," he finally spat, rising clumsily to his feet. "But if your dear old da is expecting me to work, I'm going to need a lot more and a lot better than porridge in the morning. Werewolves need meat — especially the days before and after the full moon."
The boy looked somewhat nervous at Remus's demand; but rather than question the reason why, the werewolf motioned to the door. "Let's go."
Walking with chains between your ankles apparently required a certain knack that Remus just didn't have. He had never felt as awkward as he did now, half-stepping, half-tripping over the links, his stride cut to a fourth of its usual length. He had to concentrate to stay on his feet, so he didn't see what was in the cage next to his until the other boy stopped abruptly in front of him.
"Good God!" Remus exclaimed, taken off guard.
"We just got her a couple of weeks ago."
"It's an Erumpent!"
"Yeah."
"If that horn explodes, it will destroy half of this tent!"
"I know. But you throw in some greens and bit of grain now and again, and she's happy enough."
The Erumpent didn't look at all happy to Remus. "Her cage needs to be cleaned out."
"Yeah, I know. Me da says you can do it after you feed them."
"It's going to be a lot more difficult for me to do it without my wand. Can't you just Scourgify the cage?"
The boy's face fell. "No, I can't."
"Didn't you learn it at Hogwarts?" Remus asked, amazed that the boy had gotten this far in life without knowing such a basic spell.
The boy shifted uncomfortably. "I never went to Hogwarts."
"Oh?"
"I'm a bit of a Squib."
"Oh."
"Me mum was a Muggle, and I took after her. She and Da split up when I was a baby. She thought I'd be a wizard, too, so she left me with him. Ruthie's me da's —" He squirmed. "Ruthie's almost me stepmum."
"Ah." Well, that answers that. I've got to take care of magical creatures with the help of a Squib and no wand. Hell.
James would have run his fingers through his hair and offered some kind of encouraging words. Peter would have looked thunderstruck and offered consolation. Sirius would have laughed and called it a challenge.
Don't think of Sirius.
But, right now, standing in this corridor surrounded by iron bars, he couldn't help feeling a sudden empathy with his former best friend.
It took them about half an hour to go around the tent, and for Remus to learn what animals were present in "Bentley & Parsons' Carnival of Dark and Dangerous Creatures." Remus also discovered that both Bentleys were named Gerald, but the younger Bentley preferred to be called Gerry. He also learned about a man named Hector, who had worked there for two years, taking care of the creatures. Hector had left two months ago, deciding that he'd had enough of it. Strangely enough, his decision coincided with the loss of his left leg…
They ended their tour at the cage directly opposite Remus's. He was stunned to realize that a centaur was inside. How had he managed not to see the half-man, half-horse before?
"And this is Bertie," Gerry said.
The centaur flicked his tail, obviously annoyed, but said nothing. His coat was chestnut in colour, and all four feet were white — or would be if they weren't covered with caked-on dirt. Thick curls of reddish hair covered his chest and chin, matching the even thicker hair on his head.
Remus nodded politely, but the left corner of his mouth rose. If there was anything he knew about centaurs, it was that no self-respecting centaur would be named: "Bertie?" he echoed.
The centaur merely gave him a look that meant Remus should shut his mouth before he even thought about adding anything else.
"If you have any questions, you could ask Bertie. He helped Hector." Gerry Bentley commented.
The centaur looked even more irritated at that bit of information.
Gerry glanced down at his watch. "We've only got a couple of hours before the gates open. We'd better get moving. Da'll be angry if the creatures are still eating when the people are coming through." He turned and started back towards the front of the tent, where the storage area was.
Remus hesitated and looked back at the centaur. "Bertie?" He whispered, putting an inquiring tone into the name.
The centaur raised his chin proudly. "Libertas."
Remus's first reaction was to snicker. But then he remembered the looks of disbelief that sometimes followed the realization that he was a werewolf: "Your name is Remus? Lupin? Are you serious?" He gave the centaur a sympathetic grin. "I'm Remus Lupin."
The centaur just stared at him then folded his arms across his chest defiantly.
Remus shrugged and started to turn to follow Gerry. He had forgotten about the chains, though; his toe caught in the links, and he fell painfully to the tanbark. A sharp sliver of wood drove itself into the palm of his hand, and he muttered a curse.
"You are a wolf," the centaur said suddenly.
Remus looked up at him. "As much as you are a horse."
The muscles beneath the chestnut hide shuddered, but the forbidding, defiant facial expression didn't change.
"Come on!" Gerry suddenly called.
"The master calls," Remus said bitterly, pushing himself up to his knees.
"That is the master's son. The master is less — considerate." The centaur backed away from the bars and into the shadowy corner, obviously finished with the conversation.
It was Remus' turn to shudder. Considering what he had already experienced and the fact that centaurs were masters of mystery and understatement, the implications behind such a comment were frightening.
The next two hours were an eye-opening flurry of activity. Remus soon realized why it didn't seem to be a problem to keep the animals contained. A sedative potion was poured onto each dangerous creature's food, and before Remus was escorted back to his own cage, several of the animals were already sleeping or leaning woozily against the bars of their respective cages. He watched Gerry add a small bit of the potion to Libertas' water.
"You're not drugging the centaur?" he asked incredulously.
Gerry looked at him with wide eyes. "Haven't you seen a centaur when he's angry?"
"Once or twice," Remus admitted. "But it's just — wrong."
"It's safer. Besides, me da wants this done. You're well warned to remember that." Gerry replied with a firmness to his words that Remus knew he couldn't argue with. "Anyhow, there's no time to clean out the cages now. They'll have to be done tomorrow morning. You're going to have to get up earlier in the morning so you can do the feeding and the cleaning before the gates go up at one."
"So, from now until tomorrow morning, I do…what, exactly?"
Gerry looked surprised that he had asked. Or maybe, judging by his next words, he had never considered it: "I don't know. What do you usually do?"
"I usually do the job that I was hired to do," Remus said, fighting not to slap the boy on the side of the head. "You're telling me that I'm going to just sit in a cage all day doing nothing?"
"Well," the boy shifted his feet uncomfortably. "I might be able to find a book or something for you to read." He glanced at his watch. "I've got to get you back to your —er, cage."
Remus shifted the bowl of greens for Libertas so he could pick up the large pitcher of drugged water, but Gerry grabbed it instead.
"I will be back around six to help you with the second feedings," he told Remus as they trudged back down the length of the tent.
"Second feedings?"
"Yeah. Some of the creatures get a second feeding — and a second dose of potion — then."
"Something to look forward to," Remus muttered.
They went back to the centaur's cage, and Gerry unlocked the door. "Here you go, Bertie. Got you your lunch and some water."
Libertas looked at Remus, but the werewolf looked away. Did the centaur know what was in the water? Surely he did. Would he drink it? Remus suddenly wondered if his juice had been drugged. He hadn't noticed any kind of aftertaste, and he didn't feel sluggish or tired. Besides, they needed him to feed the creatures. Sluggish and tired wouldn't get the job done — not in time for the opening of the gates.
Well, that's a happy thought.
He handed the bowl of greens to Libertas without meeting his eyes and quickly left the cage, narrowly avoiding tripping over the chains — again.
Gerry locked the centaur's cage, and started digging in his pockets for the key to Remus's cell. "I'll try to find a book for you," he said.
"Fine." Remus suddenly felt an urge that needed to be dealt with — now. "Uh, one question, though. Where do I, uh, go?"
Gerry glanced up with a confused look. "Right there," he said, jerking his chin towards the silver bars.
"I know that. I mean to — oh, hell. Where do I take a piss, Gerry?"
The boy's eyes widened. "Oh. Uh…"
Remus chuckled bitterly. "Didn't you people plan for this? What did you think I'd do? Lift my leg against the wall?"
"Bill might fix something up for you," Gerry said, finally jamming the key into the lock, and swinging the door open.
"Who is Bill?"
"Me da's partner."
He might? God help me if he doesn't. I really will have to lift my leg. Could be interesting considering the leg irons….
Remus walked to the middle of the cage and looked around. "A chair might be nice — or a bed of some sort."
"You'll have to talk to Bill."
"Right."
Gerry locked the door and tugged at the door to make sure it was closed tightly. "I'll see you in a bit."
Remus nodded.
The boy stayed there for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip. "It's really not so bad here," he finally said. "It's actually very interesting sometimes."
"Of course it is," Remus replied sarcastically.
He waited until the boy had gone, then sat down on the ground. Thankfully, the ground hadn't been strewn with tanbark. Instead, a thin rug covered the concrete-hard dirt. That'll be chewed to bits in a matter of seconds at the full moon, Remus thought.
He lay back on the floor with his arms crossed behind his head. There wasn't anything else he could do. He couldn't even lean against the bars.
"Wolf."
He glanced through the bars at the centaur. "Bertie."
The centaur stomped a back hoof. "Taurus is strong in this quadrant. Beware Scorpio though. His sting can be deadly for you."
"Do centaurs ever speak plainly?" Remus asked the canvas ceiling above him.
"We speak the truth," Libertas said.
Remus sat up and shifted closer to the bars. "But you hide the truth behind such a thick veil of words that no one can discern it."
"It is discernable for those who seek it."
"Well that's bloody helpful." He watched Libertas take a drink of water straight from the pitcher. "That water is drugged."
The centaur regarded him with pupils that were already dilating. "It is sometimes better if one cannot see clearly. Looking upon the sun will blind you."
I'd get more sense from the jarvey five cages down.
Suddenly Remus heard voices, and he slowly got to his feet. One of the voices belonged to Gerry; the other was unfamiliar and very American. That voice belonged to a man who was tall and thin, with light brown hair and blue eyes. He looked friendly enough, but Remus saw Libertas recede into the shadows in the back of his cage when the man drew near.
"Well, look what we have here. It's the new addition to our little family," said the man with a broad grin.
Gerry interrupted before Remus could say anything. "This is Bill Parsons, uh, Lupin. He's me da's partner. He's the one who can fix things up here for you."
"Not even here a full day, and I hear you've got demands." The American was still smiling, as if he was just making a joke, but there was something in his tone that made Remus's hackles rise.
"The only demand I have is for you to let me go," Remus said calmly.
Parsons snickered. "Yeah, I figured you'd say that. That's just not going to happen — not now at any rate. So, why don't we see what we can do to make you comfortable?"
"How long do you intend to keep me here?"
Bill's eyes narrowed. "Not the friendliest one, are you?"
"Not when I've been brought here and kept here against my will," Remus snapped.
The American regarded him thoughtfully for a moment then twisted his lips into another smile. "Here's the thing, pup. You need us right now. I can just shut the curtains, and forget about you, and you can just die here without anyone knowing the difference. I'll drag your dead carcass out myself and throw it over the hill and go get another werewolf. Or, you can just get over that attitude and make yourself useful. You'll get fed and a place to sleep — hell, I'll even make sure Gerry gets you whatever books you're wanting. But, the whole gist of it is that you're here now. You're ours now. And how miserable you are depends on what you make of it. Got it?"
Remus held Bill's stare for as long as he could while he considered what to say and do next. Fact was, there was little he could do, and he knew it. "Yes. I've got it." He looked away, and heard Gerry's heavy sigh of relief.
"Oh, and another thing," the American said. "I'd better never hear that you've been talking to our visitors. If I find out you've as much as even said 'hello' to any of them, I will put a silver bullet in your head myself. Understood?"
He snapped his gaze back to Parsons' face at the man's threat, but all he could see in the man's eyes was a deliberate coldness.
Trapped.
Again, there was nothing he could say or do other than, "Yes. I understand," as he looked away.
He missed Bill's self-satisfied smirk.
Bill Parsons walked into the office and slammed the door shut behind him. He stood there, hands on hips, glaring at Gerald Bentley, who slowly raised his eyes from the paperwork in front of him.
"What's wrong?"
The American sat down heavily in the chair next to the desk. "I should have never let you talk me into listening to Carmichael, that bastard."
Bentley carefully placed his quill in the inkbottle and folded his hands on top of the desk.
"Of all the fucking werewolves in Great Britain, he brought us that one," Parsons continued.
"What's wrong?" Bentley repeated the question, slightly louder this time.
"He's trouble. He's — smart. It's just a matter of time before he starts trying to escape. I wouldn't put it past him to try tonight. Why the hell didn't you just do what I suggested in the first place?"
"Which was —?"
"To just advertise! Surely we could have found a werewolf, somewhere, that would have desperate enough to join up with us for a while!" The American raked his fingers through his hair.
Bentley shook his head. "No werewolf would willingly do what we need him to do."
"That one's going to fight us every step of the way."
Bentley leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head. "So, what do you suggest we do with him?"
Parsons muttered something.
The Englishman grunted. "We've invested one thousand Galleons in him. We can't do that until we've gotten at least that much out of him."
"Well, hell, Ger, how long is it going to take to recoup that? How much is werewolf blood going for now?"
"If we can get it when he's transformed, a half litre of it is worth at least twenty Galleons."
"How much blood is in a werewolf? Can we just bleed him dry at the first full moon and get it over with?"
Gerald Bentley sighed and leaned forward again. "Bill, we've got Anti-Apparition spells, warding spells and charms, and Merlin knows what else all over the place out there. There's no way he can escape, and remember — we're the ones with wands. He doesn't have his."
"I know, I know. I just don't like it."
"We don't have to like it. We just have to control him for a few months."
"Damn Carmichael. Why didn't he bring us a stupid werewolf? Why didn't he bring us one that was a Muggle?"
"Because this one is a good choice, like it or not. He knows how to take care of creatures, and —"
"You know Carmichael only picked him because Lupin wasn't crawling on his belly in fear."
Bentley smiled. "That's probably true."
"He made this into a personal thing, and Lupin knows it. He's dangerous."
"Lupin or Carmichael?" The American didn't seem to think that was funny, so Gerald Bentley added, "At any rate, Lupin's locked in a cage with silver-plated bars."
"But there will be two times every day when he won't be." Bill sounded sulky.
"Then, again, what do you suggest?" Bentley asked impatiently.
Parsons sighed. "I have no idea, but, Ger, we're gonna have to break him to keep him."
Bentley shrugged. "Then if that's what we have to do, that's what we have to do. I'll leave him for you to deal with as you see fit. Just get at least a thousand Galleons out of him before you kill him."
An hour after Parsons' visit, Remus had to admit he was more bored than he had ever been in his life. Improvements (that weren't really much in the way of improving anything) had been made to his cell: a bucket had been tucked into the back corner for sanitary purposes, and Bill had — after several disgusting jokes — conjured a curtain for privacy. Remus also now had a thin, straw-filled mattress which Gerry had scrounged from somewhere. After sprawling on it to read, Remus still wasn't sure if it was any more comfortable than being directly on the ground. He also had a pitcher of water which he hoped wasn't drugged.
He sat up and tossed the book — a paperback copy of Great Expectations by Charles Dickens — onto the thin pillow, which was stained with something unidentifiable. Remus doubted even a Scourgify would take care of it. He wished he had something he could lean back against. As he sat there wondering what it would take to convince Bill to give him a chair, he heard footsteps — Gerry, he realized.
The boy was carrying a tall metal signpost and a placard of some sort dangled from it. Remus gave him an inquiring glance, but the younger Bentley just smiled, set the sign beside the cage, and hurried away again.
There was no way to read what it said from this side. But the centaur across the aisle could, if he could be roused from the drug-induced drowsiness.
Remus moved to stand as close to the bars as he could and hissed, "Hey, Libertas."
The creature's head jerked and he blinked, bleary-eyed, at Remus.
"What's this sign say?"
"Can you not read it?" the centaur asked, sounding rather put out.
"Not from this side," Remus said impatiently.
"Can you not guess?" Libertas whispered.
"If I wanted to guess, I'd…" Remus suddenly stopped speaking. He had suddenly realized that an identical signpost hung in front of Libertas' cage. The placard said in bold letters, "Centaur." Smaller print below that gave facts about centaurs: where and how they lived, about their skill in Astronomy and Divination. Remus could now guess some of what his own placard said.
"I'm in a fucking zoo." He had known it, really he had. Hadn't he? Panic hit hard, driving the air from Remus's lungs.
"Yes," Libertas agreed quietly.
Remus staggered back to the pail and heaved everything that was in his stomach.
"…says here werewolves will attack themselves if they can't attack a human."
"Why do they even let werewolves live if they're so dangerous?"
The young man — who appeared the same age as Remus — hurried to assure his girlfriend that the thing — the thing — was locked up and couldn't hurt anyone now.
"Read this, Alfie! Says a werewolf looks like any other human, that you'd never know he was a werewolf…"
"Bet you'd know the difference if he was ripping your throat out."
Laughter followed the two men as they went on.
Will this nightmare never end? Remus wondered.
"Look, Mummy! A real werewolf!"
"Surely not!"
Guess again.
"But it says so, Mummy, right on the sign!"
"My goodness!"
No goodness about any of this.
"You have to admit, Sarah, that if they've got an Erumpent, they're mad enough to have a werewolf."
Or stupid enough.
"David, get back from those bars, you don't want to get too close."
Yes, David, get away from the silver bars before the big, bad wolf grabs you.
"Doesn't look that dangerous, does it, Sarah?"
"No, I suppose not now, but —"
"Daddy, why is he just laying there like that?"
"You don't suppose it can hear us, Donald?" The woman sounded panicked.
"Oh, I don't know. I don't suppose so. There's probably some kind of Silencing Charm… Hey, you. Can you hear us?"
Bugger off. Idiot.
"Look, Daddy! It's a horse, with a man's head!"
"That's a centaur, David. Remember that story I read to you not so long ago…"
Their voices faded somewhat as they crossed the aisle to stare at Libertas. Remus curled himself into a tighter ball and wondered if he'd die of his burns if he held onto the silver bars long enough. He decided it would take too long.
It was not long after that — right after a small boy started throwing peanuts at him — that Remus sat up and started analyzing the cage he was in. It wasn't even big enough to pace. Four and a half short strides would take him across the width of it, and six from front to back.
The bars didn't just rest on top of the ground. Every other bar was actually driven into the dirt, though how deep they went, he couldn't tell. Remus had nothing to scrape at the hard ground with, and he wasn't getting his hands that close to the silver to dig with his fingernails — not yet, at any rate. Of course, a couple more days like this, and he just might be desperate enough to do it.
If only I could Disapparate out of here…
Sudden realization left him nearly senseless for a moment. How could he have forgotten?
He stood up, which startled a solitary individual wrapped in thick robes into scurrying away from the cage. He pictured his destination clearly, Merlin knew he had the determination — and deliberately reached with his mind…
Nothing happened. He tried two or three more times with similar results. Would they have thought to put Anti-Apparition wards on him? That was the only explanation he could think of. Unless he just wasn't concentrating hard enough. Or could it be that he wasn't even in England anymore? No, they had brought him here solely by Apparition — they couldn't have taken him far. Of course, he had made the jump from Calais to Dover…
He took a deep breath to steady himself then closed his eyes, again picturing his destination. The image of Pindar Alatza's farm solidified in his head —the trees, the shed, the low stone fence…
He didn't feel the familiar sensation of transitioning from place to place. The ground hadn't shifted beneath his feet, hadn't altered from hard dirt to soft grass. His nose was still tickled by sawdust, not by fresh air.
He didn't need to open his eyes to know he had failed again.
5:17 p.m.
Gerry returned. "Hey, Lupin," he said, as he fumbled for the key.
Remus was sitting on the mattress, his arms wrapped around his knees, his face buried in his arms. He didn't bother to look up.
"You all right?" The boy actually sounded concerned.
"Bloody fantastic," Remus muttered.
"What was that?"
Remus sighed and untangled himself. "Nothing. Not important."
"Oh. Well, it's almost time for the evening feeding. I brought you dinner."
Dinner was two thick, greasy hamburgers, which tasted a lot better than they looked.
"How'd it go this afternoon?" Gerry asked as Remus ate.
"I'm not ready to kill myself. Yet," the werewolf said, starting on a fairly thick, but stale, slice of chocolate cake.
"You're not serious?"
Remus gave the boy a long, steady stare until he flushed and looked away.
A tall glass of milk helped make the cake palatable, and Remus finished every last crumb. No, he wasn't ready to give up yet.
He motioned for Gerry to open the cell door. He was going to use every opportunity he could to find a way out of this place before it did kill him.
16