Sam had thought that once Leah had accepted his proposal to be married, his irritability and short temper would have calmed into his usual placid personality. His AP exams were over, and he only had two other final exams to worry about. He, like everyone else, was in unapologetic senioritis mode, but rather than manifest itself as giddy distractibility, he felt unmitigating frustration and a compelling need to just be done already. He didn't understand. Was it because he was worried about leaving Allison and Grandma to themselves? It shouldn't be. They'd miss him, but he knew their loneliness would be outweighed by their pride for him. Was it because of his concern over paying for school? That didn't make sense either, because he qualified for both federal and state grants, and UDub had an excellent financial aid program called the Husky Promise that would cover the remaining cost of tuition. He only needed scholarships to cover room and board, and he could even borrow that if he had to. Plus he had a lot more money saved than he expected after Grandma gave him her ring. Was he just nervous about moving away from home? No, now that he was certain he'd be going alongside LeeLee, he was genuinely excited. He really didn't know what was going on.
It also didn't help that he was still growing at a ridiculous rate. In and of itself, that wasn't a bad thing, but his bones felt like they were continuously being pulled apart. His grandmother wasn't really joking when she had said he was eating his mother out of house and home; her grocery bills had basically doubled. At least he knew he'd be well fed for the next year; meals at the dormitories were all-you-can-eat buffets. He was certain to get his money's worth.
He was also becoming inexplicably strong. Since he'd started working for Marty, he had started to develop muscles. But where they had once been wiry, now he was filling out, and it couldn't be entirely explained by his manual labor. After all, his biceps and triceps could be attributed to the repetitive lifting of boxes of shingles and lumber, but his brand new six pack came from nowhere. He had never been fat, not by any means, but his once-flat stomach looked like he spent at least an hour a day doing crunches. He had never done a single one. And while he had once been able to carry only three boxes of shingles at a time, he could now hold six easily, and would have been able to carry more if it weren't for trying to balance them as he walked.
He probably shouldn't complain about his mysterious strength and body. Leah certainly wasn't, nor was she complaining about his newly inflamed libido.
He didn't know what it was. Maybe it was the same strange testosterone surge that was responsible for his cranky mood. Maybe it was their new engagement. Maybe it was the anticipation of moving out of their parents' houses soon. Probably it was Leah herself. But he wanted her. All. The. Time.
As two attractive teenagers in a long term relationship, their hormones had always influenced their behavior around one another. But he had never been one to risk getting caught; other than the night they had gotten engaged, he had never made love to her in her rather squeaky bed while her parents were just down the hall. He was both too cautious and too respectful of her family to do otherwise. So they normally limited themselves to times when they were truly alone. And he was gentle with her. If he had time, he was languid and slow with her, and no matter what, he was tender and sweet, and he was always generous with his hands, lips, and tongue. His favorite position was to sit or lie back and let her climb on him; he found that he lasted the longest that way, and no sight on earth was better than watching the beautiful Leah Clearwater naked and riding him.
Now, though, his sex drive was even less controlled than his temper, and he became very aggressive, no longer content to lie back and enjoy the view. He had to have her regardless of time, location, or company. He couldn't wait until they could be certain of privacy. His nighttime forays to her bedroom changed from romantic goodnight kisses with the occasional makeout session to heated fucks on the floor. One day at the beach, he barely managed to pull her behind a rock formation before pushing her into the sand. She winced from the grains scratching her back when he descended on her, so he flipped her onto her hands and knees and pulled her bikini bottoms aside. He had just worked his own trunks down and was about to plunge into her when the voices of two small children sounded on the other side of the rock. He barely got himself covered before two little girls appeared with plastic buckets and shovels. Leah was a little mortified, but mostly thought it was hysterically funny, but he just tossed their things into his truck, drove them to an isolated spot, and took her in the flatbed under an unusually bright Washington sun. They even went to the kind of wild house party that Sam normally avoided, because the idea of pushing her up against the bedroom door of an acquaintance suddenly held a previously unthinkable attraction. He didn't bother hiding his grunts or moans; if the music pounding from the living room didn't provide adequate cover, he no longer cared, because the only thing he knew was the sensation of his LeeLee wrapped around him. Most dangerous of all, he pulled her behind Harry's shed during a family barbecue. There was no way he'd be able to touch or taste her long enough to get her ready for his now-impressive girth, not in the brief moments they had before someone noticed they were missing, so he pushed her onto her knees in front of him and unzipped his pants.
He was horrified by his own behavior, but he no longer felt the ability to control it. Later that night, Sam climbed into her bedroom and apologized, begging forgiveness for his inexcusable behavior. But Leah licked her lips and her gaze darkened, and she admitted that she loved his dominant tendencies. He swore he couldn't just see her arousal in her expression or hear it in the quickening of her breath. Maybe he was imagining things, but he thought he could smell it. And it made him insane. He nearly crushed her with a kiss before he slid to the floor, tore her little pajama shorts off her, and drank of her until while she writhed. Before she was done spasming, he yanked her down until she straddled his thighs, pulled off her shirt, and shoved himself into her hot center.
She hadn't been lying. She loved it. He had to clamp his hand over her mouth to stifle her cries. And after, he wanted nothing more than to crawl into her bed with her and hold her for the rest of the night. But he had to leave. They couldn't risk getting caught by her parents.
They couldn't wait for their road trip. Harry wasn't comfortable with the idea and had initially shot it down. He argued that they shouldn't blow their money on a vacation, Sam's truck wouldn't survive a long trip, and he didn't think it was safe for two kids to go off on their own. Seth actually craned his neck to look up at him and interrupted to ask if his father if he really thought anyone in their right mind would try to mess with Sam. Sue later privately told her daughter that Harry was just having a hard time wishing his baby girl goodbye, and couldn't they give him just a few more weeks before they left for good? Leah realized that Sue was speaking for herself and Allison just as much as her husband.
It was Grandma Uley who intervened and convinced their parents to let them go. She pointed out just how hard the kids had worked, not only full time over the summer (Sam in his landscaping job and with Marty, Leah at tutoring and assisting the youth coordinator at the Tribal Center), but part time ever since they were fourteen. She said that they had never shown themselves to be anything less than responsible and that they had earned a vacation. Allison acquiesced first, then Sue, and finally Harry.
The academic calendar didn't actually start until the end of September, so they planned to leave on Labor Day weekend and drive down the coast, finding every surfing beach. They would stop along every kitschy attraction they could find on the way; if it wasn't close enough to the coast, they'd detour on their way back. California was full of them. There was a giant sequoia in Mendocino County they could drive directly through, a huge donut on top of a diner in Inglewood, and the tallest thermometer in the world in Baker, not to mention the Cabazon dinosaur display and Bigfoot museum they had been talking about for years. They would camp nearly every night to save money, and they would definitely go to Yosemite. If they were frugal enough, they'd treat themselves to a fancy hotel for a night in San Francisco and maybe L.A. Their plans got more and more elaborate. Sam suspected they didn't have enough time to do half the things Leah put on the list, but he suspected neither of them really cared. They'd be together, alone, and really nothing else mattered.
Which was why he still couldn't figure out why he was so irritable. Maybe he was just impatient to be done with work and off with Leah. That was probably all. Or he was just coming down with something.
In the second week of July, he started to feel nauseated. He woke at his usual six AM, early enough to give him time to mow Mrs. Cooper's yard before he had to meet the crew at their new site at eight; they were supposed to replace the roof on the Forks Middle School before the year started. Although he had gotten a good seven hours of sleep, he felt like he'd barely gotten a wink. His memory was fogged with snippets of a rapidly fading dream. All he could remember was darkness and heat. Instead of eating his usual giant meal, he was only able to stomach a single bowl of cereal before he left for work. He lifted his mower into the bed of his truck, finding the task easy despite his fatigue. But after forty five minutes of pushing the mower, he ached as if he had been doing it for hours. What was going on?
He fared no better at his other job. It was a misty day, but there was no true rain, so they should be able to work. He spent most of the day stooped over the building pulling up old shingles. It was somehow much easier and much harder than usual at the same time. He kept ripping them up forcefully, accidentally flinging them behind him into the parking lot below. But his muscles felt like they were burning. His whole body felt like it was burning. He downed bottle after bottle of water, but he couldn't keep up. When he managed to fling a shingle so far that it hit one of his co-workers standing by his car, Marty made his way over with his hands on his hips. "You okay, son? You don't look so good."
Sam shook his head, dripping sweat onto the wood below him. "I honestly don't feel so good. A summer cold, maybe?"
"Your nose stuffed up? Got a sore throat?"
"No. But I kind of ache all over."
"You're sweating like a pig, and there's no sun to justify it." It was true; it was a very mild and overcast day. "Everyone else is really comfortable out here, but you look like you've been stumbling through a desert with no canteen."
"I don't know what's wrong with me. Must have picked something up. "
Sam swayed on his feet a little, and Marty reached out to steady him. "Whoa there. Dammit, you're burning up! You need to go home!"
He didn't want to. His crew was trying to get a section done in the little window of semi-dry weather they had before it started to rain again, and they couldn't afford to be a man down. "No, I'm okay. I just need some more water."
One of his coworkers came over. "Sam, I saw you refill that giant jug at least four times. You've taken a leak twice, and we've only been up here four hours. That's not it."
Marty agreed. "This is a bad place to be if you're dizzy. Don't want to take a tumble and split your head open. Don't worry, we'll be fine. Sleep it off and give me a call in the morning; let me know if you're up to coming in, okay? And if not, go see your doctor. You look like death warmed over."
He barely remembered driving home, but he managed to get there somehow. He shivered and shook with chills, but just as Marty said, he felt like he was on fire. The moment he got home, he climbed into the shower, but he couldn't figure out if he needed it to run cool or warm. After fiddling with the knob, turning it up and getting overheated, then turning it down and feeling frozen, he gave up and dug his mother's tylenol and motrin out of the medicine cabinet. He hurt everywhere, and he thought he wouldn't be able to sleep without the help. He couldn't figure out which one to take, so he took them both.
He might as well have eaten a lollipop for all the good they did. He downed two more glasses of water and fell into bed. And then he shook, alternating between sweating and chills, tossing his blankets off him and yanking them back up, until he finally managed to fall asleep.
His dreams were bizarre and unrelenting. They were filled with pain, the same pain that lanced through his bones, and rage, inexplicable and explosive. When he opened his eyes and looked about the dream world, it was more vivid than the real one. He was in the forest. He could see each tiny insect crawling along the forest floor, individual dust motes floating in a ray of the sun, and distinguish water droplets by their particular size and shape on leaves 50 yards away. The forest was familiar, and he knew that it was the same one that he had played in since he was a child, but somehow it felt completely different. Why did it not have the hazy texture of dreams? And why could he not find his way home? He felt himself moving for miles, alternately running, walking, and in his exhaustion, finally stumbling.
He knew he had to find something. He had to find someone. Who was it? What was it? He was certain that he should have come across something by now. Here was the Quillayute River, which led to the ocean to the west. He knew exactly where he was, so why did he walk east along it and find only more water and more trees? Here was the fork in the river, here was another tributary, and here it narrowed even further. Where was the town? Where were the roads and the houses and all the marks of civilization that he knew he should have come across? Where was he? The last thing he remembered wondering was not where he was, but what he was.
And then his eyes were open. But was he still having a fever dream? His mother was there, and Leah was there, but they were distorted, tall, slender, wavering, unnaturally so, as if he was looking at them in a carnival mirror. He heard his mother's voice as through a long, echoing tunnel. "He's awake!"
"But he's still on fire," Leah answered. She too sounded as if she was far away. "Sam? Sammy?" His tongue felt too thick in his mouth to form words.
He felt arms trying to pull him up, and one of them, he wasn't sure who, shoved pillows under his head. A straw was forced between his parched lips. "Drink. Drink," his mother urged.
He managed, but only barely. As much water ended up dribbling down his chin and neck as in his stomach, but he was glad for it. It was a cool balm. He wished they would carry him into the tub and open the cold water tap over his body. He fell back into his dream, or was it his hallucination? Or perhaps he had wandered into another realm altogether.
The sounds. There were so many sounds. His senses were heightened. He couldn't just hear a pin drop in the next room, he heard a mouse making a nest in a tree outside. He heard his mother washing the dishes, and it sounded like she was breaking glass right next to his ear. The television from the next room sounded like screaming. Laugh tracks were the stuff of nightmares. Scents too were overwhelming, so strong he could taste them in his throat. His mother wiped him down with a cool washcloth, and it would have felt heavenly if not for the artificial perfumes impregnated into the cloth from the fabric softener, synthetic and harsh. But he couldn't tell her to stop. He couldn't wake up enough to do so. So he inhaled a hundred, a thousand smells at once. His own rank sweat. The pollen from his open window. The soothing scent of grass. The decaying pungency of rotting meat. Chemicals galore. Organic carbon. Dusky sulfurs. Sour methanes. Sharp amines.
And through it all, there was touch. Cool, calming touch. Soft hands, soft lips, and the scent of home. The scent of her. He calmed whenever he felt her near, whenever her slender body curled up against his, or if she took his hand in his. Because she would take care of him. She always had. She would not fail him now. If only he could wake to tell her how grateful he was.
It went on for hours or days or weeks, he had no idea. He lost all sense of time. Perhaps he had died. But if he was dead, he must be in Hell, because that was what his body told him. He burned. So yes, that must be it. He never believed in Heaven or Hell before this moment, but he was his own proof. He was there.
Until he heard voices speaking of doctors, of ambulances, of hospitals. His mind reeled. He imagined the wailing of sirens might burst his eardrums, that the beeping of monitors and the ringing alarms would drive him more mad than he already was. He thought of inhaling the fetid odors of illness, of decay, of urine, of medicine, of bleach.
So he pried his eyes open and found himself alone. It was night, cloudy and dark, but he could see everything around him as if spotlights illuminated everything. He lifted his arm, and while the small movement felt like torture, he realized he could do it. He heard the sounds of his mother, his grandmother, his lover, and her mother debating about him in the next room. They might as well have been shouting in his ear through megaphones. There it was again, that word. Hospital.
He shoved open the window, and he dropped soundlessly to the ground. Anything to escape before he was dragged away to such a place. He looked back, hearing her voice from inside, and couldn't believe he was walking away from her. But he'd come back for her. He always would.
The woods were just like they were in his dream. He could see everything. Absolutely everything. He could hear each individual cricket chirping, the rustling of feathers above him, the rapid breaths of small animals all around. He could taste the sea salt in the air, as well as a sharp electric tang, and somehow he knew a storm was coming. But this land wasn't just filled with water, trees, and animals. There were power lines, asphalt, and houses. If he paid attention, he could hear conversations through closed windows.
He felt the touch of pine needles against his chest, and he realized he was wearing nothing but his boxers. He itched to take them off. The usually soft cotton felt like sandpaper to his skin. He stumbled along as though blind, despite the fact that his vision had never been sharper, until he realized where he could go. His refuge. Her window. Her bed. Or, if he was in danger of being found, her treehouse. He turned around. He was going in the wrong direction. He was dazed, disoriented, but if he was a compass, she was his north.
On the way, he passed a small, ramshackle house. It smelled wrong, of alcohol and testosterone. No windows were open, but he heard the voices inside clearly. There were two men inside, Paul Lahote and a voice he couldn't quite place. Beneath their voices were the unmistakably bad music of a pornography soundtrack and the exaggerated, ridiculous sounds of people fucking in front of a camera.
"Damn. She's fine," said a stranger. "Rack looks natural, even."
"Nice set of titties. Look at 'em bounce when he rams her." That was Paul. "Ass has some, what do they call it? Cellulite, though."
"You don't like junk in the trunk?"
"'Course I do. Who doesn't? But I like it smoother, tighter than that."
"I don't know, man. I think she looks pretty good. But in a porn star, you can ask for perfection, I s'pose. It's not like you watch for the acting skills or something." They both took swigs of what Sam supposed was beer before the stranger continued. "But as long as the pussy is tight, who really cares?"
Paul snorted and laughed. "Then you wouldn't want her. All floppy and loose from all the movie fucking."
"Good to watch, though. Looks like she's even having a pretty good time."
"I dunno, it's kind of boring," Paul answered. "I like my women to have a little more fight in 'em."
There was a pause only filled by the sounds from the television, and the stranger said, "What do you mean? Like angry sex?"
"Yeah. I like a feisty girl."
"Oh, good. I thought you meant girls who didn't really want to or something."
"Fuck, dude, I'm no rapist," Paul scoffed. "Nah. But I do like it when girls argue with me. Turns me on. And I don't mind convincing them, either. I like a challenge."
"Well," the friend laughed, "Girls get pissed at you all the time. So I guess it must work for you, huh?"
By now, Sam had long passed the house. He couldn't believe that he could still hear them talking. But the next thing stopped him in his tracks.
Paul answered, "Yeah. The best is Clearwater." Sam froze.
His friend snickered, "Seth, huh? You're really a fag and a pedo. The ladies' man thing is just a front."
The distinct sound of Paul slapping the other guy in the back of the head followed immediately. "Shit. Leah, man. Who doesn't want Leah?"
"She's hot," the other guy agreed.
Sam couldn't take another step. Paul continued, "She's got a face for the cover of a magazine, and a body built for sin. Trust me, I've spent a long time looking at it."
"You know her, don't you?"
Sam began to shake uncontrollably.
"She's my tutor. I was doing too well in math. Had to throw a couple tests to make sure I could keep her."
"Seriously?"
He could hear Paul grinning, and he felt his heat rise to scorching levels. "Yeah. She wears these tight little shirts, and sometimes she wears this bra, I can see her hard nipples right through it. Those are my favorite days."
Fire began to rip through his body, and pain.
"Maybe she's not wearing a bra."
Paul laughed again, and the sound grated against Sam's ears. "I wish. No, I looked through her underwear drawer a couple times. She's got some cotton ones that are a little too thin, if you know what I mean."
Rage coiled in his belly and sliced through his limbs.
"Nice!"
"Now she has the perfect body, not some fake porn star like this one. Taut tummy, grabbable tits, round, tight ass, little waist, legs that go on for days. You ever seen her in a bikini?"
"Yeah. Spanked off to the memory more than once."
Sam couldn't breathe. Sweat poured off his body. He dropped to his knees in pain and fury.
"Me too. I'll bet her pussy is tight, man. That bodybuilder freak of a boyfriend must have a tiny dick from the 'roids he uses. I'll bet he has no idea how to touch her. I'd get her so wet. And I wouldn't just pound her pussy. I'd get her moaning for me, get her desperate and horny. Lube her up and slide into that pretty little ass. I'll bet she's a virgin back there. Uley doesn't have the balls to take her that way. I'd tear her up."
"In your dreams," his friend snorted.
Terrible agony ripped through Sam's body. Every muscle, every bone, every fiber of his being felt like it was being ripped apart. Like he wanted to rip Paul apart. He tried to scream, but nothing came out.
And then Paul spoke again. "In my dreams, in my bed. You know, I stole a pair of her panties. Little silky black thing with white lace at the edge. It's my favorite cumrag if I can't find a nice warm body. But I'd give my left nut if Leah would be my cumrag."
Sam knew exactly which panties Paul meant. They were his favorite, too, and he had wondered why he hadn't seen them lately. He thought about the way she looked in them, seductive and beautiful. But the image was for him, not for Paul. She was his. His rage reached a boiling point.
He exploded in a blinding world of pain.
He found his voice once again. Finally he could scream, finally he could release the exquisite fire inside him. But instead of the words he wanted to fling at Paul, he heard an awful howl. And then another.
What the fuck was that? He stumbled over his own feet, twisting his head this way and that to see what awful beast had made the sound. It was so loud, surely it was upon him. Surely he was about to die. Or he was already dead, this really was Hell, and some demon was after him. He tripped on his hands and knees trying to look around, but for some reason, he was on his feet and hands. Not knees. He tripped and fell again. What the fuck was going on? Why was he suddenly less coordinated than a newborn baby?
He struggled to his feet, but toppled back down again. But he saw paws, not feet. Enormous black ones tipped with razor-sharp claws. He stalked back, away from them, but they moved with him.
He heard whimpering now, and thin whining. Where was the howling monster? Where was the thing trying to eat him?
He stepped on fabric and looked back. A bent, black leg, covered in fur, stepping on shredded plaid cotton of a familiar pattern. It looked just like his boxers.
And then it clicked. He was the demon.
A floorboard creaked in Paul's house. He looked up just as the knob started to turn, and he fled into the woods.
X-x-x-x-X
It wasn't possible. This could not be reality. At any moment, he would wake from his fever dream, find himself in his room or the hospital, and he would tell Leah about his ridiculous hallucination. She would laugh, he might even exaggerate for her benefit, and everything would go back to normal.
But this didn't feel like a dream. It felt like nothing he had experienced before the dreams over the past few days. And if those were dreams, as he remembered them, what was this? Were they dreams within a dream? Was that even possible? What was the alternative? A psychotic break? Had he completely lost his mind? Was this another unwanted gift from his father? Mental illness? He had been drugged?
It was impossible to tell. All he could do was wait. He slowed his terrified sprint and looked down at his feet. No, his paws. Fucking paws. Enormous ones, larger than he had seen on any animal. And jet black fur. He willed his right hand to lift, and sure enough, the paw in his field of vision moved up. He moved the left. The same thing. What the hell was he? He had a compelling need to know.
He needed a mirror. Maybe he could knock on Paul's door and ask for a mirror. He laughed at the absurdity, and out came a series of barks. He growled in frustration, and... Fuck. He was growling. He sounded terrifying.
Where could he go to look at himself? He could run up to the river, but the dark, flowing water wouldn't give him much of a reflection. Glass would be better. Where could he find glass? A parking lot would be full of cars, cars with windshields and windows aplenty, but any well lit lot would probably also have people around.
Except the schools. They were lit all night long to prevent vandalism. There would be no cars, but there were many windows. He began to walk. Or trot. Shit, this felt like a gallop, not like a walk. He had to stop it. He couldn't give in to the madness. He was walking. On two feet. Or better yet, lying in a bed somewhere having the most vivid nightmare of his life. That was all.
It only took him a few minutes to reach the tribal school. He stopped in the shadows of the trees and paid careful attention. There was life everywhere, he now realized, tiny animals all around him, the nocturnal ones awake and foraging, the slow heartbeats of those asleep in their dens, the wind rustling the leaves. But no human voices here, no footsteps, no movement in the building.
It looked exactly as he remembered it. No, that wasn't true, it looked even clearer than he remembered it. When he closed his eyes and reached into his memory, he could call up a picture of his school, but he couldn't remember if each window had four panes in it or six, which of the bricks were crumbling, or how many vents and exhausts protruded from the roof. He opened his eyes. The windows had six panes, nine bricks were nearly gone, dotted across the side, and there were five exhaust pipes in the roof. Shit. When he woke up for real, he'd have to come see if his subconscious was correct.
He approached the building, wanting to look in the closest window before someone (or something) else came along. The computer lab had a lamppost right outside it, so he headed for that one. He kept his eyes trained on the grass below him. He moved forward until he was only a couple feet away from his own reflection. He hadn't been this scared since he was a small child lying in his room listening to his father hurt his mother. At least this time, no one would be hurt except him. He raised his eyes.
He screamed, but the scream came out as a howl, which he rapidly choked off. He couldn't believe what he saw. Despite seeing his own paws, fur, and in his peripheral vision, the snout between his own eyes, he had refused to acknowledge the truth. But now it was staring him in the face. The largest, darkest, most terrifying animal he had ever seen was staring at him in the glass.
Again he fled, unable to look any longer. He raced for home, knowing nowhere else to go, and it was only when he was halfway there in what felt like mere seconds that he realized his own speed. It was amazing. He could have been in a car, except the best engineered of machines could never be as dexterous as he was, instinctively leaping over fallen logs and dodging trees as he whipped past. It was at the same moment that he realized that the pain which had so recently been ripping through his body was gone. Vanished, along with his human body. Should he be grateful for the relief? No. He would give anything to be lying in his bed again with LeeLee wiping his forehead with a cool towel. He would happily bear the pain.
He heard them before he saw them. Their frantic voices were screaming his name. He slowed to a silent walk and peered through the trees. He couldn't see her through the house, but Sue must have been climbing into her car, yelling, "I'll head east to the main road, see if I can spot him."
Grandma's voice was next, and the sound of Sue's car door shutting. "I'll see if he might have wandered over to my house."
"I'll send Harry over to help."
He could see his mother through the open kitchen window. She was on the phone, and despite the distance, he heard her clearly. She was basically screaming. "I know that's the policy, but he's sick! He might have been hallucinating. We were about to take him to the hospital. This isn't a case of a runaway who's going to regret leaving by morning. His keys are here, his wallet is here, and his truck is in the driveway. He could be collapsed in the middle of the forest!" She paused, reaching her arm to the wall for support. "Okay. Yeah. Okay. I'll be here." She disappeared, and another door opened and slammed shut. "Did Leah go with Sue?"
"No," Grandma answered. "Isn't she with you?"
"No. She must be in the backyard. Leah? Leah!" Allison appeared around the corner of the house, yelling, "Leah? Sam? Guys? Where are you?"
Sam didn't know it was possible to panic more than he was already, and he began to trot forward. He couldn't fathom what had happened to him, but his mind suddenly reeled with what might have happened to her. Where the hell was she?
He smelled Leah's distinct scent with a change in the wind, and without second thought, followed the trail. It didn't take long to figure out where she was going. She must have seen his open window and thought he might have gone to his childhood refuge: her bed or her treehouse. He picked up speed and sure enough, her scent was stronger along the familiar path between her house and his. It was only seconds later that he heard her. She was calling out his name. "Sammy? Sam? Where are you? Answer me, baby! It's going to be okay!"
He almost answered her before he remembered the sounds of his howls and whines. So he crept closer, following her. She was pushing through the brush without regard to her own comfort. He could smell iron in the air and realized it was her blood; she must have been cut on a passing branch. It made him sicker than he already felt. He couldn't bear her pain, particularly now that he could also smell the sharp scent of her fear in the air.
God. She was hurting because of him. Scared for him. And if she caught sight of him, she would be scared of him. Fuck. What was he supposed to do?
He watched her for hours. As soon as she was in sight of her house, she started to sprint. She paused on the ground, looking between her own window and the treehouse, calling his name. A light turned on upstairs, and he knew she was sure it was him. But it was Harry. Her father slid open the window and explained gravely that her mother had already called him. He had been about to leave for Sam's house when Allison called saying Leah had also disappeared, so he had waited at his house to see if she would appear. Leah ignored him as she spoke and climbed up the rope ladder. She paused at the top, clearly terrified that he would not be inside. She started to cry when she didn't find him, and he watched every tear as it traced her cheek and fell to the ground.
Harry gathered her into a hug before they got into his car. Seth went with them, unwilling to be left behind to worry by himself, and they returned to Allison's house. Sam, uncertain what else to do, followed.
His mother was speaking with the tribal police when they arrived. They agreed to start searching immediately despite the fact that he had been missing only a short time, since not only his mother, but Sue as well, insisted he was ill and not thinking straight. He snorted aloud. He was definitely not thinking straight. He was hallucinating that he was a giant wolf. Within an hour or so, a small force was gathered at his house with flashlights and maps. He watched them divide the surrounding area into grids, and then they started to emerge from the house, pairing off as they left. He shrank farther into the woods.
What should he do? Give himself up? Maybe they would take him to the hospital and fix him. Then he looked down at his claws. No, more likely they would think he had eaten himself. Fuck. Maybe he had. Had a giant monster consumed him as he slept and somehow they had merged? He almost laughed aloud at the thought, but then stopped short when he realized that other than a terrible hallucination, it was as likely an explanation as any.
How was it that a psychotic break with reality was his best hope?
A twig snapped at the edge of the yard, and Sam realized he needed to move. Where was he supposed to go? What was he supposed to do? He saw Leah being led to her mother's car. She was leaning on her younger brother and protesting about wanting to look for him, but Sue flatly refused. Harry was joining the search team, but the rest of the family was going home. He silently backed away from his own home and the sight of his mother and grandmother clinging to one another in the kitchen. Leah was right when she looked for him at her own home. It was his refuge, now as much as ever. He eluded the search team and returned to the woods behind her house.
Sam listened to her cry until she shuffled off to the bathroom. After, she sat at her window with a single hand pressed against the window. He wanted to step forward and show her that he was all right. He wanted to climb the trellis and into her bed. He wanted to hold her and whisper in her ear that he had always loved her more than anything, more than anyone. Dammit. Had he still not said the words? Would he ever get a chance? Would she always wonder how he really felt about her?
His only interruption was the search party. At some point in the night, a pair of men began to walk toward him. He wasn't sure who. He silently melted back into the trees as they approached, and he returned to his spot when they were gone. Leah was still looking for him out her window, but her eyes were not as keen as his, and she could not see him. Eventually she started to sway from exhaustion, so she lay down and cried herself to sleep. It was the worst thing he had ever heard. He lay down on his own paws until he, too, slept.
He wasn't certain what woke him the next morning, but even without opening his eyes, he knew nothing had changed. He didn't move, but he focused his senses on his surroundings, searching for evidence of Leah. He could hear her even though she wasn't speaking. He was sure of it. He filtered through the other sounds of the wind, the trees, and the insects around him. He listened, and he heard movement in the Clearwater house. She was walking around. Seth was still asleep. Sue was getting ready for work. He couldn't hear anything else. Harry was probably still searching for him. He was probably lucky no one had stumbled across him in the night.
What was he supposed to do? Just wait this out? He had no idea. He was parched and starving, so when she left her room to take a shower, he sprinted to the Quillayute River to take a long drink. He was back before she was dressed.
He spent the entire day following her. She went to his house first, where his heart sank even further when he saw how terrible his mother looked. Upon finding no news, Leah went to her job at the Tribal Center. She probably would have called off, but it was next to the police station, and itself was a hub of activity and information, all centered around finding him. He watched people come and go. The edge of the forest was rather far from the buildings, so he couldn't hear what was going on, but from time to time she would walk past a window, allowing him to catch a glimpse. For a while she sat in a chair staring into the forest, right where he sat. He wanted to walk forward and show himself, but he resisted the urge. He felt his stomach begin to growl again, but he ignored it.
But he didn't stop himself from imagining that she could see him, that she knew who he was despite his impossible appearance, and that at any moment, she would run to him and throw her arms around him. Of course, she never did. What would she do, pet him? It was ridiculous.
Eventually she held a tutoring session, but it was interrupted by a phone call. She sprinted out of the building and headed straight for his house as quickly as she could go. He stayed close, and when he approached, he heard her choked voice. She was arguing with his mother as a deep, male voice tried to calm them both. "Of course that's it!"
It sounded like his mother was opening and closing every drawer in his room. "No, no. It has to be here somewhere!"
"It's not some standard plaid. Of course it's his!" Then, with obvious terror in her voice, Leah asked, "Why's it all ripped up?"
It took him until the police officer emerged from the house, an evidence bag in his hand, until he finally understood. His boxers, his only clothing, had shredded when he exploded. He could see a scrap of the distinct material through the plastic. He couldn't remember what he had been wearing, but he saw little yellow Batman logos all over the black cotton; a silly joke from Leah, who remembered his Justice League underoos from their childhood.
The officer drove off, and he listened to the despairing conversation through the open window. They were terrified for him, because now they thought he wasn't just sick, disoriented, and alone, but naked too. How right they were.
X-x-x-x-X
Sam stayed close to Leah for another night, listening to her breathe and wanting to climb up to her, but eventually his hunger and thirst pulled him away. He went to the river first, drinking his fill while he tried to figure out how to find something to eat. He began to salivate at the thought of a nice, juicy steak, and then he got depressed thinking about trying to use a grill. He lay his paws on the ground and rested his head on them, staring into the water and watching fish swim by. And he realized to his surprise that they looked appetizing just the way they were. A few sleepy trout were hovering quite still along the edge. He leaned over the water, but he moved much too fast, startling all of them away.
Okay, so now what? And even if they hadn't moved, what would he have done? Bat at the water until a fish flew out? It was ridiculous. He was a wolf, apparently. Not a shark or a bear. What did wolves eat?
Thinking about it made him as exhausted as he was hungry. He hadn't slept in more than twenty four hours. He didn't know what to eat, but he knew a sheltered place to sleep. He made his way to the protected cave near Third Beach where he and Leah often snuck off to make love. He lay down, ignoring the rumbling of his stomach, and remembered the last time he and Leah had visited the spot. His last thought was a hope that he would wake up in his own body.
Of course he wasn't so lucky. The next day he left the reservation in search of food and in search of himself. He didn't know where he went, exactly, but he gave in to the animal, and he hunted. He recognized the violence that had always resided within him, and for once, he embraced it. He taught himself to watch, to stalk, and finally to kill.
He was horrified with himself once his hunger pangs were replaced by his distended belly. His fur was covered in the blood of the deer he had destroyed. He frantically searched for a lake in which to wash, but the sight of liquid pink tendrils snaking away from his fur in the water was almost as disturbing as the bright red drops that had dripped from his fangs.
He didn't eat again for three days. He slept fitfully in the hollow of a cliff wall, and he dreamt about a life that he now believed he would never regain. Each time he closed his eyes he hoped he would wake in the body he remembered, but he never did. He roamed, avoiding populated areas. He fed when he had to, drank whenever he found water, and when he slept, he dreamed.
In the moments between sleeping and waking, he began to wonder what was real. Perhaps he had always been a wolf who had only dreamed of being a man. Maybe he had seen the girl from afar, fallen in love with her, and invented a human story for himself in which he could be with her. Because she would never be with a monster such as him. He was either a true animal, a freak of nature, a thing of nightmares, or a pathetic man who had lost his mind.
When he realized that of those possibilities, he hoped for madness, he despaired.
Day faded into night faded into day. He thought about his mother, the generous, loving woman who dedicated her entire life to him. Too bad it was a waste (assuming any of his memories of her were real). He thought of his grandmother, who had transferred all her hopes for her once-promising son onto him. If she existed, he could now only elicit her terror and revulsion. And he thought of his LeeLee, his beautiful girl, he dreamt of the life he wanted with her, and he wished for her.
In between wishing, he tried to figure out where his place was in the world, and he learned about himself. He was not surprised to find that he could easily distinguish the myriad scents of the forests and the musky trails of other animals. He tested his speed, because it seemed to be the only joy this life offered him. He began to search for others of his kind, but he found only smaller, territorial versions that growled and snapped at his intimidating size, and he left them alone. He lost track of the days, but the season didn't change. He didn't know what to do with himself, and the longer he wandered, the more terrified he became, because he could feel himself falling deeper and deeper into the wolf.
He finally decided to find his way home. If there was anything left of the human he remembered, he would find it there. He would find it in her, in she who must remember him, if he had ever been real. He would show himself to her, and perhaps she would tell him who he was. If she would not, if she did not know who he was when she looked into his eyes, he could at least remain in the place they had explored together. Remaining there, he could remember her after she departed, and he would not leave. He turned for home.
X-x-x-x-X
A/N: Thanks again to Babs81410, who is a wonderful beta. All mistakes are mine.