His heart was pounding. He wouldn’t believe it, couldn’t. His feet wouldn’t carry him fast enough. The wind bit his face and made his eyes water. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true.
He needed to get to the woods. There he would find answers. If only he could change, then he would be able to run faster. His vision blurred as he ducked behind a bush, hoping to avoid the headlights of a car that had just turned down the street. He needed to know for sure. He needed answers his mother just couldn’t give him.
The box had been placed in his lap and he had looked at her with no small amount of confusion. When she told him to open it, his fingers had gently trailed across the cardboard before removing the lid. It felt fragile, like it was made of pressed onion skin instead of tree pulp. It didn’t smell musty or like it was dusty or wet, it just felt as though the contents had aged the thing well beyond its years.
With the lid removed, Elia found papers. Once more he gave his mom a sidelong glance. She nodded for him to continue even as tears filled her eyes. Elia picked the first piece up and opened it. It was a letter, a letter in writing that was similar to his own, perhaps more refined but similar. How could he have known that he wrote the way his father had. His fingers traced the faded ink impressions on the page in wonder, before he even realized that he could read them. It was a letter… to his mom. It made him smile. It was a love letter and more than half of it was written in verse. Never forget , Elia read more than a few times throughout the passages. He spoke as though he knew he would not survive. Never forget how much I love you. Never forget that I will be waiting. Elia heard his mom’s breath hitch. What had happened to him? Why wasn’t he here any longer?
There were more. So many letters. If they had been together, why had he written so much? He was afraid to ask. They had been together for some of the time or he wouldn’t exist. Then he’d blurted it out and regretted it the instant that he did. He wanted to know but he didn’t want to cause her any more pain than he already had.
They had been chased. His mother had told him they were hiding because of the wolves. Now she explained that it was because of four wolves that were no longer wolfen, but had turned to demons because of tainted blood they had consumed. One of them was to blame for the curse on the Darkstar family line, and one of them had been responsible for their separation. Elia’s father had gone to draw them away and been cornered. He escaped, narrowly, but was never the same again. His mind was different. She couldn’t reach him anymore. She couldn’t feel him through their bond anymore. It was as though something had stolen his soul from him and left only the shell behind. Then he began to wither until there was nothing left at all.
She reached into the box and found a sketchbook that had pages which had been worn soft at the edges. When she opened it, Elia’s eyes went wide. All the pages held one thing, a face, beautiful and frightening and so very familiar. When his mom had turned away and covered her face with her hands, his fingers strayed to the worn paper and ran across its surface, tracing lines he had drawn himself. It was unmistakably the same. Then she turned back and stole it from his fingers.
That was the reason his father had wasted away. That thing had stolen his soul. That thing was a curse on his family line and one day would come to him, would come to do the same. There were no guardians any longer, only nightmares that lived in the forest and called with honeyed tongues. Why? Why did it feel so different if that was how it was? It felt more right than his own skin, as natural as it would feel to embrace the change. Why was it a curse if it felt so right?
He was up and running scrambling for the treeline before the car had completely passed. It was just at the far side of the park. He just had to make it past. How ironic was it that he had to go through there, a place that was joyless to him, to get to where he most wanted to be. He wiped at a tickle upon his cheek as the drawn image once more flashed into his mind. He looked down to see a tear, wet upon his fingers. He slowed. Why did it hurt so much? If there was no way that it could be true, why did he feel betrayed? He had to know.
He was right at the edge of the treeline. He could feel the temperature change in the ground beneath his feet. A few more steps and he would know. His breaths came in sharp gasps. He closed his eyes as he began to hear the whispers that emerged from the forest. The wind sang a lullaby as the trees welcomed him, the breeze sighing and turning to soft words, then to his name. The forest would always know him. He tuned, trying to understand what they said. A warning. All at once his eyes snapped open. They told him to run. Over and over, Elia run .
A strong arm clamped across his chest before his feet could move and something soft was held over his mouth and nose as he tried to wriggle free. It smelled sweet and acrid, unnatural. His body was failing, his eyes staring into the woods as he couldn’t resist the strength of the one who held him. There before him, like a ghost among the trees was the face he had drawn, his father had drawn, the eyes, and then the name as the darkness overtook him.
* * *
He had felt a little bit silly when he had been out. It had made him late, but now it was worth it. Elia needed clothes. He had known the boy for longer than any other person alive. This person who was trapped as a child at least deserved the dignity of dressing in something more than a hospital gown for his entire life. It had been nearly thirty years since that dark and horrible night, almost long enough to forget, and all that he could remember seeing clothe this small person, whom he cared for very deeply, was a hospital gown… unacceptable. It went round and round in his mind as he set the small things out on display for the nurse, who had accompanied him, to see.
“I had no idea what he might like, so I got him a bunch of things. Now you can just pick through. I hope he likes it… any of it. I’ve never seen him dressed in real clothes before.” He was second guessing himself before he even got a start picking an outfit. “Do you think you could get him dressed before I take him out for our walk while I get the wheelchair?”
He didn’t really give the girl a chance to argue before he left the room. Elia would be dressed when he returned… or not. He would jump that hurdle when he came to it. His shoes tapped on the linoleum and only quieted when he paused before what appeared to be a closet. He hoped the door was unlocked and tested the knob before letting himself into the darkened portal.
Green, where was it? There was one that was smaller than the rest and had a green seat and rest. It had crocheted pads on the foot rests that matched the blanket that was at the foot of Elia’s bed. He scanned the row of folded wheelchairs twice before he spotted it on the far side of the dimmed room. He tested the knob before he went for it, afraid he would be locked inside and forgotten if he didn’t, before he was plunged into complete darkness. He blinked as the soft greys came into focus first, then the shadows of the place stood back from those in slightly darker contrast. The only light source was the small window on the door. He reached and gently pulled the wheelchair out from the others. Someday, hopefully someday soon, Elia would walk beside him instead of requiring this thing. For now… It worked. They would go for a walk together and he wouldn’t have to worry about Elia getting cold.
A shadow obscured the light as he turned and he froze as he found his exit blocked. Eyes of icy fire watched as he slowly straightened and swallowed hard. In the darkness like this, the scars on his face and his eyes illuminated the gentle curves of his face. Something so beautiful should not cause such repulsion. This creature had said it was an angry soul, but for once, the detective wondered why just as he wondered what had happened in that room full of blood. Now he tried to fit the pieces that he knew together and he still didn’t have enough.
“You have done well. Soon things will change.” His voice was soft, only a whisper in the darkness.
“Change? You mean, he’s going to wake up?”
The creature before him nodded then took a step towards him. He became immediately aware of how small the room was. His breath froze in his lungs as delicate fingers smoothed along his throat.
“Bring him back to where it all began. Bring him back.”
The detective’s brows shot up as a horrified expression gripped his features. He never wanted to see that place again. He still had nightmares. Twisted bodies with outstretched hands, reaching as though they waited to be saved and died, frozen in a state of false hope. The shattered body of a woman who was missing half her face. Parts of a man that were spread as though he had been ripped apart from the inside out, and Elia at the center, made androgynous by his captor, staring, empty, his body just as used and broken as all the rest, but he had remained alive.
“I don’t want to go back there. Don’t make me bring him. I want him to be happy, not like them, not like that. He’s… he’s my only friend. I don’t want him to hurt anymore.”
The detective had begun to shake as the creature smoothed tears away from his cheeks. Now hands that surely must have caused so much pain to others, collected him gently and he found himself held. It shouldn’t have been comfortable but it was a comfort. It was like being gripped by a nightmare that was so familiar, that its terror brought peace. He could smell blood on the clothes he was held against, and oak leaves, long dried and withered. This was not the way of things. Something had changed. Some part of his plea had meant something, his fear. He took a breath and closed his eyes as deadly fingers combed through his hair.
“You dear old man. I meant the woods.”
* * *
His head swam as he fought against the darkness. Slowly, so slowly he became aware of little things. His body lay on something hard, a table, perhaps the floor. The air was chilled. There was a ringing in his ears… wait, that was wrong. It was screaming.
His mouth was dry and he tried to lick his lips. Why did he feel so sluggish? How had he come to be laying against the hardness that was beneath him. It sounded like there were so many people in the room. Was he laying in the road? Had he been at the park again? This was worse than the last time. Usually they only hit him. It wasn’t like this where they knocked him unconscious. Something was wrong. Why couldn’t he make his limbs work. His mom would be worried. Usually she would call for him. Maybe she was and he couldn’t hear it over the screaming. What were they saying. He recalled the last thing he had heard. He had been at the treeline and it was night time. He had heard them, the voices as soft as the wind, soothing, calming. Run! Now they were screaming, muffled, as though the were restrained by a force, unable to break through.
“You are so beautiful, little one. Can you open your eyes? I know you can hear me.”
Elia’s brow furrowed. He didn’t know that voice. It had been quiet compared to the screaming but he had heard it anyway. He didn’t want to be with this person. He didn’t know who they were. Why was it so quiet and so loud all at once? He wanted to run but his legs wouldn’t move. He wanted to sit up, to crawl away but his body had betrayed him and lay still upon the hardness beneath him. He took a shuddering breath, the only thing that he could do. Breathe. He tried to hear one voice in the screaming. He tried to hear anything of what they said.
Bad place! Bad place! Pain! Hurts! Get up! Get up Elia!
It came clear just before he felt hands upon him and the screaming became a ringing in his ears. All that they did was brush his hair from his face. He felt eyes upon him. He tried to speak but could only manage a small sound of distress. Why did he feel like this? Why couldn’t he move? His heart began to race as he felt the hands shift.
“How old are you, my sweet? You can’t be more than twelve. You’re perfect. Will you open your eyes like a good girl? I want to see the color. It’s okay, honey. You won’t feel a thing and it will all be over soon.”
He couldn’t help himself. He was not a girl! He was nearly fourteen! He wanted to move! He wanted to run to where the voices were. He wanted to say the name of the one who would make this all go away, but his mouth refused to do anything so all he could do was whimper. The man before him was pale, too pale, with a curtain of hair that fell like cobwebs, a mix of blond and white, into his eyes. His shirt was untucked, unbuttoned, his pants were open, and in that instant Elia wished he’d never opened his eyes at all. Why would someone like that expose himself to a child… unless…
“There’s my good girl. You really are the most beautiful one that I have found yet. Don’t worry. I told you it won’t hurt and I meant it. None of the others ever complained, but then again, I’m not really sure how this stuff all works so maybe you will feel it and just won’t be able to do anything about it. I’ll be the last thing you feel. Won’t that be nice?”
Elia wanted to shake his head no. All he could do was breath as a growing constriction gripped his chest and his breaths became ragged. He wanted to change. If he was a wolf he could run, run far away from everything. He could run until there was nothing left of him and he could be free. He could hear his pulse drumming in his ears. He desperately searched the room looking for anything that could help him, anyone. Branches scraped across the window. Branches that turned into screams as gruff hands began to fumble with his clothes.
* * *
He had to school his expression as he walked back into the room. The wheelchair caught the attention of the nurse as one of its wheels hit the door frame when the detective hastily entered. She had just finished pulling his pants on and startled, dropping the shirt she’d picked on the floor. He was handing it to her just as she fumbled to balance Elia so that she could reach it. His slight body nearly slipped from her grip and she let out a little eep as she steadied him. Gently the detective helped, pulling long dark hair out from the collar and settling it about Elia’s shoulders. Once he was sure that the shirt was pulled down
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