Shadows Lurking

December 14th, 2005 – Wednesday, 7:28am

The adults continue arguing in the living room as I stare at the closed bedroom door. None of them can decide which option would be best for me; being sent away to a hospital or returned to Rienridge. After murdering a man and ripping off another’s leg, I was sent here to Nicholas’ house while the council ran an investigation on the murder and attempted murder.

“He’s just a boy,” Argues Nicholas.

“A boy who slit a grown man’s throat and ripped a limb from another,” Helman says obnoxiously loud.

“That is not his fault!” Nicholas raises his own voice. “He’s not completely in control of his own strength.”

“But he is of his decisions,” Kerum says now. “He nearly beat the man with his own leg, Nicholas.”

Professor Dawes now speaks up against her superior. “You aren’t suggesting we actually send him to the council, are you, Kerum?” She scolds. “They would not hesitate to put him down like a rabid dog. That boy not only needs our help, but our guidance as well. It is our duty. We failed him once; we will not fail him again.”

“I don’t care about duty! I don’t care about his anger issues, or his ready use of violence-” Nicholas’ voice cracks. “He is my son. He will finish his schooling here at home before he is shipped off to some looney bin or sent into the wolves den.”

Professor Dawes then says, “We understand your frustrations, Nicholas-”

“No, no you don’t! This boy, this child, has had no one fighting in his corner for the last twelve years. I refuse to turn my back on him. So, either you stand with me, or you leave us alone.”

There’s silence in the room until Kerum finally says, “You’ve always been the dramatic one, Nicholas. Alright. It seems Rylan will need more training, but also anger management courses.”

“Our therapy sessions can account for those,” Dawes offers.

They begin going into detail on how they’ll explain everything to the council. They’ve not once asked me what I want in all of this. If it were up to me, I would just let the council kill me, terminate the threat before it gets anymore out of hand.

Staring down at my hands, I can’t help but remember the way the one man’s limb felt in them. My fingertips still feel warm from the blood of the other two men as well. The one I had slashed in the stomach didn’t make it. He slowly bled out on the field. That makes three lives I’ve taken. Three people I’ve murdered.

At least with Noah I didn’t remember killing him, but these two, I do.

Isn’t it nice? The feeling of their warm blood on your fingertips, the memory of their bones breaking under your hand and their screams echoing like haunting melodies in your ears.

No, no it’s not nice at all. I’ve barely been able to sleep, eat, or function since then. The dark voice in my head has become darker because of what happened. It’s louder, harsher with its choice of words now. The voice praises me for what I’ve done and even relives the moments I took their lives.

The front door clicks shut and there’s thumping of footsteps in the hallway. A knock on the door and Nicholas asks, “Are you decent?”

“Yeah,” I mumble, knowing he can hear me just fine.

The older man steps through the door now, leaning against the frame, attempting to appear casual. He’s not fooling me as he sweats stressful pheromones throughout the room.

“It looks as though you’ll be staying here until after the holiday. The good news is that Mattheo will be joining us on the nineteenth.” He offers a crooked smile, but it doesn’t reach far.

My head hangs now as I continue staring at my hands. “Why not just let the council kill me?”

“What?”

“Just let them get rid of me before I kill someone else,” I mumble. “I’m dangerous.”

The floorboards creak as he enters the room, and my bed dips as he sits near my feet. “You can’t truly believe you deserve to die. Not after saving Corey like you had.”

“I killed two more people. That’s three people on my list.” My voice barely reaches above a whisper. “I deserve it.”

“Believe or not, Rylan, I do understand what you’re going through.” He sighs. “I had felt the same way the first time I took a life. He was a hunter, like the ones that had attacked the academy.”

“How did you get over it?” I ask him.

He shakes his head, his hair falling loosely just over his shoulder. “I’ll let you know when I figure it out. Until then, I say we both keep our heads held high, and we don’t let the council take another life.”

“Another life?”

His eyes widen, as if realizing what he’s said. “Sure, yeah. They’ve taken lives and they’ve never had to answer for any of them. I’ve lost friends and family to their hands and callous judgement calls. But I don’t plan on losing anymore to them, especially not you or Mattheo.” His hand lightly touches my burnt and scarred arm, covered by the thickest sweater I could find in Mattheo’s closet. “Do you understand me, Rylan? I won’t lose either of you, and I refuse to ever believe that you deserve nothing more than what your mother wanted for you.”

“I understand.” My voice is strained, quiet. A lump begins forming in the back of my throat, deep, making it nearly impossible to swallow. “I just don’t want the list to grow.”

Nicholas’ eyes soften. “I won’t lie to you- It will. That list will grow until the day you die, being added to someone else’s list. We all make hard decisions, and taking a life is one of them. Take it from me, son; if you feel wrong, sick to your stomach, disgusted with yourself for taking a life, then you’ve reconsidered another alternative and it just didn’t pan out. The day you take a life and no longer feel hard on yourself about it, then that’s when it’s time to worry. Guilt is what keeps us grounded in humanity.” He stands from the bed now, tapping my shoulder lightly. “I’ll get us a spot of breakfast. Clean yourself up a bit and join me.”

He leaves the room, leaving me with this hollow burning in my chest. He’s right, my list will grow, I’m sure of it. No matter how much I tried to avoid hurting another person, I ended up taking two lives. It’s almost as if the more I fight against the voice and the anger, the more harm I cause once I finally explode.

December 19th, 2005 - Monday, 9:35am

Placing the last book on my shelf, I attempt to straighten them as best as I can. Nicholas had told me he would buy me bookends if I needed any, and I may have to take him up on the offer. The room he had made up for me is slightly bigger than my old room at Noah’s. The window stays uncovered, allowing as much sunlight in as possible. I’ve even left it open from time to time, just to get some fresh air. Nicholas doesn’t want me to stay out by the lake too much, just in case I catch a cold.

My arm stings as the sweater I’m wearing rubs against the burn marks. Stripping the material from my body, I glance at the simple mirror built into my wardrobe door, and the sight of the burns sends a chill through me. Both arms are littered in burn marks, deep white gashes that show off the pink under flesh. Nurse Kim had tried her best to get close to them, to treat them, but I refused to let her. Nicholas was torn when he seen them. Nurse Kim had mentioned giving me a sedative, but he thankfully refused it.

The front door slams open. I can make out shouting between Nicholas and Mattheo. He must be home for Christmas break. The adults wouldn’t let him or the other boys near me the days leading up to being sent here to Nicholas’ house. No matter how much Mattheo screamed at them, threatened them. I could hear him from the infirmary hurling insults and warnings to them as they dragged him away.

“I don’t care!” He shouts. “I’m seeing him. Try and stop me.”

The bedroom door swings open, not giving me any time to put my sweater back on, leaving my upper torso exposed. He stands in the doorway now, staring at my naked upper body, jaw slack and eyes blazing. He rushes forward, gripping my elbows and looking over my face.

“Did they hurt you?” Mattheo turns my head to the side, one hand still gripping my elbow. “Let me see your back.”

I begin swatting him away. “Stop it, Mattheo.”

He pays no mind to the swatting and continues to check over my body. “I swear if they hurt you in any way-”

“Quit touching me!” I snap at him. The room grows quiet as he stops fussing about my body. “Now, what are you on about?”

He slowly releases his grip on me and steps back. “The council- Did they hurt you?”

“I’ve not even seen the council,” I admit. “So, no. They didn’t touch me.”

His eyes become trained on the burns trailing my arms, and his eyes begin glowing. “What is that from? It’s fresh.”

“The hunters I fought,” I mumble. “The net thing that was on Corey had aconite on it. That’s what Amaya said, anyway.”

“It isn’t healing,” he says. “Why isn’t it healing?”

“I don’t know.” I sit on the bed now, tucked in the corner of the room. “Maybe it’s a side effect from not shifting all those years. I don’t know, Mattheo. I don’t have all the answers.”

He stands in the middle of the room, examining it closely. His eyes trail over the clean floor, the bare desk by the door, and the opened wardrobe across from the twin sized bed. No posters adorn the walls like his room, and no lights are pinned up above the bed. There is no proof that a little boy lives in the room, and I’m not sure there ever will be. Staying here wasn’t a choice, and I’ve not given any thought to staying here, to allowing Nicholas to adopt me. That’s something that will take a bit more time.

“How mad are the other two boys?” I ask him while pulling my knees up to my chest, holding myself despite the aches from my wounds.

His eyes meet mine, confusion deep within them. “Mad?”

“Yeah, at me. I couldn’t keep Corey from getting hurt. I couldn’t shift and help the girls. They were all in danger, all because I couldn’t shift. You guys must hate me.”

There’s silence, until the room fills with laughter. Mattheo holds his stomach for a moment and releases a long breath. “Rylan- Are you dumb?” I tilt my head and he shakes his own, choosing to scoot up on the bed beside me. “We were never mad at you. We’ve been worried sick about you.”

“But- But Corey got-”

“Protected by his friend,” Mattheo says, cutting me off. He places a hand on my knee, still tucked up against my chest. “Without you, those hunters would’ve taken Corey and we would’ve never seen him again. No one is mad at you, Rylan. Corey wanted me to thank you for saving him.”

“Really?” My chest collapses.

He nods. “Really. Even his dad told Kerum to thank you on his behalf, for saving his son.”

Even Collin Woods feels as though I had done the right thing. So, why don’t I?

Because monsters don’t deserve gratitude. They are to be condemned, not commended.

“I murdered those men,” I whisper, partly hoping he wouldn’t hear the confession.

He leans into me while saying in a mock whisper, “So did Porter.”

My eyes snap to him. The blood pumping in my ears is louder than before at hearing his own confession. Amaya murdered one of the hunters?

“W-What?”

“You heard me.” He smiles now while tapping his fingers on his knees. “Amaya snapped one of their necks. She was beat up about it at first, but she eventually realized that it was either them or you guys. She did what was necessary to protect everyone including herself. That’s why I’m begging you to hear me when I say-” He pushes himself up against the bare white wall behind us and stares into my watering eyes. “You did nothing to be ashamed of, Rylan. We all would’ve done the same exact thing.”

“Okay.” I nod, feeling better about the entire situation. “I believe you. And Mattheo?” He glances at me. “Thanks.”

“That’s what friends are for,” he laughs out.

December 25th, 2005 – Sunday, 4:15pm

The bandages wrapped around my calves and arms are itching worse than they had this morning when Nicholas put them on me. The tightening of the material with each movement irritates me but ripping them off will only cause another argument between Mattheo and Nicholas. Mattheo doesn’t think I should have to endure them either, but Nicholas assured us that they were the only way to promote healing since my body won’t do it like theirs does.

“You just heal humanly,” Nurse Kim had said. “It’s natural given your circumstances.”

The adults warmly greet one another in the entry way of the Sutton house, just like they had at thanksgiving. Arthur’s eyes linger on the white bandaging peeking out from under my sleeves, but he smartly says nothing. He does comment on Mattheo’s knitted blue sweater though, mentioning that his wife is improving with the skill each year. Nicholas let us open gifts yesterday at his house and Mattheo had opened the box with the ugliest sweater I’d ever seen, and happily placed it on his body. It had been a gift from his Aunt Lizzie.

Thankfully I didn’t have one in my small pile. The presents were all from Nicholas and consisted of clothes and an iPod that resemble Mattheo’s, only it’s grey rather than white. Mattheo tried showing me how it operates, but I still don’t know about slapping headphones on and cutting off one of my senses.

“Rylan.” Arthur lightly smacks my back while grinning widely. “Elizabeth has some presents for you to open in the lounge. Why don’t you head in there and sit with her.”

“Presents-” I stare at him. “Presents for me?”

He only smiles while nodding. I hesitate to move forward, but he urges me along through the doorway.

In the sitting room, there’s a brightly lit Christmas tree and various holiday decorations scattered about the room. I wouldn’t be surprised if they cut down their own tree for the special occasion considering the entire room smells of nothing but pine trees and cinnamon cookies.

Elizabeth Sutton sits on a four-seater couch, along with another woman who resembles Mattheo, and an elderly woman. The black-haired woman is smiling, chatting with Elizabeth until her eyes meet mine. She then taps the other woman and whispers something quietly. Mrs. Sutton turns abruptly, and her smile is warm as she stands on her feet.

“Rylan, dear.” She urges me towards them. “Come, come. We must open these before we eat dinner.” She then begins fussing as she moves a few presents around into three different piles. Her warm eyes meet mine and she asks, “Where did your brother go?” She waives, not letting me answer. “No matter. Mattheo! James! Get in here and open your gifts!”

The woman resembling Mattheo stands and excuses herself, offering to get the boys herself. Her gaze meets everyone’s eyes, everyone’s but mine.

Once she’s gone, the elderly woman sighs while fretting with her hands on her lap. “Forgive my daughter and her rude behavior.” Her words are directed towards me. “She’s only just accepting the fact that Nicholas has taken you in. Once she gets over herself, she’ll accept you are a part of this pack as well.”

Unsure of what to say, I nod.

The elderly woman taps on the sofa, and I reluctantly sit next to her. There’s enough room for another person with as much space as I’ve put between us. Her smile is still warm and there’s no hint of offense in her kind gaze.

“I know we’ve not had the chance to speak yet, but I’m Nicholas’ mother.” She offers her hand, and I politely accept it. Her skin is smooth despite the wrinkles, and her grip is firm. “You can call me Beatrice, Grandma Betty, or just ‘Hey, old woman’ if it makes you feel more comfortable.” Her words ease the tension in the air, and a small laugh leaves my tight lips. “I am honest though; Rebecca, much like anyone else that may have an issue it with the subject, will get over herself eventually, because you are a part of this pack and this family.”

“T-Thank you, Ma’am.”

She leans back, her pale green eyes squinting. “Oh dear, no. I think I might prefer the old woman title than Ma’am. You make me out to be proper. That would be Lizzie over there.”

Mrs. Sutton stands now, her hands on her hips as she glares at the older woman. “Betty, I am not proper. I may enjoy posh things, but I am no proper lady.”

“I am sure you’re not, dear.” Betty then smirks at me as she winks playfully. “Not at all Miss Proper.”

Someone else enters the room now, following Nicholas and Arthur quietly. The woman from thanksgiving that had asked if I knew her. I remember her nearly crying, holding back tears, as she stared at me. Her blue eyes are still hauntingly familiar, but I can’t place them.

“Ladies,” Arthur addresses the women in the room. “Would you mind clearing the room for a moment?”

“We were waiting on the boys to join us for presents,” Elizabeth says to her husband.

Arthur offers an apology before saying, “I understand that, but Heather here needs a moment with Rylan.”

“If it’s alright with him,” Nicholas quickly injects.

They stare at me, waiting for an answer. The woman- Heather looks unsure as she looks anywhere but in my direction. As if she can’t meet my eyes.

“It’s fine,” I whisper.

Betty and Elizabeth now walk from the room together. Arthur follows them, leaving Nicholas and Heather standing in the archway alone. Neither looks ready to move, both seeming nervous. Finally, Nicholas holds her forearm and leans forward, planting a small kiss on her cheek and whispering in her ear. He offers me a soft smile before excusing himself from the room.

The room is so quiet now that you can hear the buzzing of the lights on the tree. Crickets just barely chirp outside, and the wind hits against the shutters attached to the windows.

Heather slowly shuffles her way towards the couch and slowly sits. Her movements are slow, cautious, and careful. Her actions are what you’d expect from someone dealing with a wild animal, not a thirteen-year-old boy.

Because you are a wild animal.

“I know you don’t remember me,” she whispers. “But I remember you.” I try to look at her, but her eyes are trained on her folded hands. They tremble on her lap. “I remember the day you were born, and the day your parents first brought you home. I remember the day your mother told me she was pregnant, and how the tears flooded from my eyes- tears of joy. My first and my only grandchild. I remember holding you for the first time, brushing your thick hair.” Her smile grows and tears drop on her hands. “Oh, the hair you had.” She chuckles now. “A full head of hair, just like your mother had when she was born.”

“You’re my grandmother,” I whisper. There’s no question about it. The way she speaks about Mom and the way her hands shake as she tries to keep from looking at me. “Why didn’t you say anything last time?”

Heather shakes her head, and a tear falls on my hand. “I couldn’t. You were already meeting your cousins, and my brother. There was no way I could selfishly overwhelm you like that. I wasn’t even going to introduce myself today, but Arthur insisted that I reach out.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure,” she admits. “Maybe to give you something in the form of familiar bonds, but it’s obvious you don’t remember me. And how could you? You were only a year old when-” Her words stop short, and her hands tighten on themselves.

“When my mom died,” I finish for her. “You’re right, I don’t remember you. I don’t even remember her, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to.” Her eyes finally meet mine and I can now see the tears streaming down her rosy cheeks. I offer her my hand and she reluctantly takes it, gasping as they connect. “Hi. My name is Rylan Evans, and I’m your grandson.”

Her tears pour faster as she shakes my hand once. “My n- My name is Heather Evans, and I’m your g-grandmother.”

The tightening in my chest and the tremble in her hands is enough to pull her arm towards me. Her body is warm, and her scent carries peppermint and something sweet. “It’s nice to meet you, Grandma.”

She sobs now as she holds me around the neck. Her grip is tight, but not unwelcomed. This woman gave birth to my mother, and she holds the answers about my past, my history. As far as I’m concerned, she’s the only living relative I need to know more about. I’m glad I have others to call family, but she’s the closest thing I have to ever meeting my mom.

The others finally come back into the room after giving me and Grandma an entire hour of talking with one another. It felt nice to get to know her, to learn more about who she is and what she likes. She loves knitting and baking, and she’s the owner of the fluffy white cat that I saw during thanksgiving break. His name is Pest and he belonged to Mom. She had gotten him the year before I was born, and Grandma has had him since her death.

I wanted to ask her about living with her instead of being with Nicholas, but that would be wrong. She’s older and most likely couldn’t handle having a kid live with her, and it wouldn’t be fair to Mattheo after he’s been excited this entire time about finally having a brother.

Not to mention the risk you impose of killing her.

I wouldn’t.

So, you’ve said before. Look at you now, little monster.

“These are for you, Rylan.” Elizabeth pushes four presents towards me. “These are for you Mattheo.” She passes some to him as well and then places the rest in front of James. “And for my sweet little baby-boy.”

“Mom,” James complains. His cheeks ignite with a blush, and Mattheo teases him mercilessly. “Shut up,” he grumbles.

Sliding down the dark blue cushion, I sit next to Mattheo on the hardwood floor. He nudges me while motioning towards the skinny rectangle box. “I think you’d better save the best for last.”

Mrs. Sutton gently smacks his head. “Oh, shush.”

Ignoring his smirk, I gently open the small box that fits in the palm of my hand. Once the paper is gone, there’s a small blue velvet box. Inside there’s a leather banded watch.

“It belonged to my late husband,” Heather says. “Your grandfather. It was supposed to be passed down to you once you reached a certain age, but I thought now would be the perfect time.”

“Thank you.” Shocking everyone around me, I stand and place my arms around her neck, hugging her tightly.

Her hands are trembling once more as she squeezes around my waist. “Anything for you, dear. Do be careful with it, though.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Sitting back down, Mattheo stares at me as if I’ve grown a second head. I shove him roughly, knocking him into James. The two boys then begin wrestling with one another as I keep opening presents.

The second gift was from Maxwell Keenan. A collection of photographs in a wooden box. Each one holds an image of my mom from her childhood and some of my other family members. Each one has their names and dates they were taken on the backs of them.

“Max had thought it would be best to see some faces and match names to them on your own time, rather than be thrown into things,” Heather says from behind me. “But if it’s too much then we’ll figure something else out.”

“It’s perfect,” I assure her. “Tell him I said thanks.”

The third gift is a brown leather satchel. There’s still a price tag attached to it, one that reads a price higher than one hundred dollars. The bag is nice and feels smooth against my skin, but it seems a bit ridiculous to pay that much for a bag.

“For your schoolbooks,” Arthur says with a bright, proud smile. “I’m sure Kerum has made the curriculum more than advanced for you, given you’re a bit brighter in mundane subjects.”

“Uh, thanks.” I let the bag rest just in front of my knees. There’s motion behind me and I turn to find Heather leaving the room. Her shoulders are taught, and her gait is rigid. “Grandma.” The word barely registers as a whisper, but it was enough to gain Mattheo’s attention.

The boy nudges my shoulder while motioning towards the present on the floor, the skinny rectangular box. “Come on, open your last one. I want to see your face.”

Nicholas is smirking now as he chuckles at his son’s words. He and Arthur are making hushed whispers towards one another. James is snickering as he opens the last of his gifts.

Mrs. Sutton hands me the box as she huffs out, “Honestly, Mattheo. You are the worst child.”

Ignoring his burning stare, I peel the wrapping paper away from the box and finally open the top. It makes sense now; Mattheo’s constant pestering, the smirk on Nicholas’ face, and the huffing from Mrs. Sutton. In the box is the ugliest brown sweater I have ever laid my eyes on. It had been woven, knitted the same way Mattheo’s had been. There are intricate patterns of white and a lighter shade of brown all over the sweater.

It’s hideous.

It’s a gift, and I should be thankful for it.

My eyes meet Mrs. Sutton’s and there’s a gleam of doubt in them. “Thank you, Ma’am. I love it.”

She breathes out, holding her chest in relief. “Thank goodness. James, run and put yours on. We’ll get a quick picture of you three for the album.”

It doesn’t take long for the boy to come back, a grim expression on his face with a bright red sweater, just as ugly as mine and Mattheo’s, tightly fitting his body. He grumbles as his mother messes with his hair and uses a licked thumb to smear leftover candy from his chin. His blush is bright and radiating so much heat that I worry he might explode from it.

“And Corey says Finley is a mama’s boy,” I mutter to myself.

James glares at me. “Really want to go there?”

“Enough.” Mattheo sends him a warning growl before nudging me on to his other side, so that he’s in between us. “Now, smile for the camera.”

Despite the burning anger slowly brewing under my skin, I offer the camera Mrs. Sutton is holding a brief smile. Mattheo wraps an arm around both of our shoulders and offers a peace sign with the hand on my side.

A tap on my shoulder and I glance around Mattheo to see James offering an apologetic batting of his eyelashes. The anger dissipates with the pleading stare. A smile, a real smile replaces the one I had just moments before.

“James, turn and face the camera,” Mrs. Sutton scolds her son. “Mattheo, drop the peace sign.” She sighs now. “And Rylan, dear, do stand up straight. There will be no slouching in this photo.”

With her demands being met and feeling satisfied with what we’re offering as a photo, Mrs. Sutton finally snaps the picture. A flash nearly blinds me as the shutter echoes in my ears. My very first Christmas, memorialized within a second. For the first time in my life, I opened presents, hugged a relative, and took a photo with friends. I may have had the lowest points of my life in this last year, but they’re nothing compared to the high I’m experiencing right now.

I’m slowly slipping into the life you had wanted for me, Mom.