CROSSROADS SERIES: PART V

Four more short stories from Stephen King’s “Crossroads” series that will help keep you entertained late into the night. Discover the bright imagination,
suspense, thrilling drama, picturesque visions, and a deeper look into the true landscape of the “Crossroads” series.

Follow the series to piece together the hidden meaning in the stories to determine the overall message that is being portrayed. Will it bring enlightenment?
Will it be the light at the end of the tunnel? Does fear take over and leave the message hidden? The journey continues and the message will surely begin to
appear and keep you in its grasp.
 Copyright © 2014 by Stephen King

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names,
characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or person,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

Manufactured in the United States of America

Designed by Magic Pen Designs

The Visitor

New arrivals to Saint Christopher’s Home for Wayward Girls were told lies from the very beginning. Parts
were true, to be fair; it was a bit like living in a medieval castle, what with the building’s towering stone spires and
carefully maintained cobblestone walkway. When they arrived, as they always did, by a yellow-brown school bus
that belched black smoke from its exhaust pipe, Abigail could see a glint of hope blossom in their eyes as they
looked at their new home. You could almost see when they allowed themselves to believe that perhaps this was what
grown-ups would call a new start. Somewhere they could feel safe, warm, and take the first steps toward a life that
was better than the horrific circumstances that had driven them to an orphanage in misty, mostly abandoned farm
country. Abigail almost didn’t want to tell them the truth, but she knew it was important they knew about what had
been rumored to happen at lights out time. To know gave them the best chance.

Most often, there was nothing strange or terrifying of which to speak. When it was time to sleep, Sister
Miranda shuffled into the great long room where all the girls’ bunks were lined up, and announced dispassionately
that the time had come again to dream sweet, restorative dreams of the Lord their God. She announced this
information with a distant tired frown that also informed them all that they had better pipe down right that instant
before she grew even less friendly than her norm. It usually did the trick.

“There’s nothing more any of you need to say at an hour like this,” she announced, her voice echoing off the
tall ceilings and the dirty tile floors. The din briefly rose around her as pilfered, dated magazines were stuffed into
under-bed cubbies and notebooks with elaborately scripted letters to pen pals - some real and others the saddest
possible figments of lonely imaginations - were squirreled under the covers for continued work by flashlight. “And
if by chance there is some great insight you must share,” Sister Miranda continued. “Please do so as you would any
other conversation with our Lord and Savior - silently.”

At this point Abigail would hop into her single bed, clutching both her fat yellow flashlights with the overhand
grip and the stuffed crocodile with which she’d slept - or sometimes been unable to sleep - for as long as she could
remember. She’d pull the stiff covers over her body, insulating herself from the noise of bunk mates whispering and
giggling. Abigail took great pains at lights out not to giggle or carry on.

At eleven, she was positioned with the rest of the oldest girls in residence at the orphanage. Their beds were
clustered closest to the doorway, adjacent to Sister Miranda’s room, and she had no interest in misbehaving directly
beneath the nose of the woman who carried the disciplinary ruler. When her rapidly aging ears picked up on
something improper, Sister Miranda was quick to bring down sharp retribution in the name of the Lord. This
propensity toward physical violence made her a woman to avoid the bad side of, but it also, Abigail reasoned, made
her the best possible protection. Certainly better than the crocodile, which, though it made a shamefully childish part
of her feel better, would offer nothing compared to an adult that could brandish a small weapon or, better yet, a
telephone.

There was a panel of light switches on the dull gray wall, and Sister Miranda lifted her gnarled hands to it. She
clicked off the switches one by one, plunging twenty-foot sections of the long hallway into complete, unassailable
black. Abigail hid under the covers now, but in earlier days she had watched the rest of the room at this moment, and
had thought fearfully that it was like watching darkness itself take monstrous, stuttering steps toward where she lay.
Now she didn’t watch at all.

Instead, after Sister Miranda let the door click softly closed behind her, Abigail tried to do nothing more than
breathe evenly and deeply, taking comfort in the sounds of the girls around her - some friends, some less than
friends - spurred back into whispering excitedly by the elderly nun’s departure. For some of them, their time here
was short enough that they could convince themselves it was an extended sleepover. Abigail had managed to make it
two years; she no longer allowed herself that illusion. Even as she felt herself drifting toward sleep, after thirty
minutes or so, she felt a distant part of her on permanent alert, ever on guard.

In her last moments before falling asleep, she thought of the new girls again; nine came on the latest bus,
herded up the front steps and into the bunks like cattle. She thought of how they were probably awake, too,
wondering how this place would work out, and whether it was better or worse than other stops they had made on
whatever winding paths had led them to this moment. Abigail hadn’t had a chance to take stock of them between the
time of their arrival, orientation, and time for lights out. That meant she hadn’t been able to find the time to tell them
what, precisely, kept a portion of her subconscious scanning her surroundings like a lighthouse on a windy,
seemingly deserted shoreline.

She was not listening for Sister Miranda, barging into the room noisily, reprimanding them with theatrical fire
and brimstone for refusing to straighten up, fly right, and behave appropriately. No, Abigail did not sleep soundly at
Saint Christopher’s because she believed that someday, again she would awaken to the sound of the front window,
by where the youngest of the girls slept, squeaking open again.

‫٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭‬

It did not happen, the horror that Abigail remembered and few others believed, that night, and Sammy, as she
tended to do, wanted to take all the credit. Sammy was a boisterous, rotund nine year old with an unnatural degree of
strength; she was like a bowling ball spinning out of control, in terms of her physical presence and, somehow, her
personality. Her thoughts blurted out of her head with no warning or forethought, and while Abigail had come to
tolerate her - and perhaps, begrudgingly, even develop a certain reluctant fondness, as one might for a younger
sibling it was easy to pick on - Sammy’s belief that she was the guardian of all the girls at Saint Christopher’s was
embarrassing.

“I did it again, Ab,” she said, slamming down her lunch tray and then widening her eyes conspiratorially at the
volume of the noise it made. She lowered her voice to a stage whisper that everyone else at the circular plastic table
Abigail had chosen could hear. “I kept him away.”

“I’d stay away from a girl with breath like yours, too,” Abigail mused.
 Sammy, through a mouthful of mashed potatoes, protested dramatically. “Hey, shut up!”

The other girls laughed. Abigail stuck her tongue out, and Sammy opened her mouth and revealed her
disgustingly chewed food. They laughed more.

There were five of them, including Abigail and Sammy, clustered together at most lunches. Tara and Tyra, the
twins who finished each other’s sentences and were occasionally quite difficult to tell apart, sat to Abigail’s left. To
her right was Violet, a diminutive redhead that’d been at Saint Christopher’s as long as Abigail. That long tenure
was the common thread that drew them together - other than Sammy, who glommed on to the group simply because
of a seemingly magnetic attraction to Abigail. From the first day Sammy had arrived, she followed Abigail, grinning
with the brave enthusiasm of the profoundly dumb. The rest had been there two years or more, and knew what
Abigail did. They waited today to catch the eye of any new girls.

“Do you guys see any of them?” Violet said.

Tara and Tyra both muttered no, uh-uh at once, shaking their heads and scanning the room. There were around
eighty girls who made up the population at Saint Christopher’s, and so it was difficult to find anyone amongst the
clamoring crowd at lunch time. They’d purposefully kept three chairs open - not that there was anyone else climbing
all over themselves to sit with Abigail and company - if they could find a few of the new arrivals. Then, Violet
pointed.

“There, coming out of line now. I remember the frizzy one, with the bangs coming off of the bus yesterday,”
Violet said. Abigail and the rest of the girls looked and spotted her; Sammy started to point and gesture, but Abigail
slapped her hand lightly and told her to be calm. “She looks right, maybe.”

“Don’t scare her away, creep,” Abigail said, gently.

“You’re the big creep.”

“Shush.” Abigail straightened in her chair as she watched the new girl approach them; she had deep brown
eyes that looked as if they were formed with volcanic stone, and the Saint Christopher’s uniform she’d been given
looked to be comically ill-fitting, with the skirt trailing across the floor at her feet and her shirt bunching in spots at
her impossibly thin midsection. Everything about her looked fragile, and out of place - as if someone were wheeling
a glass figurine across the lunch room. “Hey, new girl,” Abigail called.

She looked, caught sight of them, and then glanced around the rest of the room, weighing her options. After
twenty seconds or so of further indecision, the new girl walked over and sat down next to Sammy, flashing a tight
line of a smile. “Hi,” she said.

“You’re new,” Sammy giggled. Violet poked her in the ribs, but this just set Sammy to giggling even more
incessantly.

“Don’t mind her,” Abigail said. “Sammy’s with us. Me, Violet, Tyra and Tara. We hang out, have lunch, that
kind of stuff. Other stuff, no big deal.”

“Okay,” the new girl said, uncertain.

 “What’s your name?”

“Erin Elizabeth Thompkins,” she said. She’d had practice stating her name in any number of interviews on her
way here with lots of frowning adults, with clipboards and suits, Abigail imagined. She felt for Erin from the
beginning; she remembered her own arrival, frightened and alone. “Old nuns could barely find my name on their
lists when I got here,” Erin said.

“Hey Erin,” Violet said. Everyone else at the table offered quiet, somewhat sheepishly polite greetings. None
of them were sure how this would go; most times they got laughed at or run away from immediately. That was how
they’d ended up being a group of only five.

“Where are you from?” Abigail said.

“Lots of places,” Erin said, moving green beans around on her tray. “They were all bad.”

Silence descended around the table, cutting each of them off from the other uncomfortably. This was the
adjustment that had to be made at the beginning for everyone; confronting the fact that everyone had come from
shit, and willingness to up and enthusiastically join a social group was sometimes hard to come by. Another moment
passed painfully with Abigail unsure of what to say next to avoid pissing Erin off or driving her away.

“They all had better food than this, though,” she said. They burst into the explosive, relieved laughter that
arrived like a sudden wave only after the departure of significant tension. Erin looked around the table, and then
directly into Abigail’s face. Her gaze took Abigail’s breath away for a moment; she was both strong and frail to the
touch simultaneously. “So what’s your guys’ deal, anyway?” she asked.

The rest of them looked at each other.

‫٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭‬

It was hard to explain all at once, and so Abigail found herself delaying for the rest of that day. Instead, the six
of them - it felt good and right to be able to think of a higher number - accompanied each other throughout the
activities that comprised a day at Saint Christopher’s.

Unless there were other, hidden conversations ongoing throughout the day, there wasn’t much in the daily
routine about which to get excited. The state had mandated that the curriculum - if one could call it that - the
residents would be subjected to would be morality-based, and focused on providing a solid foundation for their entry
into long-term, stable homes and, eventually, into society at large. This meant that Saint Christopher’s Home for
Wayward Girls was essentially one big Catholic school - one long, day-after-day session of Bible study interrupted
by meals and brief interludes of outdoor activity. Outdoor activity, everyone learned quickly, was code for recess,
which was in turn code for don’t do anything stupid or dangerous, because Sisters Agatha and Marybeth want to
have a smoke and look at their telephones.

“They don’t seem to pay much attention to us,” Erin mused. They were sitting in a circle, picking at blades of
grass. From where they were on the lawn, they could see across the fields that stretched for miles in all directions
out from Saint Christopher’s borders, and, beyond them, the deep inscrutable woods into which the dirt road led
into. They had spent the hours after lunch crowded into classrooms in metal desks, listening to the nuns prattle on
about who begat whom, the word of God, and a world of bloodshed and begging forgiveness that seemed at once
ludicrously fictional and uncomfortably close to home. It was the late afternoon, but a curtain of clouds had already
been pulled across the sky, rendering their respite from learning about the apostles.
 “Get used to it,” Violet cracked. “All the rest of these girls think I’m just the coolest,” she began, gesturing
grandly. “But the nuns? They’re too old to think of any of us as more than names on their clipboard. Even me, the
prettiest and the smartest.” The girls booed theatrically and threw handfuls of grass. Abigail caught Erin laughing -
really laughing - at this point, and it warmed her. Goosebumps broke out on the flesh of her forearms, and she
smiled at the ground.

That night they gathered at Tyra and Tara’s bunk; it was near the end of the hall, where Violet and Abigail
slept, but a private enough space because the twins had the top and the bottom bunks to themselves. There were
benefits, they joked, to being related while they were abandoned. They sat cross-legged on the bottom bunk,
ostensibly studying Scripture. In reality Abigail had decided it was time to tell Erin what they all feared.

“What does that mean - someone comes here? You’re not making any sense and it’s freaking me out,” Erin
said.

They shushed her, and Abigail continued, calmly but gravely. She opened the notebook she kept on her lap,
spreading the evidence as she’d collected it out before them. There were the names, the dates of their
disappearances, and all the details that they’d been able to muster in hushed conversations over the years. It wasn’t
much, but having a collection of knowledge felt important. It felt like taking action.

“It’s happened three times- “

“That we know about,” Violet finished.

“Three times that we know about,” Abigail repeated, nodding.

There was a pause then, and the sound of the other girls in the bunk hall - talking about their plans to get
married someday, or the oddly long, curling hair sprouting out of the mole below Sister Miranda’s lower lip -
happily carrying on made their discussion and the self-created bubble around them seem all the more surreal and
stifling. Violet cleared her throat. Erin looked around at them, expectedly; she was skeptical but clearly interested.
The next part - telling the truth - was where things tended to go wrong.

Violet elbowed Abigail. Sammy, Tyra, and Tara were quietly waiting, though they knew the story well. “Tell
her,” Violet said.

“The visitor comes in the night,” Abigail said. “He crawls through the window.”

‫٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭‬

It was seven months into her tenure at Saint Christopher’s the first time that the visitor came after lights out.

Abigail was starting to believe this was a place where she could feel comfortable. It was a drag, of course -
hearing about God and listening to girls she felt little in common with either titter about the most inconsequential
things or shuffle around, steely-eyed, bearing their past traumas on their backs like anchors - but there was enough
quiet and distance from the city that it became easier and easier to believe a normal life would be possible for her
someday. She liked Violet, and thought when they were older they could get an apartment, and maybe go to college.
These were the things she was thinking of on the night when she lay in bed on her back as Sister Miranda clicked off
the switches on the panel at the front of the room, one by one. The room dropped into blackness.
 There was still the distant hum of the overhead fans, and whispered conversations after Sister Miranda
departed the bunk hall. One skylight poured a square of moonlight on the tile floor halfway down the room. Far
down, at the other end of the hall, Abigail could just make out the other window, which occasionally one of the nuns
would throw open to assist in airing the room out (especially after they had been smoking, which even women of
God were known to do from time to time).

Sometimes, Abigail came to learn, one of the nuns would inadvertently forget to latch the window again after
closing it. They were old, or they were distracted, or they simply did not consider it a particularly big deal. Abigail
couldn’t blame them at first; the place was in the middle of nowhere, after all. Who would come here? And who
would bother to leave, with virtually nowhere to try and go?

Abigail was on the verge of sleeping when she heard a faint scraping shudder - she realized later this was an
impact against the window frame - at the far end of the bunk hall. Nothing happened for a moment, and then, just as
she convinced herself that she’d heard a trick of the wind or the bunk hall settling, the window squeaked at it was
yanked open.

She snapped her eyes open and instinctively her firsts tightened around the crocodile at her side. She debated
sitting up and calling out immediately, but an impulse she could not claim as her own told her not to make a sound.
Instead she listened intently. There was a barely perceptible rustling now, like papers being shuffled or a snake
gliding through leaves and then - she was almost certain of it, her senses sharpened by adrenaline and the fact that
she could not use her eyes - the distinct sensation of a footfall. Perhaps not a footfall, her mind had told her -
something unfolding.

Her mind also told her this was absurd; she was imagining noises and conjuring images because she was still
getting used to being in a new place. Old buildings, like Saint Christopher’s, made strange sounds against the brunt
of the wind, or as the ancient wooden beams in the walls expanded and contracted when temperatures dropped in the
evening. Abigail knew she was being stupid, and yet her heart was thumping inside her chest even in the silence that
followed.

The dead air was pierced in the next second by a low hiss, like escaping steam. Abigail could not suppress a
gasp of terror then, because the sound oscillated, lowering in pitch just slightly; it was the sound of a next step being
formulated, of action being considered, of intent. Her imagination was not playing tricks on her. This was real.

Abigail was younger then, just nine, and so her bed was not yet as close to the safety of the room’s light panels
and the door to Sister Miranda’s room as it came to be in subsequent years. As a result, the idea of leaping up and
sprinting to safety seemed impossible, and screaming for help seemed a sure way to get noticed by - was that
footsteps?

“God,” she whispered. “Oh, God.”

The hair stood up on the back of her neck as she realized whatever had come in through the window - though
she was still under the covers and cowering, she was sure there was a presence in the bunk hall now - was moving
forward, and the sound of its movement had a horrifyingly wet quality to it. She could almost make out a squishing
sound that made her imagine someone walking with boots filled with watery mud, or something amphibian or alien -
something with scales, that stunk of marshland and stagnant, deep pools never bothered by the light of the sun.

She remembered what happened next most vividly of all. She saw nothing but the underside of her bedspread,
but Abigail prayed desperately for whatever it was that had entered the bunk room to leave her alone, to simply go
somewhere else. Anywhere else but near me, please, she thought. Seemingly as an answer, she heard a sharp yelp
then, with horror she realized she was listening to the sound of one of the youngest girls being taken from her bed
and silenced in one brutally swift motion.

There was the one sound, that brief wordless cry, and then the first girl - Elena Martinez, a New Mexico
import who shivered in the northwest damp and smiled sheepishly each time she stumbled over a word in English -
was gone. Abigail had waited that night for someone else to awaken, for Sister Miranda to come storming into the
room and wail Elena’s name through the open window, but nothing happened and no one else came. Even worse,
after a long period of shivering uncontrollably, Abigail’s body found an inner reserve of calm and she fell asleep, as
if she had struggled through nothing more than a particularly bad dream.

‫٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭‬

There had been two other incidents, just the same as the first. They were not bad dreams. Tyra and Tara had
arrived by the time of the second incident, when MacKayla, the seven-year-old from Mississippi had vanished, and
Sammy had seen the most recent, just three months ago, when the visitor arrived for Brynn Wilkins, a near-mute
blonde with coke-bottle glasses. After that Sammy had appointed herself as the group’s muscle - at least during
daylight hours. More importantly, the five of them had started planning.

“This is stupid,” Erin said, her voice rising with barely constrained fear. “I don’t know why you guys are
messing around with me, but I don’t believe you, and this is dumb, to be doing this.”

“We’re not messing with you,” Tara said.

“Not at all,” Tyra overlapped.

Erin was shaking her head, refusing. “They’d notice. If something like that was real, and it’s not,” she said.
“Then the sisters would notice people were going missing. They would call the police.”

Even as she spoke of the cops, Abigail could feel the doubt seeping miserably into her voice. It was not a
pleasant thing, when they reminded themselves of how little they trusted the elements of the adult world that were
supposed to keep them safe. To a girl, they’d all seen what interactions with the police could look like, and they
were not pleasant. Sammy had seen police drag her mother away screaming in a headlock. Abigail remembered the
titanic physical and mental confrontations between her own drug-addled parents before she’d been removed;
arguments that had come to blows for years before finally they were each arrested for assaulting each other. Abigail
had since come to believe she had failed her mother first by not intervening to protect her, and then failed her father,
too, by not asserting his innocence - though that would have been a lie - when child and family services arrived to
remove her from his custody. She would not be that failure again.

“Don’t be dumb. Sister Miranda is a hundred, and she’s this close to croaking any second,” Sammy whispered
too loudly.

Abigail shook her head. “They know that girls are gone, but think about it. Girls like us? There’s no one that
makes more sense to just up and disappear. Runaways, orphans, weirdos,” she said. “You remember what you said
about how they could barely find your name on the clipboard when you got here? Someone turns up gone in the
morning; Sister Miranda makes a report about it.”

Abigail unfolded the paper Violet had stolen from Sister Miranda’s office; it was a copy of a hand-written
report that had been filed to the State of Washington Department of Child and Family Services. It listed Elena
Martinez’s name, height, weight, and physical description, and the suspected reason for her fleeing the home. In
black pen, it read: Suspected recurrence of past trauma coinciding with emotional disturbance resulting from
introduction of new living environment and overriding attachment issues. She handed it to Erin, and as she read,
Sammy piped in: “It says she was crazy.”

“She wasn’t crazy,” Abigail broke in. “She was nice.”

“After this, a whole lot of nothing happens,” Violet said, angrily. “The truth is that one cares what happens to
us, out here in the middle of nowhere.”

“This is stupid,” Erin was mumbling now, shaking her head incessantly. Abigail doubted she would sleep
tonight.

“I - we’re sorry,” Abigail said. She considered putting her hand on Erin’s shoulder but thought better of it. Erin
looked up and stared at her again now; the darkness of her eyes like holes one could tumble inside.

“Why are you telling me all this?”

Abigail swallowed hard. She leaned forward. “Because the plan needs six of us.”

‫٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭‬

The plan was simple. They knew what the visitor did, after all; it came through the window when someone
was careless enough to leave it unlatched. This happened rarely, but even something that occurred only once in a
great while had resulted in three girls - that they knew of - going missing. It wasn’t a situation they could continue
living with, and Abigail was convinced the adults would think them insane if they came clean with what they really
believed. There was no way to run; where would they go? The only solution was to invite the visitor back to them,
and then, Abigail believed, they could spring the trap.

Two of them would have to wait outside in the night, allowing the visitor to pass by them and start to enter.
The other four would wait by the window. As soon as the visitor’s head was inside the room, two girls would slam
the window down, holding it shut from above, while the other two held the visitor’s arms from below, immobilizing
it completely.

“They should give us enough time,” Abigail said. Erin looked at her incredulously.

“To what?” she said.

Abigail looked around, and then she held up her two pillows, revealing the two jagged shards of glass. They
had managed to save discarded wine bottles from the recycling bin at the front of the building over the course of the
preceding months; from there it was simply a matter of briefly distracting the two or three nuns on watch at any one
time so the bottles could be shattered against the back of Saint Christopher’s.

“This is crazy, you guys,” Erin said. Abigail could see the blood had drained out of Erin’s face, leaving her a
ghostly shade of pale. Her illusion of safety, established only a few hours earlier, had crumbled before her. Abigail
understood how that felt. She looked at the others, and then reached out for Erin’s hand.
 “We need your help,” she said.

Erin snatched her hand away and got up, out of the bed, surprising Abigail. Fear had turned to fury. She stared
at them and pointed.

“You guys are fucking crazy,” she shouted. “Stay away from me. I mean it, all of you.”

She stomped away; other girls in adjoining bunks craned their necks to see what the commotion was about.
Abigail heard murmuring from all around and knew, uncomfortably, that the attention was focused on them. After a
few minutes, they saw Sister Miranda drift into the doorway of the bunk hall. She scanned the residents’ faces half-
heartedly, but then sighed and gave up, returning to her room as if the thing she was certain she’d find was now
hopelessly lost.

‫٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭‬

Nothing came for any of them that night, or any of the next eight. The mood at meals was mostly sour; they
found themselves looking into their food, feeling unsettled and far from hungry. Tyra and Tara rested their cheeks
on their fists and looked at each other, mumbling quietly in a language only they seemed to understand. Sammy
stared into space and broke small things that no one would notice were gone. Violet, defiantly, refused to be phased.
She advocated constantly for the plan to move forward, and she sneered at Erin when she saw her, sitting alone at
meals or writing in a notebook during Bible study.

“We don’t need her. The plan is fine with six,” she said. “I say we go ahead.”

“Yeah, the plan is fine,” Sammy agreed. She felt unmoored, clearly, in any moment in which the rest of the
group was unsettled. Aggressive agreement felt comforting to her. They’d all believed Erin would be the last piece,
as soon as they’d seen her, and now things felt distractingly incomplete and dangerous again.

Abigail shook her head. “Give it time. We can wait for her to change her mind,” she said.

Erin had taken to sitting by herself in the bunk hall, either in her bed or in one of the wicker chairs by the front
window, rarely glancing up from one of the old copies of National Geographic lying around the back of the
classrooms in Saint Christopher’s. They were windows into worlds that did not exist for the residents here; there was
a measure of comfort to be taken in them. Abigail had been where Erin was now, and she did not blame her for her
behavior. She had been scared, too. She was still frightened.

“Screw her,” Violet said. They looked, from Abigail’s bed, down the bunk hall at where Erin sat. Sister
Miranda sat across from Erin in one of the other chairs, absent-mindedly tapping ash from a cigarette out the front
window. Erin appeared unaffected by the cloud of smoke encircling her, making her appear hazy and somewhat
indistinct, like an idea of a person glimpsed through waves of heat on a highway. “We’ll be fine without her,” Violet
said again, urgently. “We can do it.”

Violet could not have fathomed how wrong she was.

‫٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭‬

She had made no sound when the visitor came for her.
 Abigail had been clueless; she woke in the morning to find that the bed sheets and blankets had been stripped
off of Violet’s bed. A pillow was halfway across the floor, but other than that, there were no signs of a struggle. It
was not as if Violet had been dragged out, kicking and screaming and fighting as hard as she possibly could; it was
as if the ground had opened up and swallowed her whole, leaving no trace. The nuns now were examining her things
for clues - perhaps they would for once think it odd that a runaway had run with none of her possessions, Abigail
thought bitterly - and scanning the fields, their hands shielding their eyes from the sun. They would find no sign of
her. The room buzzed as the news of a long-term resident running away in the night - unless you asked the crazy
girls - spread like wildfire.

She tried her best to be a comfort for the twins and to Sammy - who was bawling, even though Violet had
poked fun at her - and to make for them a safe, private circle where they could have their own space, but she felt
hollowed out, like she’d been walloped in the stomach without warning. Violet had been with her since the very
beginning. Violet had survived so many other incidents with the presence that seemed to stalk them. Violet did not
seem like a presence in their lives that could just disappear with no sign. And yet still, Abigail could not cry. She
had nothing left.

“It got her, Ab. It fucking came and got her and none of us did anything,” Sammy blubbered, red-faced. She
was having trouble breathing. Abigail, not knowing what to do, held Sammy close to her chest for a few minutes
until she could feel the pace of her heart slow and her pulse stabilize.

When it did, her thinking slowed, too. She thought of a filthy hand clapping over Violet’s mouth, and powerful
arms holding her disgustingly close, squeezing the life out of her. She imagined her lifeless body being dragged
through the grass, her face on the ground, her hair clumped with mud. When her eyes opened, Abigail looked across
the bunk hall and caught Erin staring.

She let go of Sammy and steered her toward the twins. “Stay here,” she said.

Abigail crossed the room in her stocking feet soundlessly in an instant, arriving at Erin’s bedside near the
center of the room. They looked at each other.

“I don’t know what to say,” Erin said.

Abigail fixed her eyes on the window, which stood open, allowing sunlight and a cool breeze in. “It walked
right by you while you slept, you know. What do you think it’ll do next time?”

Erin shrugged miserably. She looked on the verge of tears, and Abigail wanted to not care, but Erin’s
weakness and fear reminded her of her own. She felt compassion eroding her anger by the second.

“Violet’s gone,” Abigail said. Erin started crying then, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. “We’re not getting
her back. But I can trust you. I’ve known it since you first came. If you help us, we can stop it, and what happened
to Violet doesn’t have happened again, to anyone.”

Erin hugged her then, clutching at Abigail’s back as if she feared she would fall if she didn’t find something to
hold onto. She spoke into Abigail’s shoulder. “Oh God, this can’t be true,” she said.

“We’ll keep each other safe, okay?” Abigail said.

“Okay,” Erin said. “Aren’t you scared?”

 “Yes.”

‫٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭‬

The rest of the day passed slowly, sharpening the anticipation they each felt. They’d decided shortly after the
conversation at Erin’s bed that no more waiting would do. Tonight was the night they would lure the visitor to come
to them again with an open window, and they would be ready. If it did not come tonight, they would be prepared
each night until it did.

When the sun had set and the moment had finally arrived to shut out the lights, Abigail hopped into bed, just
as she always did. She pulled the covers up over her head, and held the flashlight close to her body. In her other arm
she clutched at the faded crocodile, and now, with a few moments to herself, she tried to remember where it had
come from, or why she had grown so attached to such a silly thing in the first place. She turned the flashlight on and
illuminated the crocodile’s snout with it; she was surprised to notice, for the first time in her life, that the stuffed
animal was designed with tiny jagged teeth that jutted down past its lips like stalactites. It was strange, she thought,
how you could look at a thing that was so important and miss a detail like that. She clicked the flashlight off and
hugged the crocodile closely, breathing in its smell deeply.

The lights clicked off around them. After she heard the door, Abigail, in her bare feet, threw the covers off
quietly and set out. She checked with the twins and then with Sammy, projecting calm as best she could and telling
them to be ready, and to be careful.

“Sammy?” she whispered in the dark.

Sammy turned to her.

“Protect the twins.”

She continued down to Erin’s bed and met her there, and they darted through the bunk hall to the window.
Abigail released the latches on the top of the window, and pushed it up. This time it slid open without so much as a
sound. She climbed through the opening and hopped to the ground outside, landing on the brick patio in the moist
evening chill. There was a moment she feared that Erin would not follow her, but then her tiny frame was leaping to
the ground behind her. Abigail shut the window again so it was open only a sliver, and then they joined hands and
ran to a hiding spot at the corner of the building. From there, Abigail hoped, they’d be out of sight to the visitor’s
approach but still able to see its movements. They would find out.

They waited there, pressed up against the brick of the building, their breath seemingly the loudest thing in the
world. It was a long time before Abigail said anything. It was impossible to know how long they would be there, or
if the visitor would come at all. She tried to push away unhelpful internal suggestions as to why it might not arrive
again tonight.

Because it’s just had a meal, her mind said.

She forced herself to speak with Erin. The truth was that she wanted to keep Erin and the rest of the group
safe, and to see many more years ahead with them, far away from here.

“What was it like for you before this? At the last place you lived?”
 Erin was quiet a long time.

“Not good. This young couple, they had always wanted babies but they couldn’t have them, so they convinced
themselves they wanted one of us. One of the babies with no parents, one of the kids with no home. So they got me,
and then they found out after they met me that they didn’t like that so much,” she said. “Did not go well.”

“What happened?”

The breeze rushed through the grass around them, rustling. Erin sniffled, and then coughed quietly into her
hand like something had been stuck in her throat. Then, matter of factly: “The guy burned me. Cigarettes. Late at
night, so that his wife didn’t know. I don’t know why I didn’t scream for help or call someone, but he told me once
that he could kill me any time he wanted.”

Abigail felt her stomach clench again.

“I felt him watching me all the time, and then, after a while, I couldn’t get to sleep ever. I lost weight, my hair
started to get all messed up and thin. And so the doctors took me away, sent me here after I talked about what had
been happening. Almost dying once was plenty, and now I’m here, so everything has obviously worked out
awesome,” she said, chuckling.

Abigail put her hand on Erin’s arm. “You survived. That’s the important thing.”

“Yeah.”

They heard rustling in the grass and held their breath. Though it began distant, merely a rumor of sound on the
wind, after five minutes the sound of a stealthy approach was unmistakable against the backdrop of a night in the
middle of quiet country. It was on the other side of the wall, perhaps two dozen yards from them. Abigail pressed
her eyes closed, and reached out for Erin’s hand. They squeezed them together.

She forced herself then to as move as carefully as she could to peer around the building corner. There, barely
illuminated in silhouette by the moon, was a towering figure in a flowing overcoat and a wide-brimmed hat. The
garments were all black and baggy, and they seemed to have no form beneath them, as if there no skeleton
underneath to support them. The figure had its gaze trained on the window in front of it, and did not seem to have
noticed the two of them. Abigail fingered the sharp edges of the glass in her hand. She could barely breathe, and her
heart was pounding.

“It’s here,” Abigail whispered.

“Fuck,” Erin said. “God.”

The figure reached out soundlessly, languidly and pulled the window up. It turned its head upward, the floppy
brim of its hat tilting backward momentarily, and then, seemingly satisfied, the visitor bent forward as if to blow out
the candles on a birthday cake, used one limb to hold the hat on its head, and ducked inside.

The window slammed down and they heard Tara, Tyra, and Sammy screaming; shortly after they heard
screams erupt from the rest of the startled, suddenly awakened girls in the orphanage. Finally, an anguished,
infuriated reptilian shriek exploded from the window, too, and Abigail knew that at least for the moment, the visitor
was caught. Now they’ll all see, Abigail thought.
 “Now!” she shouted, sprinting forward.

She tore around the side of the building, yelling, the glass raised in her hand. Erin came behind, poised to
strike. The visitor’s head and right upper half were inside the window, but it had braced its leg against the building
in a last-ditch effort to rip itself free. It thrashed around, and now as she ran Abigail heard the snarling and spitting
from inside. It’s scared, she thought. Didn’t expect this.

She hit the side of the visitor’s body as hard as she could, bringing the glass in her hands down on its broad,
muscular back three times in rapid succession. Abigail found herself unable to stop screaming. She felt Erin next to
her, striking too, but she could not tell how much of an effect they were having; the visitor was not falling down,
even though she felt blood, or some viscous liquid, spurting down her body.

Then, just as she thought they might pull it off, Abigail heard Sammy moaning from inside.

“I can’t,” she cried. “I can’t keep-”

Too late, Abigail realized they did not have enough to hold it.

The visitor gave a tremendous jolt then, and kicked itself free from the girls’ vice grip. It’s explosion backward
sent the bulk of its body careening into Erin and Abigail, who were sent flying several yards, end over end, before
landing in the grass beyond the patio. The world receded at the edges of her vision for a moment. She could hear the
girls inside calling to her, trying to see if she were alright. Adults were making noise inside Saint Christopher’s, too,
which meant that help was on the way. She heard Erin, then, too; she was begging for mercy.

Abigail rolled to her hands and knees, her vision returning, but could not find the piece of glass. A few yards
ahead of her, she could see the visitor had gotten to its feet, and it was slowly making its way - slithering upright,
somehow - toward Erin. She was crab-walking backward through the wet grass, screaming in fear. The visitor’s
overcoat had been blown wide open; Erin’s eyes had gone wide and white with horror. There was a tentacle, thick
and green and pulsing, on Erin’s ankle.

The next seconds passed in slow-motion for Abigail. She was up and running before she could process what
she was seeing, driven by instinct, by adrenaline, by the unshakable sense that to leave someone behind, to abandon
them to some horrible, unspeakable fate was unthinkable. She was lowering her thin shoulder to gain some leverage
her tiny body could not hope to produce. She is closed her eyes.

She struck the visitor like a wave, the impact of her body against its lower half knocking it off balance, so that
it tumbled over into the grass with another startled shriek. She was dimly aware of how bad it smelled, and of the
fact that they could make a break for it. They had a chance.

Then she was there, she had made it, she was reaching for her friend’s hand. She would not leave anyone else
in her life behind. Erin, come on, we have to - she meant to say, but no sound came out.

Abigail looked down.

She looked down her own body, to where the burning sensation was blooming, and she saw the glass shard
buried in her abdomen. Her lips move weakly, and tears welled in her eyes. The pain was agony. She looked upward
from the glass, following its jagged edges up smooth, pale wrists, dirty pajamas, and the black hair that framed
Erin’s face, her clenched teeth, her desperate effort.
 Those eyes, Abigail thought. So dark. Like a pool that’s been hidden in the shade for too long.

Abigail tried to say something, again, but she could not. Erin met her gaze.

“It’s like you said. We do whatever we can to stay safe,” she whispered.

And then she was gone, and Abigail was falling forward onto her hands and knees.

‫٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭‬

She noticed distantly when she was scooped up some time later, like a newborn baby, in strong arms. On her
neck there was the night air’s chill, along with the whisper of hot breath, the exhalation of air that smells of decay.
Her head lolled backward like a broken doll, a discarded child’s toy. She glanced backward, the strength draining
from her, and just for a moment glimpsed the lights in Saint Christopher’s snapping on, as if night for them was
ending earlier than expected.

The lights are on and the windows are shut tight. That’s good, she thought.

As she was carried through the fields, Abigail could feel herself slipping away, but somehow she was
experiencing a sort of acceptance, an inexplicable inner peace that she would have never thought possible in the
long-held nightmares she had built up of this very moment. Perhaps she always knew it would come. It was a
surprise to her, though, just how comforting it was to hear the visitor’s hiss, so close to her ear; it sounded like faint
air currents, like a house settling down at night, like a place that she had never seen but could imagine vividly in her
dreams. A home far away and still waiting for little girls to arrive, in a world and a future much better than this one.
 The Cure

It was 1978 and it was the year that everything changed for Henry Jameson. He opened his eyes that morning
and wished he hadn’t; he felt weak and helpless and immediately wished he was back in the dream world, where
things were more peaceful and there was no pain. However sleep hadn’t been coming easily for him and his dreams
often left him far sooner than he wanted. Often when he first awoke from a dream he wondered if he was already
dead and a sense of relief almost passed over him. Not that he really wanted death to come through his door, but he
believed it would provide him with the relief he so desperately wanted. He groaned when he rolled over and paged
his hired companion, Alex. Alex had been with him for many years and Henry trusted him more than anyone.

Henry was a retired loan officer, a soft-spoken man who just two years into his retirement was diagnosed with
cancer. It was an ugly cancer that stole away his last bit of youthfulness and left him bed ridden most days. He was
a short, somewhat robust man. His hair no longer draped the top of his head like it once had, which he could owe
most entirely to radiation therapy. His eyes were small, in a way that made it seem like he was squinting at you
when he smiled, his round cheeks dominating his face. Despite the cancer, Henry’s overall health was good; he
often took long walks and maintained a healthy diet. He did what he could to get out of the house when he could but
every day was different.

Unlike most men in his profession, Henry was wealthy; he had amassed quite a fortune in his lifetime. He
could thank playing the stock market for that, as it had taken very good care of him in his early days. It also allowed
him the best care possible now that he had grown so ill. He was able to hire Alex and pay him whatever he wanted
to be at his beckon call.

Henry owned a beautiful two-story home, with a porch that wrapped around the entire house. It boasted seven
bedrooms, three of which were for his cook, his nurse, and Alex. Not only did Alex have quarters in the house, he
had requested an office in the basement to work on personal projects.

What pained Henry the most about the cancer was the loss of his independence. He was never one to have
many friends, and always spent time alone. His only daughter Clara, his pride and joy, was all he had left after his
wife died suddenly years ago. Now that Clara was married she led a pampered lifestyle.

His biggest joy was his family, especially his grandchildren, with whom he cared to spend his time. That was
no longer the case once cancer entered his life. Without realizing it Henry had become a burden to the family that he
had treasured so much.
 He knew Alex was hired because his family could no longer be bothered with taking care of him. It hadn’t
always been that way, of course. When Henry was first struck ill, his daughter and her family constantly doted on
him, insisting that they would care for Henry in their own home. There was an outpouring of warmth and love all
around. They were by his side when he underwent surgery to remove the tumor in his brain that was slowly killing
him. They were there the day his doctor refused to remove the entire tumor because he felt it could damage vital
brain tissue. The next step was to undergo radiation therapy in the hopes that they could wipe it out completely.

Six months later, regrettably, Henry was told that there were still traces of cancer in his brain. His doctor
assured Henry that he had time before it became life threatening and that they would try new things, but at any time
the cancer could get worse. Henry’s family insisted they would be there every step of the way and he thought he
had a really good chance of beating it. He held on to that hope because it was all he had, he wanted to beat cancer to
not only save his life but to save his family as well.

Those promises soon faded however and Henry found himself to be a burden on the luxurious lifestyle to
which they were accustomed. He interfered with their ability to host cocktail parties and entertain numerous guests.
Having a sick old man sitting up in the guest room quickly put a damper on their lifestyle.

Clara no longer had the time to care for him; they couldn’t monitor him like he needed. He required care
around the clock and dear Clara couldn't cope with it. He was not allowed to leave his bed and he liked to have the
company. However, his family grew tired of this. To Henry it seemed once he became needy of them, the family
distanced themselves from him. Over time he saw less and less of them. When they realized their life would have to
be rearranged for Henry, things started to change. Once his cancer worsened, he needed countless pills and constant
care. Although on some days he could sprint around the block, other days rendered him helpless in bed, unable to
even walk to the bathroom on his own. There were occasions when his vision would become impaired to the point
where he needed help finding his way back home. Clara grew bored with the tedious sponge baths, the visits to the
bathroom and the hours spent reading to Henry at night. She felt crazy every time she heard the jingling of the bell
from Henry’s room.

Henry often thought he heard the muffled whispers outside his door of his family conspiring to get rid of him.
He wasn't sure if the voices were just in his head, brought on by the sickness. Was he having delusions about his
family? He couldn't really tell. He had learned to hide his pain and discomfort in the hopes that they would no
longer see him as a burden. He failed his attempt however; the damage had been done. They wanted him gone and
they wanted him gone fast. They decided to hire Alex and some additional help; they then moved him back to his
empty home and away from them. Clara refused to even consider keeping him in their home with the option of
adding the extra staff.

He had to admit that he felt more comfortable being back in his own home, though he felt the loss when the
familiar noise of a family was no longer there. He had gotten used to their presence.

Henry pined away like a lover for his family, hoping one day they would return for him. He was currently in
remission, but the fear was always in the back of his mind so he never complained; he didn’t want it to get back to
Clara. He hoped that she would change her mind if she knew he was well and come and be the daughter she used to
be.

Henry’s dark thoughts were interrupted when Alex stepped into the room grinning from ear to ear. Henry
sometimes found Alex to be a tad odd. He was a friendly and very efficient assistant however, and was the best
money could buy.

Alex was a highly intelligent and brilliant young man, well on his way to obtaining his Masters in Biology. He
was a small step away from receiving his PhD and planned on working at the local university when he was finished.
Research was Alex’s passion; it was the area in which he thrived. Becoming a professor was the key to having the
freedom to pursue his research as it would allow him mountains of free time. Cancer was his Everest and he vowed
everyday to beat it, to climb that mountain and be the champion on top. All his spare time went into his research
when Henry didn’t need him. He had been hired by Henry’s daughter Clara as a companion for Henry, a glorified
babysitter, as far as Alex was concerned. He was hired to do menial tasks, and basically keep an eye on Henry as if
he were a two-year old. Although there was a nurse on staff, Alex monitored Henry and administered medication on
a regular basis. Since Clara and her family didn’t visit, Alex was expected to entertain Henry as well, which
included walks and reading to him. He didn’t mind because the money was good and paid for all his studies. Most
importantly, he took the job despite being a glorified babysitter because he felt he could cure Henry of his disease.
Not just cure Henry's disease but eradicate it from the planet; he was just that good. Henry had a rare form of brain
cancer, a malignant tumor to be exact; a cure for it was still unknown. In most cases it was a death sentence, and
although Henry was in remission it was only a matter of time before it would haunt his days once again.

The cure was the answer and his days of slaving away in his office were over because Alex believed he had
one.

********

Henry sat up reading The Pelican Brief in his four-poster bed. He had probably read this particular book about
a dozen times. This was his most favorite room, and it wasn't because he spent most of his waking and sleeping
hours there it just made him feel cozy and safe. He found the room to be incredibly vibrant and vintage; everything
was so personal to him. He enjoyed the classic look of simple cherry wood. The curtains and carpet were shades of
deep green and burgundy. Photographs were everywhere, not art, but framed pictures of family on the dresser, the
shelves, and every wall. Despite what his family had done to him he still took comfort in those pictures. A picture
of him and his wife Ella sat on his bedside table. Just family that’s what his space was all about and maybe that was
why it was his favorite room.

Henry looked up when Alex walked in the room. “Mr. Jameson, how are you feeling this afternoon?”

“Fine, fine!” Henry replied. It was no different, the same answer every day.

“Good, that’s what I like to hear!”

Alex approached the bed, bending over as he examined Henry’s eyes.

“God, do we have to do this right now?” Irritation was evident in his voice.

“Now Henry, you know why I have to do this. If the tumor has spread, there would be swelling in the eye, and
that is what I’m checking for. You would think I wouldn’t have to keep explaining this to you!”

Henry frowned. “I’m having headaches again.”

“Well, as long as there is cancer, you will experience the symptoms,” Alex explained. “They always go away
in the evening.”

“Did Clara call?”

Alex shook his head. “No, no. Not today, maybe tomorrow, though.”
 “Yes…Maybe.” Henry turned from him as tears welled up in his eyes.

“You just rest Henry; I’ll have the cook bring you something to eat, along with some Advil. I’ll be in my
office for the rest of the afternoon and part of the evening with my studies. I’ll return for your reading tonight.
Buzz the nurse if you need to go to the bathroom.” Alex quickly left the room, leaving Henry feeling relieved.

********

After the cook had brought his breakfast of egg whites and turkey bacon, Henry slowly picked at his food, and
thought about his family once again.

Will they ever come back? He’d forgive them if they would just return.

Surely they could forgive an old man for his complaining. He hadn’t realized he had been such a nuisance.
He had just been so sore, so sick. Heavens, he just wanted their help!

That’s what you get. You complained and they left you. Well that won’t happen again. They’ll come back,
they have to.

His thoughts caused him to tremble as he broke out into sobs.

********

Alex was sitting at his desk, lost in thought. Looking around the room he grinned. He had done very well for
himself; he had every reason to be proud. His office, although it was in the basement, was complete and fully
furnished. All the furniture and shelving were mahogany, the best that money could buy. Medical books of all sorts
lined the walls. He had everything he needed to conduct research; Mr. Jameson had been generous. The other part
of his office was where he had established his own personal laboratory. This addition was a secret; no one else
knew it existed. He had been given free rein with designing the room, so the addition was added as an afterthought
and since no one ever entered the room he felt safe with his secret. It housed all his medical supplies, most of which
he purchased illegally, or stole from the university for experimental purposes. The laboratory was home to many
aquariums, and cages set up for the rats.

Looking around that laboratory always gave him a thrill; he was determined to be one of the greats. This was
his chance and nothing would prevent him from reaching his success. His testing was coming along brilliantly and
right on time. Everything was going exactly as planned. The rats were showing immediate improvements, far sooner
than he had expected. There were some casualties but there always was with these sorts of experiments. It wasn’t
hard to adjust treatment for success. Despite the causalities, most of the rats pulled through with mild side effects.
These were the ones that thrilled him so much. He believed the ones that lived more accurately represented the
results of treatment than those that had died. Alex had been doing this long enough to know improvement when he
saw it. He chuckled to himself at the thought of where he had obtained his test subjects.

Every other weekend, Alex went down to the corner of Charlatan and Main, a dark neighborhood where most
of the homeless lived. In a city like Brona there was enough homeless around to keep him busy; they were
practically around every corner. On that particular street corner he met a young boy. Alex paid him ten dollars if he
could catch five rats a week. The emaciated boy was more than happy to help him and hunted rats regularly for
Alex. God, if anyone knew what was going on in his office, they’d shut him down permanently. He grinned
mischievously. No, this was too important.
 He’d conduct a few more tests and then he’d be ready to show the world his genius. Alex frowned; his only
problem would be how to administer it to Henry without his getting suspicious. He wouldn’t allow Alex to use him
as a test monkey, even if it did cure him.

Alex paced across the room and pondered his dilemma.

Suddenly a smile crept across his face.

********

It was another week before Alex set foot in Henry’s room carrying in his hand a small syringe. He stole in the
room around eleven in the evening. Henry lay there silent, but evidently awake.

Henry, I have your medication.” Alex moved closer to the bed slowly, as he didn’t want to startle the
old man.

“I also have to administer a shot before you go to bed.”

“What, is something wrong?”

“Don’t worry Henry, you haven’t worsened. Your family doctor has prescribed something new for you to try.
It’ll make you a bit drowsy. But other than that, you should start feeling much better very soon.”

“Oh, yes… I see,” Henry weakly mumbled.

“Now don’t hesitate to tell me if you have any side effects that seem… unusual. I’ll need to report to your
doctor if there is, as it’s very important,” Alex added.

Alex proceeded with the shot, smiling to himself. He didn’t even put up a fight! He’ll be the first among many
to be cured!

“I’ll be monitoring you closely, Henry. Your monthly report is due soon, so sleep tight.”

By this time, Henry was sleeping peacefully.

********

Alex slowly walked down the hallway heading back to his office. He was brimming with excitement, his
thoughts dancing around inside his head. What it would mean to cure Henry, he thought with pride. Not only would
this be great for his career, but also he could finally cure his sister Anne, who lay dying of the same condition.

Anne sadly was much further along in her illness than Henry because her cancer had spread throughout her
entire body, and Alex was frantic to find a cure before he lost her. He wasn't sure what he would do if he lost her.

Oh Anne. How I hated leaving you.

 Opportunities like this did not come by every day and he would not pass it up. He felt responsible for Anne,
and that responsibility laid a heavy burden on him. Their mother had died shortly after Anne got sick, with the same
cursed disease. It had plagued their entire family and Alex could not bear to lose another person in his life. Their
alcoholic father, whom Alex loathed, had run out on them long ago, and was nowhere to be found. Good riddance.

Thank God for their housekeeper, who fussed over Anne, like she was her own daughter.

He needed this chance; it could be his last before he lost Anne. He refused to wait until the FDA approved it,
as Anne would be gone by then. Henry was the perfect solution and he would be cured all because of Alex. Henry's
family didn’t care enough to be a presence in his life and therefore wouldn’t interfere with his experiment. Not that
he was worried. He had been testing the cure for years, long before he came to stay with Henry. Henry would be
cured, and live a happy and long life. And most importantly, Anne would live.

********

Henry was ripped from sleep and found himself drenched in a cold sweat. “What a dream!” He shook his
head. His dream had left him terrified and unable to remember why, but it left him with a sinking feeling. He shook
his head again. What was wrong with his eyes? Everything around him was blurred. After a few moments his
vision finally returned to normal. How odd. That never happened before.

Just then the cook walked in. “Mr. Jameson, good morning! Just in time for a good breakfast.”

Good was a relative term, as they never seemed to bring him anything that tasted any good.

Henry lifted himself up and laid his back against the pillows; a wave of dizziness overcame him. For a minute
he thought he would pass out. “Oh!” he moaned.

“Mr. Jameson, are you all right?” Would you like me to get the nurse or Alex, perhaps?”

“No, of course not. I’m fine, really.” When the cook looked concerned Henry added, “Nothing’s wrong, just
got up a little fast, that’s all.” He chuckled.

The cook stared at him. “All right then.”

“Let Alex know I would like to try to walk today.”

“Yes sir.” She placed a blueberry muffin and a cup of tea in front of him and left.

Henry started to worry. Why was this happening now? Not when Alex is doing the monthly report, my family
can’t know about this, he thought to himself.

********

Just before lunch, Alex came to take Henry for his walk. He moved over to the bed where Henry was dressed
and ready to go.
 “We’ll take it easy today Henry, and just go out to the patio. Rosemary left us some delicious lemonade and
some Dickens to read.”

“Dickens? Son, are you trying to kill me? How many times do I have to tell you, it’s Grisham or nothing?”

Alex chuckled and replied, “Well, you can’t blame me for trying.” Holding his arm out he allowed Henry to
lift himself up by grasping his forearm.

The day passed fairly quickly, with Alex reading aloud from The Pelican Brief until Henry grew tired and was
brought back to bed. Alex stayed with Henry until he nodded off, monitoring him while he was there.

Alex was unaware of the frequent dizzy spells, nausea, and mild blindness that Henry was experiencing. As
far as Alex was concerned, Henry had improved dramatically. The cancer was still there of course, but Henry
reported feeling wonderful, better than ever.

“What a great report this will be, Henry!” Alex exclaimed.

“Oh yes, well… do you think my family will visit?”

Alex doubted it, but he didn’t want to hurt the old man’s feelings. “Well Henry, you never know.”

Alex was really feeling pretty fantastic at that point. Henry was improving at an amazing rate, he couldn't ask
for better results.

********

Henry spent the evening in bed contemplating his situation. What on earth could be causing all these terrible
feelings? It must be those shots. Alex had mentioned something about side effects, but he never said they would be
like this. Maybe the cancer had worsened, and he was just not telling me. Would that be ethical? Surely he would
have to let him know that. If he mentioned the side effects, that information would go straight to the doctor. And
then to Clara; Clara would find out. The cancer couldn’t be worsening; Alex said he was still stable.

“Alex will never find out,” he hissed. “My family will come back.”

Henry slowly drifted into a deep and troubled sleep.

********

Two weeks had passed and Alex paced back and forth in his office. He had finally made a decision. With
difficulty he tried to restrain himself from jumping up and down with excitement. It was time; it was finally going to
be time.

********

The next morning, after checking in on Henry, Alex gave the cook a parcel to mail while she was out running
her errands. Alex was in such a good mood, he thought he would check to see if Henry wanted to go for a walk. The
day was warm and bright and it would do Henry some good.

Alex found Henry sitting on the edge of his bed with a picture of his wife pressed against his chest. Henry
hadn’t noticed Alex enter and he had a look of despair written on his face. A wave of pity came over Alex; he felt he
understood some of Henry’s pain. Being separated from his dying sister was a constant struggle for Alex. He could
never imagine abandoning her like Henry’s family had abandoned him.

He cleared his throat and Henry looked up. “I thought you might enjoy a walk?” Henry nodded without a
word.

Alex went into position and held his forearm out for Henry. When Henry tried to get up his body shook like a
leaf. He could feel Alex’s eyes on him.

“Henry you’re shaking.”

“I’m just tired.”

“Why are you shaking?”

“I haven’t been sleeping, I’m a little weak.”

“Henry--”

“I don’t want to go for a walk!” Startled Alex helped Henry sit back down on the bed. His face had turned a
bright angry red and he was breathing heavily.

“I’m sick of you telling my family I’m sick all the time. They don’t come to visit me because of you!”

Taken aback Alex replied, “Henry I know that you’re upset, and I’m sorry your family hasn’t visited. But I
certainly don't tell them any such thing. I tell them the truth about you and you have been doing exceptionally well
these past few weeks. Is that why you’re not sleeping?”

“Oh, what else could it be?” Henry snapped.

Alex stared hard at the old man. “I didn’t realize. I could have brought you some sleeping pills; it won’t do
you any good to lose sleep. Rest assured I don’t needlessly tell your family you’re sick. I give a monthly report, but
Henry you’ve only been improving. Your family knows that; they know you are doing well.”

“Then why? Why?” Alex took Henry’s hand in his and held it while he sobbed.

********

A couple of months passed and summer turned slowly into fall. The leaves turned a stunningly vibrant orange
and a violent crimson, and Alex was busier than ever. He was so busy in fact that he had been unable to return his
sister’s many phone calls; she had called three times in the past week alone. She loved to chat with him about
everything from the flowers in her garden to the groceries she bought that week. He just didn’t have the time for it
right then, not since he had been writing a paper on his findings with Henry. It was crucial he completed it and then
he would tend to any of his sisters wishes. But this was all about her after all and he needed to complete it. He
wasn’t worried though; she knew he was busy and trusted him to a fault. If Anne's condition had worsened, she
would have insisted on talking with him.

The tests Alex performed on Henry showed that the cancer was in fact receding, which was quite remarkable.
However, he noticed that Henry looked quite pale lately. Alex recalled an unusual conversation he had had with
Henry a few days ago that left him concerned.

‘Hello Henry, how are you today?' Alex inquired.

Henry managed to cough, ‘Good, good.’

‘I have your shot ready; just lift up your sleeve, please.’

How odd, Alex thought, he looks terrified. Terrified of what? The needle or me?

‘Is everything okay? You don’t look so good, Henry.’

‘No I’m fine, just a little tired, that’s all. I was wondering though, why has this doctor of Clara’s put me on
this new medication? What's it for?’

Alex was silent for a moment. ‘Well Henry, he believes it’ll help slow things down until they find something
a little more permanent.’

Henry had laughed bitterly, ‘You mean like a cure?’

Alex didn’t respond and turned to leave, but changing his mind he turned back to Henry, ‘You’ll be okay,
Henry. You will feel better soon.’

Henry attempted a weak smile and replied, ‘I trust you, son.’

Before he left the room, Henry stopped him with a question. Taking Alex by surprise, Henry had said,
‘These side effects, what would they be like?’

‘Side effects? Are you experiencing any?’ Alex had been quite alarmed at the idea. ‘I need to notify your
doctor immediately if you are experiencing any.’

Henry seemed visibly shaken by my words. ‘No, nothing that serious, just a little sick to my stomach, that’s
all. I thought it might just be a side effect from that, I’m just curious.’

Alex remembered being so relieved. With this type of medication it wasn’t unusual for Henry to feel slightly
nauseated.

‘That’s okay Henry, that’s an expected side effect. You will tell me right away though if there are any other
problems, won’t you?’
 ‘Yes, yes, of course!’ He replied.

Alex finally administered the shot and settled into a chair beside the bed to read to Henry until he fell
asleep.

It had been an unusual conversation because Henry had seemed almost afraid of the shot. Then he was asking
about those side effects. What could that possibly mean?

Surely Henry would tell him if there was something wrong, wouldn’t he? He’s not that foolish; it’s his life
they were talking about there, after all. Who would risk such a thing and why?

Just then, the cook interrupted his thoughts. “Mr. Bridger, your sister is on the phone.”

Alex sighed. “Is it important? Is she all right?”

“Yes, she says she’s doing well; she just had some concerns she wanted to discuss with you.”

Concerns? Alex considered this. “I’m sorry Rosemary, can you tell her that unless it’s an emergency,
I’ll have to call her back later. I really do need to finish up here.”

With a nod, Rosemary turned and left the room. Alex noticed that she didn’t return to summon him to
the phone. Anne must be fine, he thought. He knew her concerns tended to be frivolous, and he assumed this to be
the case on that particular occasion.

********

A few weeks passed and Henry awoke on that particular morning and found he was feeling worse than ever.
God, this could be serious! Henry contemplated the severity of his symptoms.

He realized now that he would have to tell Alex the truth about what was happening. He had been a foolish old
man; he had hoped the problems would just go away when in fact he could be making it all worse. The side effects
he had been experiencing had grown far worse, and he was experiencing a dull throb in his lower back. He was
greatly dismayed by this and the thought of what could be happening to him hung heavy in the air. He hated feeling
this weak, this helpless. What will Clara think of him now?

At that moment, he heard the telephone ring. He tried to buzz the nurse but there was no answer. He didn’t
get any luck buzzing Alex either. Where was everyone?

“He’s probably on the phone… I’ll have to go find him, this can’t wait,” he muttered to himself.

Every bone in his body ached as he tried to lift himself to the side of the bed. He suddenly fell to the floor in a
heap, he could barely move. Henry slowly crawled out the bedroom door and into the hallway. It sapped every
ounce of his strength trying to get down that hallway. His legs wobbled as he rose to his feet and when he tried to
take steps they felt as heavy as lead pipes. He had to pause several times before he made it to the end of the hall that
led to the foyer. Once there, he stopped again as a wave of dizziness passed over him. His vision slowly cleared, and
straight ahead he saw Alex sitting down with his back to him. Ah, he is on the phone, he thought. Swallowing hard,
he walked toward Alex as if he had new found strength. Henry could overhear the conversation Alex was having on
the phone.

“Yes Anne… how wonderful to hear from you. You got my parcel? Wonderful! Have you been taking the
medication?” Alex asked.

“Yes Alex, thank you. I always knew you were brilliant. I received the parcel a few months back. I’ve been
taking the medication three times a day, like you said, but Alex, I have been experiencing some terrible--“

Alex’s head snapped around when he heard a cry from behind. Henry was a sight bent over and shaking. He
rapidly collapsed and crumpled to the floor.

Alex dropped the phone, and quickly ran to him. Grabbing his wrist he checked Henry’s pulse.

“Good Lord! He’s dead!”

Alex glanced back in horror at the phone he had left dangling, the knowledge of what he had done brought on
a new form of terror “Anne…Anne?”
 Beast Control

My legs ached as I ran through the alleyways, one after the other as I looked for a safe place, to hide. Terror
was beginning to seize me and I knew if I allowed that feeling to consume me than I might as well already be dead.
People were looking for me and I didn't think I was going to make it out alive. I was wounded; they had found me,
hurt me, and tried to kill me. They had almost succeeded but I got away. If you could call this getting away but I
wasn't doing well that's for sure. It's a terrible feeling being hunted; even worse that I was hurt so badly that I wasn't
sure that I was going to make it out there alive. How could I have been so stupid? Now I needed to find a safe place
in which to lick my wounds and return to a form that would allow a little more anonymity. I could not be found in
this state or I would surely be killed. I would be okay once I shifted, but it wasn't going to be easy. I was terrible at
shifting; I had no control over it and it often overtook me into a dark side that scared me to death. I had no way of
harnessing the wild side and when I was immersed in it, I changed who I was. I was darker, fiercer and unable to
handle the aggression inside me. It made me increasingly uncomfortable because it felt like I was a worse version of
myself. The dark side took over so much so that I lost myself. I didn't like that feeling, I was comfortable in my own
skin, and I knew who I was and who I wanted to be. When I shifted, it changed my mindset so much that I felt like I
was a danger not only to the people around me but to myself. What if I couldn't shift back? What if I became stuck
in that world, unable to leave? It terrified me; I didn't want to be a darker form of myself. I just wanted to be me. But
that was impossible, so how did I relinquish the dark side while still keeping intact?

A sharp pain coursed through me that helped me focus back on the present. My wound was in my flank and I
worried that it was going to slow me down enough for them to catch me. They couldn't catch me; if they did it
would be the worst thing that happened to me. It's not because they would kill me; oh no, it would be much worse
than that.

I could hear them behind me, their hurried steps a threat to me in my wounded state. There were so many of
them and I was slowing down considerably. If I didn't do something soon they would be upon me in no time and
then it would all be over. I wasn't sure I was going to make it though, as the alleyways seemed to grow longer and
narrower as if I wouldn't be able to fit through them. I knew I was losing a lot of blood and it was affecting my
mind, making me woozy and sluggish. I grew dizzy and started to stumble, falling a couple of times before getting
back up. Fear coursed through my body as I pictured what it would be like to get captured. Torture and
experimentation would be inevitable. I would be used in ways that were unbearable to consider.

Running was no longer an option as the blood loss was making me feel faint. I needed another way, something
else. I could no longer run; I would have to go into hiding. I might still be found out, but it was my only option at
that point. If I continued to run they would surely catch me and then it was over. My wound was far worse than I
had expected. My fur was matted in blood and there was a dull ache overtaking my body. I slowed to a crawl,
whimpering as I lay down on the pavement, I wanted to go to sleep more than anything. I had to tell my mind not to
or it would all be over for me. I tried to drag myself behind a dumpster in the hopes that I would be unseen to my
captors. I dragged my body slowly, fearing that my wound was getting dirty against the pavement. Infection was
probably inevitable at that point but there wasn't much to be done about it at that point. Leaning against the brick
wall of a city building, my body hidden behind a dumpster, I shifted from my werewolf form into the human shape
that would hide me from danger. I fazed back and forth between werewolf form and human form before staying in
human form. It hurt to shift and I could never go quickly from one form or another successfully. I needed to learn
how to shift successfully because it would mean life or death for me.

It was then that I smelled them approaching, the hairs on the back of my neck tingling. They had arrived and
they meant to finish the death sentence they had given me. Who was I kidding? There was a lot more they would do
to me before death came and death would certainly come. I was not easy to find in my human state however and I
sighed with relief when their group walked past the dumpster without a clue that I was so close to them.

I could hear them talking amongst each other. My senses were unparalleled and no human could match me. I
could hear and smell for miles; even in my human state they couldn't find me. I could track them but they did not
possess the same type of powers as I did. They were only human after all.

“Where the hell is she?” A gruff voice demanded. Chills went up and down my spine; that voice did it to me
every time. He was evil incarnate, the sickest man I had never known.

“I don't know, I could have sworn we had her for sure. She couldn't have gone far, since she's wounded after
all.”

One man, the leader approached the talker and grabbed him roughly by the lapel. He shook him really hard; it
looked like his head might shake right off his head. “If one shot doesn't put her down you bloody idiot than you keep
on shooting! Don't let me see you hesitate again. We are going to have to hunt her all over again.”

“I thought you wanted to keep her, study her. Not kill her. We were trying to preserve her.”

The man shook him harder his face growing a bright angry red. “Of course I want to keep her but what bloody
good is she to me now that she's gone? Don't ever let it happen again or you will be the next to go!”

“I'm sorry sir; I didn't think she would make it far with a leg wound. We should have been able to catch up
with her.”

The man stopped and took a look around, peering suspiciously at every nook and cranny as if something had
just occurred to him. Had he realized that maybe I hadn't gone far at all? That I was just a stone throw away literally
bleeding to death, completely at his mercy? And there would be no mercy. If I fell into his clutches I would surely
never escape. The man was ruthless and he wanted me not only as a personal trophy but he believed he could learn
how to shift himself through experimenting with me. He and his men lived on a compound, one that would be
difficult to escape if I was captured.

I held my breath and willed myself not to pass out. I had lost a lot of blood but being unconscious would not
serve me well if he found me. I may not have had a lot of fight left in me but I would still fight until the end.
 “We have people at the hospitals now sir waiting; she will have to turn up at one of them. We'll get her this
time.”

The leader stopped looking around and turned to face the man that was speaking. “She couldn't have gone far,
you idiots. I want to know immediately when she is found. She is mine.”

I shuddered at his voice, his words sending an icy chill down my spine. The man terrified me. The men headed
back the way they had come and it was only when I could no longer hear their footsteps that I allowed the blackness
to envelop me.

********

I came in and out of consciousness and became aware of a man carrying me. I was in his arms and it confused
me a great deal. We were walking down a corridor and panic seized me as I worried that I had been captured after
all. Who was it? Who took me? Could I escape?

“Relax Cassandra, it's me.”

I blinked up at him, my vision fuzzy. I could not clear the confusion from my brain. I did know him; in fact I
had loved him once, a long time ago before I ran away from him. I was always running away from him. Marco
Reese.

“You're lucky I happened to catch your scent while out on patrol or you could be dead right now, or at the very
least captured.”

I passed out again, not really sure if I was safer in Marco's arms or in the arms of my captors.

I woke again nestled in a bed fit for a queen. I loved that bed, it was so soft and warm and so big an army
could fit in it. There was an ache in my leg and I knew the soreness would keep me from leaving Marco's place any
time soon. It was sort of depressing knowing that I couldn't just get up and leave when I wanted. I was literally a
trapped animal. He probably just loved that. Marco was a mysterious man but he was also a control freak and very
possessive of me. He would really enjoy having me handcuffed in his bed with nowhere to go. It was no wonder; at
one time we used to be pretty hot and heavy. There were days where we used to lay in bed for hours making love.
He had consumed me in so many ways. His scent was intoxicating and we had a natural chemistry that lit our bodies
on fire when we united as one. That was one thing I did miss about Marco the way he felt when we connected and
how he owned me with his touch. He was a gorgeous man and his animal instincts craved my body, causing him to
perform such acts on me that kept me coming back for more. We had been smoking hot together once upon a time,
but that felt like eons ago. There had been a time when our kind, werewolves, was not hunted by man. We were the
stuff of legends, feared only through old story books but no one had actually believed we were real. Life was
simpler then, and so much safer.

That of course wasn't the case these days. So much had changed and I wasn't sure why our clan allowed it.
Now we were hunted by the very men that had almost captured me. They had somehow stumbled upon us shifters
and sought out to claim our powers. It was an elite organization and they would stop at nothing to get what they
wanted. Of course the rest of the world had no idea that the MAN was determined to keep our power all to himself.
It was then that Marco and most of the werewolf clans went into hiding. They thought it was the best possible means
of surviving. I disagreed but Marco never was one to listen to anything I had to say. He was the protector and he
never believed that going to war was the best idea.
 He had a rather large home in the middle of nowhere surrounded by thousands of acres of woods. It was
considered a safe haven for everyone; they could live there without the threat of harm coming. The property was
equipped with everything we needed to protect ourselves. The stock piles of supplies would allow us to live there for
many years without having to go out for long periods of time. It was there that Marco and the rest of our clan hid
until we could find a way to claim our freedom once again. The problem was I didn't like hiding; I enjoyed my
freedom and I wasn't about to be trapped by a sadistic enemy. I didn't just enjoy my freedom I needed it. I found the
walls of what was supposed to be my home suffocating. Marco could never understand why I needed to be free,
even if I died because of it. The thing was, I would rather die while living free than to be trapped and live in fear of
being found out. So I slipped out in the dead of the night, leaving behind the only man I had ever loved and vowing
never to return. It had been a year since I had seen Marco until he found me wounded in an alleyway. I didn't think I
would ever see him again and there he was carrying me out if the alley way in his arms. What were the chances...?

His voice startled me out of my own thoughts. I looked up to find him standing in the doorway, handsome and
shirtless. There was something about the male part of our clan; they always avoided wearing shirts. Ripped too
many during shifting I assumed. Not that I minded; looking at Marco's carved body was enough to make me warm
all over. He was delicious and there was no denying he was the kind of guy you wanted to sleep with if you got the
chance.

“How did you sleep? Good I hope. I brought you some tea.”

“Apparently like a new born cub. You can fuck the tea; you should have brought me a glass of whiskey. How
long have I been out?”

“A day and a half. You lost a lot of blood Miss Cassandra Long. How does your leg feel? It's probably going
to be sore for awhile.” He walked over to the bed and set the tea down on the night stand beside it. I didn't bother
touching it.

“Ya well, all work and no play sometimes.”

“I'm glad you can find humor in the situation. Where the hell have you been?”

I smiled then. “I've been everywhere. I even stumbled on a few other clans. Not everyone is in hiding you
know.”

“Then they're fools; we need to protect ourselves. Who knows how close the humans are now.”

“They are close. I saw him; he's in the city looking for me. That's who shot me.”

“Sonofabitch!” he roared. I thought the power of his rage might cause him to shift but he was the master of
control.

“Why in the hell can't you stay put?”

“I can't live like this. We are meant to be free. Your cage is no different than the cages the humans want to put
us in.”

“Don't be ridiculous. There are thousands of acres for you to roam in freely, so why is that not good enough
until we can amass an army large enough to fight back? So many of us have been killed off already Cassandra,
tortured and broken at the hands of that man. And here you were right in his clutches. Are you mad woman?”

“I want to see the world. I'm willing to die for that privilege.”

“Well my darling you might just get that wish. You do realize he doesn't just want you for your shifting
abilities. He would take your human form every night until you begged for death.”

I shuddered. It was then that I realized I was only clothed in a black lace bra and panties. What was even more
unusual was that I had not been wearing them when he must have found me. That sonofabitch.

My large breasts were heaving in frustration, pushing against the bra. I was what you would call curvaceous. I
would have been extremely popular if I had been born in the days of Marilyn Monroe. But with the stick figure
society we lived in these days curves were not always ideal. Not that Marco ever minded. I could make him hard in
an instant. He liked my full breasts and I had an ass that could make a man weak in the knees.

“What the hell is this? You couldn't dress me?”

He chuckled, “No. I like you just the way you are.”

“Oh don't even start sweet talking me, because it isn't going to work. I may be injured but you're not decking
me out in lingerie just for your own pleasure.”

“I want you to stay put. I want you here with me. Out of danger, far away from that man.”

“What so we pick up right where we left off?” I laughed.

“Yes. Starting with me making your body mine again.”

Warmth radiated over my body as I fought for control of my emotions. If he thought he was fucking me that
easily he had another thing coming.

“I would have thought you had claimed another female by now.”

“You think you're easy to replace?”

“No, but I'm sure your bed hasn't been cold every night that I've been gone.”

He growled then as he sat down on the bed beside me.

“Don't start Cassandra.”

“Oh, dare I even ask who it is? I can recall one bitch that's been in heat for you for awhile.”

“Stop it. You left. Don't act like I had any say in the matter. We were in love and that wasn't enough to keep
you by my side.”
 “I can't stay here. As soon as I'm healed I'm getting the hell out of here again.”

That made him angry and he had a heat in his eyes that threatened to tear loose. He leaned in and his mouth
claimed mine in a manner that dared me to stop him. I became wet instantly as my body knew what was in store. I
felt dizzy once again this time; however it wasn't because of the injury but because of Marco's close proximity and
the fact that his tongue was making me ache for him.

His mouth left mine briefly and he just stared at me. I could tell he was feeling everything that I was. He
wanted me, mind and body and he would do his best effort to claim me once again.

“I'm going to make you feel really good Cassandra if it's the last thing I do.” He growled this in my ear and I
moaned in response.

He leaned in again and slipped his hand around my neck and pulled me to him. He claimed my mouth once
again and he tasted sweet and alluring. His mouth was searing hot to the touch and I moaned when he slipped his
tongue in my mouth. His kisses were fevered as if he needed my mouth in order to live. I sucked on his tongue
slowly, tasting him before I pulled away. He pulled me in again as he was not finished with tasting me himself. Our
kisses grew more passionate as his hand found my breast, kneading it softly. He reached around and unclasped my
bra and stared down at my full breasts now loose from the bra.

“God, you are beautiful.”

When I awoke, Marco was still wrapped around me as we lay together in bed. I was a little disappointed with
the fact that I had given in to him so easily. But he had a power over me that was hard to explain, even harder to
come to terms with. It was part of the reason why I ran away from him; he could easily consume me if I let him.

“Are you awake?” He asked.

“Yes.”

“You're regretting it already, aren't you?”

Yes, Marco could read me like a book and that point was incredibly annoying. I loved him there was no doubt
about that but I didn't want the same things he did. I was tired of hiding, I wished often enough for a werewolf
uprising, for us to claim our right in the world, instead of allowing the humans to abolish us. We were strong--much
stronger than they were, and that was why they feared us, why they wanted our powers, and wanted to destroy us. So
why not band together and either remove them as a threat or fight for the right to a piece of the earth? It all seemed
so simple to me and yet Marco would hear nothing of it. He was determined to hide and to hide others even though
it went against his own need to be alone. It was a notorious loner and a mind that was so mysteriously trapped that I
had never been able to break through the borders of it even though I was the closest person to him.

“I don't regret it Marco, it just complicates things between us, as usual. You want me to stay and I won't. I will
be gone as soon as I heal. So why get involved again when it's just going to hurt you all over again?”

“But it won't hurt you?”

I sighed, “Yes of course it will, I will always love you Marco. But I don't believe the things that you do. I will
not hide.”
 “Even if it gets you killed?”

“Even then. I want to live, even if it means it ends in death. I want to be free; we were created for a reason. We
have a right to live as well, and I will fight for that privilege as long as I can.”

“How can you fight properly if you can't even shift properly?”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh come on Cassandra, your injury. You want to be free but you aren't willing to succumb to being what you
are fully. You cannot be a beast and tame as well, it just doesn't work that way.”

“Who says I'm tame?”

He chuckled and I turned to him, his bright eyes piercing into me. My heart started beating fast and my palms
began to sweat. I tried to focus my thoughts once again before things got out of control between us. “No one would
even accuse you of being passive or even tame Cassandra, but you also won't succumb to the beast as fully as you
should and that's why you are having problems.”

“I'm not having problems.”

“Yes you are,” he boomed, starling me.

He cleared his throat, “I know you long for control but in order for you to tame your wild side you first have to
submit to it Cassandra. You have to let the beast in, to understand it because if you don't you will never be able to
tame it or have any control over your shift.”

I stayed silent, waiting.

“You have seen me shift hundreds of times Cassandra, you know what's required. It's painful but I just let go. I
accept the beast. You are fighting it and that's why sometimes you cannot shift completely or you return to your
human form sooner than you need to. You have to succumb it's the only way.”

His words terrified me in ways I couldn't express. I knew what I had to do but I had also been fighting it all my
life. I didn't like the way it felt, how it changed me into a different person. Well...not a person at all and maybe that
was the problem. I worried that I wasn't 'me' anymore and that's all I wanted to be. I wasn't the monster that the
humans feared we were, but I was still a beast and when that animal side took over it changed me and I didn't like
the feeling of change. The feeling of not being myself and losing control.

The one thing I did like however was the power. Being a shifter allowed you so much power,
something humans wanted to claim for a reason.

“It scares me.”

“I know it does.” He kissed me hard on the mouth. He was starting to draw me in again and I couldn't allow
that to happen.
 “Let me show you how to harness the power and shift the way you want to. You can master your primal urges
and let your inner wolf self take over. ”

“I'm not sure you're the best person to take me through this.”

“Don't lie; I'm the best person for this job.”

I pulled myself up into a sitting position. “I don't think it's a good idea. There are lots of people I can go to for
help.”

“Yes, that's true. But how many of them really truly know you well. Know you well enough to help you to
harness what you truly are.”

I looked him in the eyes and wondered how far this was going to go. Could I just allow him to help me without
getting drawn back into the spell he has over me? He was right I needed to know how to be a werewolf without
being afraid of what it did to me or who it made me become. I had to learn to control myself in a state that was
completely natural and wild. It was all part of the freedom I wanted, the thing I longed for the most. So why was it
so hard for me to let go? To relinquish the control and truly be wild? I didn't have the answers; I wasn't sure why I
behaved the way I did. Something that should be so natural for me just wasn't. But I knew that if I truly wanted to
be free than that feeling would only come in the form of a werewolf because they were free. Humans weren't the
ones trapped, so I shouldn't be fighting for so much control to stay human. I should be shifting the way I was meant
to, that's where I would find my freedom.

But was Marco the one that could truly free me? I wasn't so sure. I wasn't sure of much anymore. I hadn't
expected to end up here again, in that house, in his bed. I just wanted to be out there, free, meeting new people and
trying to make my mark in this god forsaken world. But if the clans did eventually unite, if we did one day go to war
with the humans, then shouldn't I be my strongest self? I wasn't sure I was anywhere near strong at that point. So I
should let Marco make me as strong as I could be. But was it a trap? Would I be able to leave him again when it was
all over or would he expect something in return for freeing the beast? I was sure he would. He would claim me once
again and I would never be free.

“Cassandra, your inner demons are written all over your face. What's going on?”

“I don't want to stay here with you Marco. I'm never going to want to stay here. So if you are doing this as
some means of keeping me here, then please don't bother. I won't stay no matter want. I want a life and I want to live
not just survive.”

His head snapped back in shock and I could swear his eyes watered up right before my eyes. He took my news
like a bullet. He nodded his head slowly and took a deep breath. When he expelled it he said, “I would never expect
you to stay Cassandra. You clearly don't want to. But I would still like to help you.”

I stared at him knowing that I had cut him deeply. There was nothing I could do however, no way to help him.
I could only heal him by staying and that would just end up hurting me.

“Let's do this.”

We went out into the forest area that surrounded Marco's property. It truly was a beautiful place and I wished
there was some part of me that wanted to stay there. It was lush and green and you could lose hours walking around.
I used to shift, however awkwardly, and run the length of the forest. But I would not be happy within the glorified
cage that Marco had made for himself. Not now, not ever. It was an incredible place to live but they were all just
hiding, just waiting for someone to find them and I was done waiting. I would be free in the world even if it killed
me. I loved Marco and this place but I wanted the freedom to come and go as I pleased. Not be made captive just in
case we were to run into the MAN again.

Marco stood there in a clearing in the forest. He was handsome standing in the light that filtered through the
trees. He looked fantastic. We were going to try to control my shifting. If that was possible but the whole idea of it
terrified me. I hated losing myself through a shift.

“Are you ready Cassandra?”

I nodded. “I think so.”

Marco had his arms to his sides and his hands were in fists. He would go from man to beast sooner that you
would expect. It's a fast process. “There's no anger here beautiful, just think like a beast and it happens. Let the
change happen without any drawbacks. It's your fear that causing your shifting to be ragged.”

I had to get really angry or terrified in order to change, I could not just become the beast. It just happened to
me, not through any will of my own. Marco shifted with the calmest of minds, and I could not do it without anger.

When Marco shifted it was fast. One minute he was in a human form and then the next he was something else
entirely. It wasn't like in the old horror movies with the silver bullets. It wasn't slow and agonizing. You didn't see a
person turn into a dog. Your face didn't change slowly, you didn't grow a snout. Hair didn't just sprout out of every
crevice. It was just the transfer of one form to another. One minute he was wearing clothes and the next those
clothes were shredded on the ground. And there stood a massive beast in front of me. I was so jealous of his ability
to shift and to do it so easily. It was something that I worried that I would never be able to master. It could be very
dangerous for me if I didn't get it mastered. I could easily be killed mid-shift if I was unable to get it right.

I inhaled deeply. “So, how did you do it?”

“I freed my mind Cassandra, something you should be really good at. You seem to be fully capable of
forgetting about me and running off for a year so this should be a cake walk for you. I opened my mind to a freedom
that is just like the wolf and I shift. A wolf has a clear mind because it works off of instinct not emotions. You are
too emotional, you let fear hold you back, and that is why you can't shift properly. You don't like losing yourself to
the beast but I'm afraid that it's the only way. You think you are free but I think your mind is in the cage you're
afraid of. Now try it.”

It made sense what he was saying, but I also knew it wasn't as easy as that. I tried to picture it, to picture
freedom as air blowing in the wind. I let myself picture what it would be like to not have a body at all, to be not a
human or a whole being but just like air. Freeing the mind was difficult for me. I fought it so much in my life in
general that it was hard to do it on the spur of the moment like that. The air that blew through the forest and left
without anything standing in its way. I didn't hear any sounds at all, not Marco speaking or the birds in the trees, the
sounds of nature had up and disappeared. My mind was freeing and I felt nervous butterflies moving excitedly in my
stomach. It was then that I started to shift. The pain came first but it wasn't the physical pain you would expect. My
body was not contorting or ripping in any way, the shift happened too quickly for one to notice a physical sensation.
It was a mental pain, almost as if one soul was leaving the body and was replaced by another. That was the thing I
feared most of all was losing myself and never getting it back. It made my shifting process that much more terrifying
for me because I usually did it in a state of fear or rage. But this time it came so easily that I didn't feel anything but
the mental anguish of losing myself.
 I was almost there, I never shifted as quickly as Marco, but it was happening all on its own that time. The more
I was able to practice freeing my mind the quicker I would be able to shift. I was in awe of the transformation that I
was experiencing that time.

And then I heard a sound, one that didn't belong there. One that I wouldn't have expected especially not there.
This was after all our safe haven, a place that should never be breached. A twig snapped in the distance. We weren't
alone. Oh god, we're not alone. Just as I finished my transformation an arrow pierced through my side dropping me
down onto my forepaws.

I heard a howl come from Marco but it was too late. I was already hit and he could do nothing to stop it. A
growl tore out of me as I nipped at the arrow imbedded in my skin. I needed to get it out of my body in case I shifted
back to my human form accidentally. Having it in there during a shift could cause some serious damage. I couldn't
quite reach it with my jaws and I was starting to lose a lot of blood. The voices were coming closer; they would be
there in minutes. I only had minutes.

Marco appeared above me and he was in his human form.

“Stay still. I have to get this out of you so that you can shift back We need to get out of here.”

His eyes darted around the forest looking for the attackers.

“I don't know how they got here. How they found us. We have been hidden for so long.”

I wasn't sure if he was talking to himself or if he just expected me to listen to his rant. All I could offer him
was a soft whimper.

“Hang on, this is going to hurt.”

He grasped the arrow in his fist and yanked it out in one quick movement. I growled softly to prevent from
howling. We were already in trouble. I didn't need to bring the MAN right to me. Now that the arrow was out of my
body I could safely shift back to my human form. I was thankful that Marco had brought extra clothes for our
training session because the two of us were buck naked after our shift. He grabbed the clothes and we made a quick
exit through the trees, there had been no time. The humans would be upon us at any moment.

I smelt him, he was further off than the others, probably staying back for safety sake but he was there. How
had he found us? There was nothing there that linked the property to werewolves. I had to pray that I had not led
them there. But how could I have? Marco had carried me out of the alley way long after my captors had left. So how
did they find me? It was all too horrifying. We had an entire clan living there, and they could all be wiped out or
captured. We needed to get back to the house and warn everyone. Had we been at the house when the humans
arrived we could have been in a better position to protect ourselves. We could have killed them from a distance, we
had lots of weapons, but there they were in the forest, naked and vulnerable.

Marco handed me some clothes, “Here get these on, we are going to have to make a run for it.”

“Through the clearing? Are you insane? We will never make it.”

I pulled the t-shirt over my head and slipped into my jeans. I pulled the zipper up and buttoned them. I was
bare foot but that would have to do until we got back to the house. I watched as Marco dressed his gorgeous body in
front of me.

“We don't have a choice Cassandra; we have to make a run for it.”

“I'm hurt Marco, I have shooting pain all through my side. I'm bleeding. I don't know how fast I can run. I
know you're right we can't exactly walk through the clearing especially if we are being watched and we also need to
get out of the forest before we are killed but I am only going to slow you down. It's too risky. You should go without
me. Get back to the house, warn everyone, save whomever you can and I will be right behind you.”

“Are you crazy? I'm not leaving you here alone. They are right behind us, what if you get captured again? I
can't lose you again.”

“I'm not going to be able to run fast.”

“We will do the best that we can do. I'm not leaving you.”

I looked into his eyes and knew it was pointless to argue with him. It only wasted time and he would not relent
on this. He was in love and would not leave me for anything.

Just then an explosion erupted shaking the ground. We looked towards the house and seen it was on fire.
Another eruption of flames tore out of the forest and hit the house.

“Holy shit, they have grenade launchers.”

Marco stood there stunned. I shook his shoulders. “Marco, snap out of it we have to get over there and make
sure no one is hurt.”

He nodded though I saw tears in his eyes. Our clan was our family and they were in trouble. He had always
believed that we were safe there and instead there we were right on our own property fighting a war that he vowed
he would never fight.

Some sections of the house were in flames and I hoped no one had been killed in the explosions. It would have
taken them off guard; they never would have seen it coming.

“Cassandra, what if I was wrong this whole time. What if everyone dies anyways and it's been all for
nothing?”

“It wasn't all for nothing Marco, you have kept the clan safe this whole time when many others were wiped
out. But we aren't going to worry about it right now. We need to go or we may be too late.”

The voices were closing in though they were harder to hear now that there were explosions and a burning
house going on around us. Marco made a quick scan of the woods around us.

“Ready?”

I gulped, “Sure, let's do this.”

 He grabbed my hand and we made a break into the clearing. I heard shouting behind us so I was sure that we
had been spotted running away. The pain in my side screamed as we ran. I knew I was not going to be able to keep
the pace for very long as the pain began to spread. I was already starting to bend to the side to ease the pain.

“Are you okay Cassandra?”

“No, but keep going. I will survive.”

We ran, our feet pumping across the clearing. We were about halfway and I could see some of our clan in the
distance leaving the house. Hopefully they were getting everyone out. I didn't want to look behind me but I knew I
had to. I had to see if we were being pursued by the MAN. Were they already in the clearing, were they gaining on
us? I looked over my shoulder as I ran and saw that there was a large team in the clearing. They were running after
us. They were a good distance from us but that wouldn't last long.

“Shit. They're coming.”

The pain was getting worse and I cried out as I stumbled to the ground. I heard Marco curse. I tried to get up
but the pain caused me to buckle over. The side of my t-shirt was soaked in blood. Marco came to me and helped me
stand up. We both looked behind us at the team that was closing in. If they got close enough to shoot us we would
be done for. Marco lifted me up and tossed me over his shoulder. It didn't make me feel any better but we were out
of options. I had a searing pain in my side and as I bounced against his shoulder I thought I might actually pass out.
Too much was happening too fast, I couldn't keep up.

The clan saw us coming and a few men came running to help Marco with me.

“Hey have you got everyone out of the house?” Marco asked.

“Yes Marco we got everybody. They were able to go out through the back and through the woods, they will be
okay.”

“Why didn't you go with them?”

“We came back to help you fight. We were able to get some of the weapons, just not all of them.”

“Great. Where are they?”

Joshua, another wolf asked, “Is Cassandra okay?” He was looking at my t-shirt that was soaked in blood.

Marco looked me over, “She's not good. But there's nothing we can do for her now. We need to get out of
here. We won't fight this war now. We will use the weapons to hold of the organization, but the goal here is to get
out of here. We can't win this right now, they had the element of surprise and there are too many of them.”

I leaned on Joshua feeling a little woozy. He put his arm around me and held me close. I would be useless for
any type of a war, I had lost too much blood and I would need to lie down soon before I passed out.

“You need to get Cassandra out of here.”

 “I'm not leaving. It's me they want. They will keep killing everyone here, until they have me. I'm not having
anyone die for me. I'm staying, so let's just do this and get it over with.”

Marco stared at me hard but I refused to relent. I was not leaving without him. I did not want to find out later
that he died because of me. I wasn't entirely sure how the organization had found us but I was sure that it had
something to do with me. Marco wasn't going to die for me. Maybe I had led them there I couldn't be sure. But it
would end with me right by his side.

Shots were fired and we all turned around to see my captors closing in on us. It was time to go. Joshua had out
the remaining guns that were taken out of the house. We took cover around the landscaping in front of the house.
The area was hot from the flames leaping out of the house. It wouldn't be long at all before the whole thing would be
gone. If we survived this we would have to start over somewhere else, we would never be able to come back there. It
brought tears to my eyes at what Marco had lost in one night. If I could I would make it up to him, but becoming his
sex slave would have to wait until I healed from all my injuries.

I had been given a gun but the best I could do was lean up against a tree trunk and try to avoid getting shot. I
was bleeding out and it had made me considerably weaker. I couldn't even hold onto the gun tightly enough. I would
only use it if I had to. Marco, Joshua and the others were taking some of the guys down however. I watched as they
went into action aiming at the team that was coming towards us. They managed to drop some of the numbers of the
men hunting me. I was so relieved that everyone got out of the house alive. I already felt guilty enough without
dealing with the guilt of someone who died because of me. The organization started to scatter all over the place to
avoid the firepower that was coming their way. It would certainly make it harder to kill them.

“We need to move now. Let's slowly back towards the house and go around the side. We will depart through
the trees in the back like the others did.”

Our clan made hast and backed away from the area. Some of them split up and went around one side of the
house while the three of us went around the other. I had to be carried by both Marco and Joshua. I was dead weight
to these guys; their escape was far more difficult with me.

“Marco, can't you guys hide me and leave me behind. Come back for me later?”

Marco looked at me like I was from another planet.

“You will be dead or captured.”

“I may already be dead if you can't get me to help quickly.”

“She's lost a lot of blood, she's just talking crazy.” Joshua added.

“Tell me about it. Cassandra, I'm not leaving you behind. I would rather die myself.”

“Well you might get that wish you fool. The house is good, we are low on ammo and completely surrounded.”

“She's absolutely right you know. You don't really stand a chance.”

I spun around in horror as the MAN walked out of the woods with a machine gun in his hands. It was at the
ready so I knew it was pointless to fire myself. Marco raised his however and I cried out. “Marco, no!”

“I would listen to your little mutt if I was you. I can shoot you all in seconds so how about you don't do
anything stupid. Drop your guns.”

It had finally come to this. We would all either be slaughtered or captured or both. The MAN held no mercy
for our kind and he would get whatever he wanted. I was what he wanted so I was scared that he would just kill all
the others. I couldn't bear to see them killed, all because of me.

“Leave them alone. I'm the one you want. Let them go.”

“Cassandra, what the hell are you doing?” Marco yelled.

“It is true, Marco, it is Cassandra that I want. I could care less what happens to you. The sooner your race is
annihilated the better of mankind will be.”

How did he know Marco's name? How long had we been hunted? He must know so much about us if he has
our names and knew where Marco's property was. But how?

“How did you find us?” Joshua asked.

“Ahh, that is the question of the day isn't it,” he chuckled. “You disgusting animals have been hiding out here
for years. I finally found you, and it was really easy actually. I just had to wait for one of your own to betray you.”

“What?” I said.

Just then a tall man walked out of the forest. Julien. Julien had been gone from our clan for a few months now.
We had thought he had been killed. He just up and disappeared, never to be heard from again. He just stood there
right beside the MAN looking smug.

“I can tell by your shocked expressions that you are surprised to see Julien. Apparently he got sick of being on
the losing side. He wanted more from me than your clan could offer. He has been giving me information about your
whereabouts and the whereabouts of other clans for months. I would have come sooner but I had my hands on
Cassandra for awhile and got distracted.”

Marco looked over at me in horror.

“But of course she had to escape and when we lost her I knew where she had ended up. It was so easy after
that. Julien has been a great help to us.”

“Julien, you piece of shit,” Marco growled.

“Oh give me a break Marco, you have been hiding out here for years and we are no further ahead in the war
then when we were free. The organization treats me like a king.”

The MAN looked at Julien and then back at us. “Yes, that was as long as you were useful to me and well to be
truthful you no longer are.” He pointed his gun at Julien and mowed him down with bullets before turning his gun
quickly back on us.

Tears rolled down my cheeks as I looked down at the body of our fallen clan member. He had made a bad
choice but he didn't deserve to die.

“You son of a bitch! I'm going to kill you myself!” I said.

“Brave words for a girl being held at gunpoint.”

“Fuck you.”

“Come here Cassandra, it's time for us to go.”

“Like hell she is. She's not going anywhere with you.” Marco said.

“Oh but she is. She has the choice of coming with me peacefully or watching you all die. And by the looks of
that shirt she also doesn't have long to live.”

Marco looked at me and I saw fear in his eyes. He was so scared to lose me. It wasn't death he feared most in
the world, no he feared losing me. Without me he would die anyways.

“It's okay,” I said to him, “It's for the best. I couldn't stand to see you all killed because of me.”

“It wasn't because of you Cassandra, we were all betrayed.”

“Yes but he's here for me and no one else.”

“You won’t make it out alive either Cassandra. When he's done with you he will throw you away. We are all
disposable to him.”

“I have to go Marco, I'm sorry.”

I started walking towards the MAN when Marco grabbed my hand. “Don't do this.”

I smiled sadly, “There isn't another way. I'm sorry.”

“She's a smart girl Marco. You don't need to worry, I intend on taking very good care of Cassandra.”

Marco growled. Would it benefit him to shift right then? He should have a long time ago. They all would have
made it out had they shifted. But he couldn't shift with me injured. I would die in a shift with so much blood lost.
And I couldn't get out of there without their help. There was a good chance I would never see Marco again but I
needed to save his life because of the many times he had saved mine.

“Cassandra, if you go. You will die; we will never see you again. I will die anyways without you. Don’t you
see that? I need you. Please let's fight. Let's fight the way you always said you wanted to. Don't give up now. Help is
coming.”

The MAN laughed loudly, “Help is coming. Possibly but you will all be dead by then. You morons. You have
no clue what you are up against and you think you hold any kind of threat to me?”

I shook my arm loose from Marco's grasp and walked towards the MAN. He grabbed me the moment I got
close enough and he held me against him. I looked at Marco and mouthed I'm sorry. My back was against the
MAN's chest and he had the gun now pointed at me. Marco wouldn't dare shoot now. It was over. I would be
captured once again and this time there would be no escape. The MAN never made the same mistake twice.

“It's time we got out of here Cassandra.”

As we started backing away from my clan members the MAN swung his gun away from me and fired a round
of shots at Joshua who dropped to the ground immediately, dead.

“Noooo!” I screamed. I struggled then pushing back into the MAN until he lost his balance and we both went
down. I hit my side hard and dizziness swirled all around me. I heard a howl and knew that Marco had shifted. I
hoped he was running as far away from there as he could.

But he didn't instead I saw him above me as the MAN struggled to get out from under me. Marco bared his
teeth at him and the MAN no longer had his gun. All I heard before I passed out into oblivion was ripping of flesh
and the terrifying screams of the MAN.

I awoke once again within the folds of the softest quilt and sighed heavily. I felt like I had been sleeping for
years and for all I knew I had been. It was like Snow White who slept until her Prince Charming kissed her worries
away.

I turned my head and didn't recognize the room I was in at all. I did however recognize the man sleeping in a
chaise lounge

“Marco?”

He awoke immediately and drowsily came over to the bed.

“How do you feel?”

“Tired. How long have I been out?”

“For three days. You scared us. You lost so much blood we thought we had lost you.”

“Where are we?”

“Paris.”

I laughed, thought it hurt to laugh. “Paris? Really?”

 “Ya haven't you ever heard of the werewolves of Paris?”

“No, not at all.”

“Well you have now. We have acquired property here. The house is gorgeous and you will love it. We are
going to start over here.”

“What happened to...him?”

“Well he's gone. I killed him. I rather enjoyed it too. But I don't imagine that ends things. Someone else will
take on the reigns of the organization and we will have to start all over again. Hopefully we are safe this time.”

“I'm sorry Marco.”

“Shhh...just stay with me this time. I don't want you to be a prisoner, we'll figure it out. But I love you
Cassandra and you belong to me.”

He bent down and kissed me on the lips. I hoped he was right.

 Deadly Ride

There were a dozen men and women behind the tall oaken doors that led to the board room, and in a few
minutes each of them would want Carson Phillips dead. As he waited for Tim to finish the initial briefing, however,
a recently downsized employee with a nine millimeter pistol was far from his foremost concern; it was the 45-pound
girl on the other end of his video call.

“You said you were coming home after you went to work,” Claire mumbled. Her face was downcast, and the
thick brown hair she inherited from Carson hung in her eyes. She would not look at the screen, and somehow this
behavior – stewing sullenly, not shouting or tantrum-throwing – made him feel worse than anything else would
have. “You promised,” Claire said.

He sighed, scanning her tiny, round, rosy face. Kelly was working a few feet behind her, obliviously banging
kitchen pots around. She was doubtlessly planning an elaborate dinner. He could sense the guilt galloping toward
him; Kelly would make him feel terrible for not appreciating the plans she had made, and his daughter would shame
him for abandoning her to fly to San Francisco to finalize the merger. Personally and professional, he was the
asshole.

“I know, sweetheart, and when I get back, I’m going to make it up to you a thousand times,” he said. She
didn’t respond. This was Carson’s cue to bring out the big guns. “We can go to Six Flags next week,” he offered, his
tone rising hopefully.

She peered at him suspiciously through her curtain of hair. “Do you promise? If you promise about Six Flags
roller coasters you can’t take back that promise,” she said, solemnly. There was nothing more sacred to Carson’s
daughter than rides that flipped her upside down at impossibly dangerous speeds.

He held his hand up in the air. “Scout’s honor, pinky swear.”

Claire poked the screen with her pinky finger. “Pinkies.”

He put his pinky up. “Pinkies,” he said.

Claire turned in her seat and shouted triumphantly. “Mom, we’re going to Six Flags!”

Kelly walked around the kitchen counter, and ruffled Claire’s hair, kneeling at her side. “That’s great, baby.
Why don’t you go in the bathroom and wash up.”

“Okay,” Claire said. “Bye, Daddy.”

 “Goodbye, sweetheart. I’ll see you very soon,” he said. The smile disappeared from Kelly’s face when their
daughter had left the room.

“Six Flags? That seems – wait,” she said. She sighed. “You’re not coming home yet.”

“There were last minute changes, honey. I have to fly back to hammer some things out with corporate on
compensation,” he said.

He waited for an explosion of tears or angry words delivered through clenched teeth. But Kelly smoothed her
hair behind her ears and exhaled, so that for a moment she looked like the girl he’d met decades ago.

“I’m disappointed, but I understand. You’re the president of the company, and you need to be there to see this
through.” She smiled supportively, and for a moment he shocked himself with a strong urge to reach through the
screen and embrace her. He hadn’t felt such an impulse in a long time.

“Thank you, Kel. Thank you so much for understanding.”

“Of course,” she said. As he opened his mouth to respond, there was a loud buzz from Carson’s pocket. His
hand flew to his side, off-camera. Kelly cocked her head. “What was that?”

Carson summoned a quizzical smile. “I didn’t hear anything.” The oaken doors opened and Tim walked out.

“Everyone’s arrived,” he said.

Carson nodded. “I’ll be right in. I have to go, honey,” he said.

“Okay, I-”

He ended the call. He checked to see if Tim was paying attention and then he turned his back to the conference
room and took out the prepaid phone. He hit the first button on the speed-dial.

“I’m about to do it,” he told the other end. “I’ll be on my way as soon as I can. Okay.”

He clapped the phone shut and dropped it in his pocket, and then walked briskly into the board room.

‫٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭‬

“I want to thank you all for being here today,” Carson said. He was seated at the head of the long table,
addressing the senior leadership of Brenner Labs. “It’s an exciting time for the joint venture, of course, and it was
important to all the partners and MacArthur-Brown that we work with you personally to communicate the next steps
for everyone.”

There were twelve pasty-faced vice presidents at the table with him and Tim. He could see the uncontrollable
nervousness in their sallow countenances. Carson knew that any time a small company with a desirable innovation,
like Brenner Labs, was acquired by a larger one with resources and an interest in profit, there was bound to be a
certain prevailing concern among the smaller company’s employees. Who could say what a corporate
conglomerate’s intentions were, or whether there would be changes afoot? That’s why Carson was here – to rip the
band-aid off quickly, so that the pain would be over as quickly as possible.

“There’s nothing we respect and value more than the commitment you’ve made to innovative research in
fighting the battle against cancer,” Carson said. “That’s why we’ve made a strategic decision in the best interests of
ensuring your innovation is taken to market as quickly and effectively as possible.”

It was always interesting to see if this was the point that they all understood what was about to happen. Not
today, Carson thought. They looked at him, expectedly, waiting for the leadership he had promised. Little did they
know.

“To safeguard our ability to go to market, we’ll be undergoing some organizational streamlining in the
interests of cost control,” Carson said. He was picking up the pace now; his mind was already on the walk out of the
room and the car that would await him at the curb. He opened his briefcase as people began to exchange looks and
murmur amongst each other. “If you’ll pass these around, please. What you’ll see in front of you is that the
ownership at MacArthur-Brown has very generously provided three months’ severance to ease the transition into
your next-”

“You’re fucking firing us?” a ruddy-faced, pudgy woman nearly bursting out of a pantsuit exclaimed.

“I knew it,” a bald black man with a graying goatee mumbled, shaking his head and clenching and unclenching
his fists. Carson cleared his throat and looked at Tim, but Tim was shaking his head, too; he hadn’t been informed
ahead of time, and so the restructuring – even Carson had gotten used to saying meaningless, neutered phrases like
this – was angering him, too.

“Heather,” Carson began.

“It’s Pam, actually.”

Carson cleared his throat again. “Pam, I believe you’ll find that the package we’re providing is far more
generous than is required in these circumstances.”

“You’re taking what we’ve all worked our entire careers for, fucking people over, and then repackaging it all
for a quick buck at our expense?” she said, her voice rising. Someone at the back of the table stood up. This was
Carson’s cue to leave. He stood too, and buttoned his coat.

“I thank you all for your time and your exceptional contribution as a member of the MacArthur-Brown family.
I wish you nothing but the best of luck, and Tim can answer any of your questions,” Carson said, moving backward
and out of the board room before the words had even finished leaving his mouth.

‫٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭‬

On the way out of the building, the burner phone rang again. First, Carson spoke into his wrist.

“Car,” he said. Then he snapped open the phone and held to his face; his voice dropped to a harsh whisper. “I
told you, I’m on the way. It’s done. Just hang on, I can’t have anyone here knowing that-“
 “Sir?”

Carson looked up. Tim had caught up and was standing behind him with his arms spread wide, questioning.
“I’ll call you back,” Carson said.

“Sir, can I ask what just happened? You blindsided me with a severance package for the VPs, claiming cost-
cutting that we don’t need, and now you’re out here talking – who were you talking to? Is something happening that
I should know about?” Tim asked.

Tim’s face had gone so crimson he looked as if he might have a heart attack. The cold easterly wind was
whipping their overcoats around like flags lowered to half-mast. Though they were out in the open air again, the
wind in his face, the ceiling of thick gray clouds overhead, and the incessant protests from his assistant made Carson
feel as if he could not breathe. Everyone he came in contact with, and everything he interacted with, somehow, was
making him feel at fault, as if each problem in the world - no matter how miniscule or unsolvable - was his duty to
address and of his making.

“Sir,” Tim said again, forcefully. Scolding. “If something improper or illegal is happening…” Tim began.

“Fucking shut it, Tim,” he shouted. He could not help himself; the pressure had been building for who knew
how long. Before he knew what was happening, Carson could feel his next words escape him. “I don’t want to hear
it right now, or again. I want you to go back to the office and pack your things.”

He’d expected Tim’s mouth to hang open, for shock to drain the blood from his body like a vampire. Instead
his features tightened, and his fists clenched at his sides and then released. Suddenly, Carson wished for the car very
much. NODs were nearly instantaneous much of the time. He could barely imagine the odds of this - the one time he
was about to get strangled on a busy sidewalk in broad daylight - being the one time in history the car got stuck in a
period of particularly high travel volume.

Just as he thought to take a step back, his wrist chimed helpfully and the red, low-slung sedan glided
soundlessly to park an inch from the curb. The car hissed for an instant as the cabin depressurized, and a previously
unremarkable section of the smooth side of the vehicle slid to the side to reveal an interior of leather couches and
touch screens emerging pleasantly from power-saving mode. Carson glanced behind him and dropped his briefcase
on the couch just inside the vehicle, and turned back to Tim. Tim’s face was not devastated - no, he was motivated.
Carson felt compelled to depart as quickly as possible.

“Judy will assist you with anything you need,” Carson said. He tried to bring his tone down to be consoling
and understanding. He was realizing the potential error of what he had just lashed out and done. “It’s just not a good
match right now, Tim. We’re going to have more situations like this when news of the cure goes wide, and we just
can’t have any uncertainty if we’re going to getting ready to go before the-”

Tim turned and walked down the street without another word before Carson could finish. His stride was
purposeful, as if he knew precisely where he was going next. Carson watched him for a moment and then climbed in
the car, relaxing against the ergonomically designed backrest. He sighed.

“Well,” he said. “I guess that makes what - fifteen people who want me dead? I’ve lost count.”

There was a small green cursor blinking on the touch screen across the car from where he sat, waiting patiently
for instruction. The car was perfectly air-conditioned and comfortable. He felt safe and relaxed again; it was a sense
of relief he’d built over years of relying upon the latest model of the NO-Driver autonomous vehicle in any weather,
hour, or situation. Employees, business deals, even family members – they could each turn on you with no warning.
NODs took you where you told them to every single time. They followed orders unquestioningly.

“Let’s go to the airport,” he said. “One more trip to make and then I think it’ll be time for a nice, long
vacation.”

“Beginning trip to: the Airport,” the car’s pleasant, feminine voice intoned. The vehicle rocketed away from
the curb at sixty miles an hour, but Carson barely felt the movement at all. He had just one more stop to make before
everything would be settled.

‫٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭‬

In ten minutes they had left the narrow thoroughfares of downtown Manhattan, smoothly accelerating up a
widely curving on ramp that joined a two lane highway. Carson’s vehicle veered left, joining a caravan of other
identically designed cars traveling within inches of each other, hurtling down the road as part of one long train.
Every few seconds the caravan would pass an exit and several dozen cars, in perfect, effortless synchronization,
would break off from the larger group, assume a smaller-packed formation ,and dart off the highway into the city’s
heart again.

To watch the action from a distance, from an approaching airliner or from the top floor of an overlooking
building, was to observe an awe-inspiring dance of cooperative movement, in which each moment seemed destined
to bring a disastrous collision from a car swerving too close to another or stopping short suddenly and causing a
pile-up of dozens - perhaps hundreds - of others. Yet the hub of interconnected navigational computers,
communicating with each other instantaneously about speed, direction, incoming obstacles, road conditions, and any
other possible data point made certain that accidents never - not rarely, not every once in a while, but never -
occurred. After the introduction of NODs twenty years earlier - which, to Carson, felt like generations longer - the
only thing that could cause a traffic accident of any kind was an impossible incidence of bad luck such as a bridge
collapsing, the movement of the tectonic plates, a hidden volcano exploding from beneath the surface of the Earth.

So Carson did not pay attention when he rode anywhere anymore; the car became a place where he could get
work done, calling to check on the status of initiatives, instructing managers as to the course of action with a test
procedure, inquiring with friends on various congressional committees, or making any other sort of communication
he needed to in order to ensure his professional life proceeded as smoothly as ever. The red NOD was his mobile
office, and he savored his highly efficient, highly private luxury. And, he savored the ability to use his vehicle to
conduct business somewhat outside the bounds of what was good and proper.

He felt the burner phone in his pocket. He’d been ignoring it, because even touching the phone in the wrong
moments triggered an annoying psychological reaction; he felt unnecessary guilt, unreasonable suspicion, even a
warmth to the touch that he swore got worse as he fixated on it, like someone had left a warm tap running for too
long.

He exhaled deeply and stared outside, looking in the windows of the cars in the other lane. Directly across
from his own vehicle was one in which Carson could see the silhouette of two people sitting side by side, and as he
watched a woman nestled her head on the shoulder of the man. He cleared his throat reflexively, as if something had
suddenly caught there. Feeling watched again, he spoke to the nav computer.

“Distance to destination,” he said.

The green cursor blinked thoughtfully for three beats, and then the even voice: “Five,” it said.
 It took a second for this to compute in Carson’s mind. He mouth opened a little, forming a tiny confused
circle. It was certainly possible the nav had misheard his request; brief miscommunications in speech recognition
happened every now and again. He spoke again.

“Computer. Distance to destination, please.” As if being polite would help alleviate whatever temporary
misfiring circuitry had caused the problem.

“Five, four,” the computer read.

“Computer,” Carson began, unsure of what else to say. He could not remember the recalibration protocol
commands. He’d never in two decades needed them.

“Three, two,” it continued in the same patient monotone.

Carson held his breath, trapped in his own stunned dismay. A countdown?

“One.”

‫٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭‬

The green cursor disappeared and the touchscreens at the front of the vehicle went bright white, like exploding
flash bulbs, before the white collapsed upon itself. Carson shielded his eyes. The green cursor was restored for a last
moment, and then it expanded to fill the entire screen, three feet high and five feet wide, in front of where Carson
sat. He had scrambled backward to occupy the leather couch furthest away from the screen, and now he stared in
confusion at the display. He was struck by childhood memories of computers flashing error screens, erupting into
blue backgrounds and white lines of indecipherable code just before powering down. He’d never seen such things in
his adult life, but the memories were still there, and they came to him now vividly. The cursor stopped blinking. The
black space at its center faded, like blinds being opened, and Carson found himself staring into the gaunt, liver-
spotted face of a stranger.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Phillips,” the stranger said, in a croaking, nicotine-soaked voice. He wore wire-framed,
thin glasses that sat halfway down his nose; the impression was of a librarian or a tax collector. At the very least,
Carson could not help feel, that even after four words, he was being condescended to - that this person thought very
little of him before he’d even said anything.

He could not think of much that was worthwhile to say, though, and so he mumbled, marveling: “What the hell
is this?”

“This is an important opportunity,” the stranger said. He leaned forward as if he were taking part in a job
interview or an interrogation. “This is a chance for you to quickly, painlessly secure your safety by answering a
series of very basic, very clear questions.”

Confusion evolved into disbelief. This old ghoul was trying to threaten him. In a millisecond, Carson’s shock
and fear were gone, replaced by indignation. “You’re fucking threatening me? You have no idea who you’re dealing
with, pal. Tell me your goddamn name, because you going to have a world of shit come down on your head for
this,” he said. He could feel the heat in his cheeks now, and for once, that felt good.

The stranger looked down, at something out of the frame, and shook his head slowly. Ruefully. Bemused.
 “My name is Alexei, Mr. Phillips, and I assure you, I know quite enough. I know, for instance, precisely who
you are, and I’m very much aware of MacArthur-Brown, and the merger. I know what you have at stake to lose, and
I know that you need my help.”

“That’s fantastic. Best of luck to you,” Carson said. He tired quickly of people wasting his time. “Nav
computer, place call to city police.”

He waited, watching for the reappearance of the blinking cursor and the comforting, familiar chime. It did not
come; instead, he heard the disappointed sigh from the bald stranger on the screen. There was a chime then, but it
sounded garbled and broken, as if transmitted through a busted speaker. A panel on the front console slid to the side
and a steering wheel slid outward; Carson could not disguise his shock at seeing such an antiquated piece of
equipment as a means for manually piloting a car. Perhaps Alexei read his features then.

“I see now, regrettably, that I must demonstrate to you the depth of my commitment,” Alexei said. There was a
practiced quality to the words that made Carson’s stomach clench suddenly with anxiety; it was as if Alexei had
gained extreme comfort with these words simply through repeating them dozens - perhaps thousands - of times.
“This is simply to expedite the process, Mr. Phillips, I assure you.”

He briefly caught sight of the steering wheel jerking violently of its own accord.

The car swerved to the left, the front end colliding with another car with a terrific scream of metal scraping
against metal. Carson tumbled backward, his legs flying up in front of his face, and he rolled up against the side of
the door handle, smashing his head on plastic. His vision flashed briefly gray and he gasped for air, his hands
flailing out at his sides for purchase. A cacophony of warning chimes erupted outside Carson’s car, and the other
automated vehicles slammed on their breaks behind him to provide extra space or accelerated forward to distance
themselves from Carson’s inexplicably erratic movements. In the next second the car jerked back the other way, into
its lane again, and returned to normal speed and behavior just as Carson was sent somersaulting forward, mashing
his face into the seat and then landing on all fours on the floor of the interior.

He remained there, moaning, for another moment, trying to stop the world from spinning around him and
already feeling throbbing in his neck and the back of his skull. He could hear Alexei chuckling. Carson felt furious,
frightened, and alone; he could only assume that Alexei was totally in control of the car, in control of the
navigational computer. Which leaves me with what, exactly? He thought.

“It doesn’t give me pleasure, these situations,” Alexei said. “Not much, that is.”

“Fuck off,” Carson muttered, spitting on the floor. His mouth tasted like blood.

“However, I will say that it thrills me - it fills me with an awe-inspiring sense of purpose - to help people in
situations like yourself. To assist those who need their slates washed clean, who need to be forgiven for their sins,”
Alexei said.

“I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about,” Carson said.

Carson looked up from the floor and caught Alexei smiling down benevolently from the touch screen.

“Do you know the first step in being forgiven for your sins, Mr. Phillips? It’s confession.” He could not have
looked more pleased. While Carson’s life had suddenly spiraled out of control, from Alexei’s perspective everything
was falling neatly into place, as it doubtlessly had many times before, just as planned, like effortlessly coordinated
fast-moving traffic. “Now, Carson. Let’s confess.”

‫٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭‬

“Confess what?” Carson asked. He was half worried about what, exactly, he was expected to admit, but other
items had clouded his mind. As a company president, it had long paid off for him to be relentlessly pragmatic and
forward-thinking, and in this very moment that instinct served him well. It pointed him to one imperative: finding a
way out.

There was the burner phone in his pocket, but it seemed impossible that Alexei would allow him to make a call
to the police without some sort of immediate retribution. He had to find another way.

The NOD was potentially the instrument of his own demise now, but even self-driving cars had been designed
with safety features. The efficiency and effectiveness of the vehicles over the decades had made these safety
measures taken for granted and mostly out of the masses’ consideration, but Carson knew they existed. There were
ways to stop a car that had malfunctioned; though, Carson reasoned, the people he was dealing with had likely
thought of that and may have taken control of that mechanism, too. If they could control the steering, the
communications, and the acceleration and braking, that meant they controlled just about everything digital there
was. That meant that his hope lay with anything not connected to the network.

Like the manual door release, his mind offered, helpfully. It did not, however, provide him with an option as
to what exactly he was supposed to do once he escaped from a vehicle that was traveling down a crowded interstate
at over a hundred miles an hour.

Alexei spoke.

“You must admit the truth about the wrong you have done,” he said. “I am above all things a man of my word,
Mr. Phillips, and I make you this solemn promise: the moment you admit your sin, this will all be over.”

With his oily appearance and unpleasant smirk, Carson’s new friend Alexei did not seem the type to simply let
bygones be bygones once he’d started to spill his guts on – well, there’s another question, he thought. What does he
want me to admit to? He had to get to the manual release; it was, if Carson remembered correctly, beneath the front
steering wheel. He had to stall, and then, eventually, he had to make his move. For now he stalled.

“I…I know I have to admit what I’ve done,” he said. “I feel awful about everything, and I owe you my sincere
apology,” Carson said, staring meaningfully into Alexei’s thin face. He appeared frozen for a millisecond.

“Wrong,” Alexei said.

An invisible, digital foot stomped on the vehicle’s brakes, and this time Carson pitched forward without
warning, his face colliding with the plastic of the front console. Tears sprang to his eyes and he felt like his face was
on fire; he knew instantly, through the terrific pain, that his nose had been shattered. He gasped for breath as the car
accelerated again, slamming on his back against the seat and listening to the alarm bells all around him. When he
opened his eyes, dazedly, Alexei was glaring.

“Do not do that. I assure you that we are not engaged in a game, Mr. Phillips,” he said. “You have two more
chances.”
 Carson glanced out the side of the car and he could see that the other vehicles now were keeping their distance
permanently, having judged through some indecipherable algorithm that his car was a risk too great to approach. He
was alone on the road, and alone inside the vehicle. His mind raced through choices he’d made, mistakes that had
piled up; they were a seemingly natural reaction to the pain, the awful, unfair pain emanating throughout his head
and downward in waves across his body.

He tried to imagine who could be out to strike at him. The list, he realized miserably, was long. He thought of
Tim, stalking down the street, nursing a recent wound and whatever grudges he may have secretly harbored. He
pictured employees from Brenner Labs anguished and wishing for his death. He considered his competitors, those
who would be left in the dust after the announcement of the Brenner Labs and MacArthur Brown merger and the
resulting cancer gene therapy that would be brought to market.

It had to be a competitor; there were few he could fathom with the resources to assault the digital defenses of
the navigational computer system and assert this kind of control. To do so required money, staff, time, care, and a
personal investment, no doubt, in seeing him brought low.

“Mr. Phillips?” Alexei asked, politely. “We haven’t much time. A second try?”

Fuck it, Carson thought. If it meant his life, they could have the tools with which to arm themselves and draw
blood from his employer. It was only a job, after all. He had his family to consider – his future. “Fine,” Carson said,
the words coming out slurred and stuffy with running blood. “I admit it. To push through the merger, we bribed
Feds. People at the Justice Department. I can name names. Just tell me where to do it and I will,” Carson said. “Now
please let me go.”

The steering wheel jerked violently right, and Carson flew into the side of the door. He heard a sickening crack
from his side, and fresh agony lit up his side from his wrist to his shoulder. A broken arm, perhaps bruised ribs.
They did not want the information about the payoffs.

“Alexei,” he begged. “Tell me what you want, and I can say it or get it for you. I don’t know what you’re
looking for, but I can help. I’m a powerful man. Please.”

The car engaged in several more sequences of rapid turns left and then right, right and then left; each time
Carson tumbled across the interior, his injuries increasingly severe, his body protesting weakly. A low, pathetic
cooing noise escaped from his lips, and he began to cry.

“I admit it, all of it,” he said. “The bribes. We cheated on corporate taxed and paid off lobbyists. We bought
elections. I skimmed money off the top of severance packages for a thousand different firings. We conducted testing
of our own version of the cure on kids – it killed some.”

He wasn’t even crying at physical pain, now. He was lying in the back of the car, bleeding and broken, and
wishing for mercy. Wishing for one more chance to return to his family; he imagined Claire’s face. Kelly cross-
legged in bed, examining him as he worked at his desk.

“I’m begging you, Alexei,” he said.

Alexei seemed to consider what he’d said, and for a brief moment, Carson could imagine that perhaps he’d
squeezed enough out of him. He’d endured all that he would be forced to. He had taken enough.
 Then Alexei shook his head sadly.

“Mr. Phillips, I have stopped counting chances, but I haven’t stopped counting miles,” he said. “We have
reached, if you’ll look out the window, the bridge overlooking the bay. It is several hundred feet down to the surface
of the water. You see how the afternoon sun, cutting through the clouds, reflects in that way? It is quite beautiful,
you must admit.”

Distantly, Carson nodded.

“Yes, I agree as well. I am glad I could share this moment with you, because I have agreed, in contrast with
my usual methods of practice, to allow my employer to speak with you directly. I am disappointed I could not hear
your confession directly, but I trust this experience will, in the end, have served its purpose.”

He straightened his tie, nodded, and was gone from the camera. The back of a black chair was revealed, where
Alexei had been sitting. For a moment there was nothing – nothing save the sound of the car’s efficient, electric hum
as it proceeded across the bridge. He looked out the window, unable to move, his eyelids fluttering. He glanced at
the guardrail that separated the edge of the road from open air.

Strangely, the NOD’s on-board voice returned then, and it began speaking to him soothingly. It began to
address him by name, as if they had known each for many years. He supposed that in a way they had, but still, it was
an odd thing to-

No.

“Baby,” Kelly said from the screen in front of him. “Oh, honey.”

He looked at her, dimly.

“I tried to give you a chance to tell the truth. So many chances, in fact,” she said.

“What are you – Kelly? What’s happening?”

She looked at him with the most peculiar expression; there was an almost parental love cast across her face,
which seemed youthful and refreshed, relieved of a great burden. Kelly seemed to be seeing him from a thousand
miles above, looking down from a cloud.

“We told you from the beginning that we wanted you to admit your sin,” she said. “Nothing more than that.
And even to the end, you couldn’t.”

“But I told you everything,” he said, pleading. Unable to comprehend.

She smiled at him warmly. “The phone in your pocket,” Kelly said.

Oh my God. Mary mother of Christ.

“Tell me this – and do it quickly, because in a moment I have to go and join our daughter on the couch. We’re
going to be watching some cartoons that she’s been waiting patiently for. But tell me now: do you want to call her
once more before the end? Do you want to hear her voice a last time? Or is it possible that mine – just once – the
voice of your wife is enough?”

He felt the car accelerating smoothly, away from the fast-approaching sirens behind him. The windows went
down at once, so that air screamed throughout the vehicle like it was in the heart of a great, clear tornado. It veered
right, toward the guard rail.

Carson did imagine Brie’s face once then, in passing, amongst a thousand others that he had briefly intersected
with and then discarded after they had served their use or grown inconvenient. It was tragic, in a way that she did
not elicit more in him, or that no one did. It was certainly more tragic than the approach of the guard rail, the open
air, the descent. His baptism.

He thought of one last thing – to call out to Claire and even to Kelly, to apologize to them with a few words
that they would recall later and perhaps take some solace from. There had to be something he could say that would
repair the damage he now, for the first time, realized that he had done. In the last instant, he thought to tell them both
that he loved them, to shout out the words as loud as he could against the roar of the wind and the sound of the
collision.

But Kelly had already hung up.

 Copyright © 2015 by Stephen King

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names,
characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or person,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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