“He was at school this morning, though I can’t say I was expecting him to be,” Patrick said. “He looked just as bored as ever… But you know, I might have been imagining things, but I’m pretty sure I saw him turn in a bit of homework in history today.”
“Maybe he actually plans on graduating this year,” Rachel said. “That’s one hundred percent more homework than I’ve ever seen him turn in.”
“And he did give me a nod when I walked into Mrs. Spotts’ class.”
“That’s certainly more attention than he’s ever given most students,” Mr. Vincent reflected. His face suddenly grew solemn. “If you don’t mind me asking, Rachel… what was it like? What was happening to you with that… thing in your body?
Rachel seemed to struggle for the correct words.
“It was… the weirdest thing I’ve ever experienced. I could see what was going on, but I couldn’t do anything about it. It was almost like I could feel her in my head, and she probed around and tried to know things about me, but I didn’t let her. Having someone else there, with you all the time, trying to get into your mind, it was just…” She shook her head slightly. “It was awful. Things happened right in front of me, and I… uh, she, hurt you guys, and I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t even understand what was going on and it was all so hazy, like a dream. Like I would wake up at any moment and it would all be over… The only time the world was clear was when… I saw the scarf.” She looked at Patrick. “It was like I was in control for just a second…”
“So what have you both been telling everyone?” Mr. Vincent asked. “How can you possibly explain it all?”
Rachel gave a tired sigh and looked down to the floor.
“It hasn’t been easy. I was gone for so long, and everyone was so sure I was dead, and then I just sort of popped out of nowhere… I tried my hardest to come up with some sort of explanation, but I just couldn’t. I’ve been saying that I was walking home from school that day and that I simply can’t remember anything between then and Friday night. Sort of like I was in some fugue or something… I’m not sure if anyone’s bought it, but it earned me a whole series of brain tests yesterday. They only barely let me come to school today, and only because I seemed to be in such perfect health.”
The faculty and the other students had been extremely relieved to see Rachel that morning (Mrs. Spotts perhaps most of all, who hugged Rachel so tightly she later reported to have almost thrown up). But when they asked where she had been she could only say that she couldn’t remember. They didn’t think this a very satisfying answer, though they were dissuaded from further questioning when she told them she was undergoing a series of tests on her brain to see if there were any problems.
“My dad was so happy to see me…” She smiled affectionately. “He was the only person who didn’t keep pressing for answers. My story doesn’t make sense, and I think he probably knows that there’s something I don’t want to tell him, but right now he’s just so glad I’m alright.”
To say that Dave was happy to see Rachel was an understatement.
When the four of them appeared in Patrick’s back yard, his mother and sister had seen them through the window and run outside without putting on their shoes. His mother’s shock upon seeing their battered bodies, the fire in the woods behind them, and Rachel in Dean’s arms was so complete that for several moments she could barely speak, only babbling incoherently, the occasional “Patrick” and “Rachel” slipping through. Eventually she remembered how to work the phone she had grabbed on the way out and called his father, telling him to return home right away. Then she called an ambulance, followed by Rachel’s father. At this point Dean had presumably gone home.
When Dave arrived only moments later (he had opted to simply run instead of jumping in the car or even putting on shoes) he was bursting with tears before he even reached Rachel’s side. She was sitting on the ground next to where Mr. Vincent lay, with Patrick by her side, holding her hand. When Dave rounded the house and crossed the lawn he nearly bowled her over with his massive hug. He sobbed into her shoulder and she cried with him, the two of them holding each other tightly and rocking back and forth. He stroked her hair and told her how much he’d missed her and how much he loved her, over and over.
Patrick’s father rounded the house a moment later, and when he saw the scene the expectant anger on his face dissipated instantly. Patrick looked away from Dave and Rachel and to his parents, who were now trying to make sense of things, his mother relaying what she had seen through the window to his father. As Patrick walked to them he felt a twinge in his eye, and all the pain and stress and disconnection came rushing back to him in an instant. His father tried to ask him what was going on, but Patrick wordlessly pulled his parents into a tight hug. They stopped their babbling and put their arms assuringly on his back, clearly confused. That was when Patrick’s own tears began to flow, and he sobbed into their chests, struck with an overwhelming regret for giving them so much grief. His mother began to cry as well, and she squeezed him tightly. His father patted him on the back, and Patrick thought he could hear the man sniff back a few tears of his own.
Patrick had given them a similarly vague story later that night. The only thing he could think to say was that he had seen Rachel out his window and had run off to help her. He spun some shoddy yarn about a wolf attacking them and the fire starting and Dean and Mr. Vincent happening upon the scene, but when he was done it was very obvious that he wasn’t telling the whole story. But how could he? There was no possible way they would believe him, no matter how he might try to word it. It was hard to hold the truth from them this one last time, here at the end of everything when it was clear that something extremely bizarre had taken place, but he had no other choice. Again he felt the pressure that had tormented him after he had “fallen down the hill,” the same nervousness and discontent coming from his parents as when they first sensed he was keeping strange secrets from them, but somehow this was better. They were more confused than they ever thought they could be, but Patrick took great comfort in the fact that it was all over. In time they would just have to accept that they would never know exactly what happened that night, and somehow Patrick didn’t think it would affect their relationship for too much longer. At least he would have to hope.
“You can be sure that I’ve been getting some odd questions as well,” Mr. Vincent said. “My wounds were very plentiful, and very strange. The nurses all kept asking me what had happened. Even a couple of policemen came up here and tried to get an answer out of me. But what’s fortunate for me is that while all of this is extremely bizarre, none of it happens to be scandalous in nature. It is very obvious that it was lightning that started the fire, not some ex-teacher arsonist, and with your honest testimony,” he regarded Rachel with warm eyes, “they have no reason to believe that I was responsible for your disappearance. Or not an ounce of solid proof, at least. The whole thing may have been remarkably strange, but I didn’t owe them a thing. I just told them I’d gone for a walk and been attacked by a swarm of crows, and that the woods then proceeded to catch fire. Seems I got off pretty easy, doesn’t it? Though the most confusing part—for the nurses at least…” He held the blanket firmly at his waist and with an effort lifted up his gown. He pulled it up and peeled back the bandage that was stuck to his skin with little strips of tape.
On his chest were two parallel burns—long, dark handprints with ghostly thin fingers that stretched up toward his neck.
Patrick and Rachel gazed at the burns in amazement. Mr. Vincent only looked amused.
“Yes, I’ve had quite a time explaining that one. I think the most believable of the stories is that I rubbed my hands together very quickly for warmth and unintentionally pressed them to my chest when they grew too hot. I haven’t quite been able to explain the stretching, though… But the staff shouldn’t care much if my insurance agency is keeping up with bill payment.” Finally he lowered his gown and he
aved a large sigh.
“One more question,” Mr. Vincent said, looking directly at Patrick. “What did you guys do with the necklace?”
“I went to Dean’s house the next morning to see what he had done with it,” Patrick said. “I was almost expecting him to tell me that it was still unbreakable like Ramildienne had said, and that we would have bury it again somewhere. But when he answered the door and I asked him, he pointed to the middle of his yard, where there was an old, rusty engine block laying in the weeds. I walked over and on top I saw a dark chain lying amidst shattered pieces of red stone. On the ground next to the block was a sledgehammer. I guess when she was finally left without a body the pendant lost its power.”
“So it’s really over then?” Rachel asked. She turned to Mr. Vincent. “Can you still change?”
“When Dean took the necklace I changed back into a human involuntarily. I could literally feel whatever it was draining from me. It was fortunate, too; had I been left to lie there in my wolf form I most likely would have bled to death. I haven’t tried to change since then, but I know with certainty that it’s gone.” He looked at Patrick. “What about you two?”
“I asked Dean if he still could, and he said no. The same thing happened to him when he grabbed the necklace. A part of me was afraid that in the end he wouldn’t want to give it up or even attempt to destroy the pendant… But apparently losing control of his mind was his greatest fear.”
“And you?” Mr. Vincent asked.
It was funny. Even after the whole affair was over, Patrick still preferred his steak rather rare.
“It’s gone.” He nodded his head slightly.
Mr. Vincent heaved another sigh.
“Well, I appreciate you both visiting me, but I’m sure someone must be waiting for you in the car.”
“My dad’s probably in the waiting room staring at sick people.” Patrick gave a little laugh. “If dinner table stories were an animal, he would be a mighty hunter.”
Mr. Vincent laughed.
“They’ll be sending me home soon enough. When I can stand again without stabbing pain shooting through my entire body, maybe we should all do dinner.”
“I know a good pizza place,” Patrick said with a grin.
The three of them said their goodbyes and Rachel and Patrick headed for the door. They stepped into the hallway, and just as Patrick was about to pull the door shut behind him Mr. Vincent called his name. He poked his head back into the room and Mr. Vincent stared at him for a long moment with a very serious look on his face.
“Thank you,” he said.
Patrick nodded, then closed the door.
The two of them sat in the back seat of Patrick’s father’s car while the man drove them once again toward Hillward, very dramatically recalling the account of how a man in the waiting room had looked like the perfect human equivalent of a pug dog.
When they left the parking lot and jumped back onto the freeway (his father jabbering on all the while) Patrick felt soft, warm fingers slipping into his. He grasped the hand firmly and looked over to Rachel, who gave him the biggest and most sincere smile in the world.
He returned it without effort.
~~~~~
A note from the author:
I would like to take this time to thank you for reading my book. It is in fact my very first novel, and your support is what keeps me going. I do hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. But whatever the case, I encourage you to write a review and post it on one or more of the sites that distributes this book. I cannot adequately express just how much each piece of feedback is appreciated.
If you would like, feel free to connect with me on Facebook via The Color of Night’s page. Also, stop by my blog, Of Quill and Keys, for tips and general thoughts on writing. And to read my unrelated and entirely ridiculous webcomic, visit DerpSandwich.com. I hope to tell you another story soon!
Sincerely,
Jack Thomas
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