Arrie and the Wolf 2 Read online

  Contents

  Arrie and the Wolf: Part 2

  Get Part 3

  Also By Eileen Glass

  © Eileen Glass

  A living tattoo, a tangle of black snakes, twist into Celtic patterns on Rex’s limbs. Above his heart, swelling and abiding with his breath, the lines peel up and curl in midair, little tentacles reaching at nothing while sinking deep into his flesh, piercing his muscles, taking over him. A parasite.

  In some places, the ink slides off and floats a short time before sinking to the floor, softly like a feather. They evaporate before they touch the messy tile, coming alive and writhing as they disappear into smoke, right before they touch the dark stain of Rex’s blood on the floor. Like they’re in pain.

  Or excited, my mind supplies. The stench of blood is strong in the air. Maybe the parasite likes it. Maybe that’s why the snakes break off in the first place, to taste the spill.

  I flinch.

  “Rex?” I call weakly. Is that even him? Is that a human?

  My eyes go to his feet for identification. It’s the most recent memory I have of him, his naked toes grabbing on the edge of the brace, stretching and wiggling while sounds too terrible to comprehend were filtered out of my reality. (Thoughts become things, supposedly, but not-thinking didn’t stop the things from happening.)

  Everything is in order. Big stupid Rex feet with toe nails too long, the big toe wide and ugly. Typical feet, same ones I saw moments ago. They continue to spasm and grasp at the platform edge. No difference at all.

  He’s not crying or screaming or wheezing though. Breathing heavy, yes, but the awful sound of screws being rattled in a jar somewhere is absent. I have to assume that means he’s not in pain.

  The parasite slithers under his jeans, the material scrunching strangely. They seep under his shirt the same way, the fabric shifting though his arms are secured.

  He’s still looking at me.

  He’s never stopped.

  Though his fingers and toes twitch, the rest of his body is utterly still, his expression placid. He could be meditating for how he looks at me, his eyes distant and unblinking. But I sense he isn’t looking through me at all. His concentration crawls all over me, making me itch and fidget.

  His eyes aren’t just red, the way they would look on an albino rat or a vamp-player at a preppy club. They glow from inside. And when I bring myself to stare long enough, searching for the boy I’ve become attached to, I see his irises spin and shimmer. Spiraling pools of light live in his sockets.

  His eyes are alive, organisms in and of themselves.

  My diagnosis?

  I ain’t stupid. I know that isn't my Rex absorbing me with his gaze. I know my boy (yes, mine) has been taken from me. Deformed.

  But I can’t give up because I’m something worse than stupid. I’m desperate.

  So I meet those eyes and declare, in a whisper, “You’re mine.”

  By which I mean that he is good, he is loyal, he is some element of Rex I can’t afford to lose right now. This is not a statement of fact, I know that. It’s a decision. To hell with Rhonda and thoughts become things and the universe manifesting our wildest dreams but not being great enough to process an undo command.

  My will is stronger than the rules of science itself, and I’m getting my wish. A great fear in my heart subsides to insanity. I’ll take it and embrace the delusion, thank you so kindly. This is my world now, and if I’m to survive another day, I’ll need Rex. I can’t do this alone.

  Edith wipes tear tracks from her cheeks. The candle wobbles in her hands. She clutches the flame close, almost close enough to singe her hair. The necklace she holds out, the emerald gem swaying from the gold chain.

  She inches closer to Rex. “Who am I?”

  His eyes dart from me and, despite the black snakes slithering all over him, this is the first time he looks demonic. Studying me, he had been otherworldly but beautiful, the ink leaving his face open and pale, touching only at the edge of his eyes and the sides of his temples. Now the snakes surge over his face, worming outward. They grow like black roots, forming a snout that snaps at the necklace.

  The shape is ethereal and airy, like a mirage, but there’s nothing insubstantial about the gust of wind puffing against my throat when those giant jaws close. The sound of his growl, sharp and ferocious. He could halve her in one bite.

  Edith, frail and bony, looks like she was nearly blown over by that wind alone, barely holding her ground, huddled into herself. The flame licks her dress, and she jumps at the burn, almost dropping the candle.

  He’ll kill her, I think, and I’m tempted to grin. But then: What’ll he do with me after?

  Edith gets a hold of herself, holds the necklace as far away from her body as she possibly can, edges forward ever so carefully.

  “Who am I?” she asks again, louder.

  A full face surges, scraggly roots growing out from the twisting patterns. It’s the head of a dog, feathery with large pointed ears and a long narrow snout. Too angular, too narrow for the happy fat creatures on my mother’s calendars though. Not a dog. A wolf. Its snarl rattles the glass jars on the shelves, its bite lashes out with a crack. He’s too fast to catch more than a glimpse, and that glimpse is of a monster smiling, fangs long, mouth open wide. Like a viper. And Edith’s frail hand dangles before it, a little white mouse held by the tail to be snatched up.

  The creature strikes, a blur of shadow. But Edith keeps her hand, for when the jaws close over the emerald gem, the inky form turns to liquid, rushing to the floor, spilling across the tiles like water, evaporating in a hissing smoke.

  I hold my sleeve against my mouth, but the vapor doesn’t choke me. It smells of ash and cinnamon, feels oily where it whisks over me, and vanishes completely in seconds.

  What’s left of the snout oozes and drips like melting plastic, smoke rising up from the wound. That hurt. What’s left of the wolf shape seems to shudder, then recede, leaving only Rex, who grimaces.

  The necklace sways back and forth, it’s movement caused only by Edith’s nervous fist. The powerful jaws didn’t affect it in the slightest.

  Edith clutches her candle like a sword, her necklace like a lantern. “Who am I?!” she demands in a frightful wail, spittle flying from her lips.

  Rex’s feet push against the platform, his fingers rear up and back. Trying to retreat, but the wolf comes back snarling. This sound can’t be made by a human man, and I almost expect to see the source huddled beneath the chair, cornered and frightened but growling bravely.

  “Say it!” Edith shrills. “Say it!” And she edges closer, holding the necklace as far out from her body as she can. The wolf face becomes thin where the necklace nears, the ink shuddering and struggling to hold shape.

  “I'll shove this down your throat if you don't say it. Now tell me…” Calmer, more in control, standing straight: “Who am I?”

  The growling breaks off. He throws his head left and right, a last dying struggle. It’s over.

  “My mistress,” this creature rasps. He looks at me again, his expression seeming to hold an apology.

  Edith takes a heavy breath, and she lowers the necklace. She stands there awhile, just smiling at him, arms still shaky. His eyes never leave me, but she doesn't notice or doesn't care.

  The intensity of his gaze…is his declaration for me? I dare to hope. Foolish to think that I could win a power struggle I know nothing about. But why the look? Does he even recognize me?

  He has to, I can’t lose him.

  Madness makes me want to smile, want to laugh, but I hold it back.

  “Good. Good.” Edith is mad too, smiling that close-lipped cat grin now. She sets the candle on the counter and puts the necklace around her neck, fee
ling out the clasp in the back. Once she has it on, she takes the gem in hand, tilting it this way and that before letting it settle. The emerald pendant shines with more light than what’s provided by the meek flame.

  Her dress trails through the smeary, drying mess on the beige tile. Her rubber boots leave prints as she saunters.

  The creature grins of fear, makes no sound besides a meek rumble as she gets closer. A fake threat. She’s mutilated more than Rex, taking this terrible creature’s strength somehow, cutting him in a different but crippling way. A hum on her lips, she walks right up to him without pause or hurry, and starts letting him out of the buckled straps that had earlier come to life and snagged him.

  Now the straps flop over, sagging uselessly. Apparently the chair has had its fill and Edith is the waitress taking away the leftovers. It lets Rex go with limp, grateful laziness.

  She’s slow at first, then moves faster, more excited like a child tearing into a present. At last, the head brace comes up—and Rex moves so damn fast, he’s just a blur sweeping across my vision.

  I blink, falling away from the bars, terrified for the realization that nothing human can do that. My delusional declarations can’t fix that. This thing…it’s on the other side of the room already. It may as well have teleported there.

  And he doesn’t sound human, doesn’t look human. Crouched by the opposite wall, he snarls on all fours, his back legs bent to spring. A beast with two heads, one overlaying the other. The wolf worms and swims, growing ever larger, it’s back sprouting from Rex’s shoulders in black smoke. Underneath, Rex’s brow is pulled a little too low, his nose scrunched up and his lips pulled back. He’s not the boy anymore.

  “Oh, you can fuss all you like, it doesn't change anything.” Edith scolds, immensely cheerful. “You'll find cleaning stuff in the closet, you know where it is. Get started on this mess.” She flaps her arms around her. Rex's blood is everywhere in splashes and puddles and streaks going to the drain. “And I'll get some light bulbs from upstairs. Oh, and feed the girl. I've been so careless today.”

  She giggles, then clomps in her boots to the closet, changes them out for her stilettos. She steps carefully to keep her nice shoes out of the muck as she goes to the door.

  When the keys come out, Rex doesn't lunge. When the door eases open he doesn't take her down.

  The door slowly swings shut, thuds solidly and locks without him so much as shifting his step.

  I blink, coming out of my empty, observing but barely thinking state.

  She’s left me alone with him.

  “Rex?” I call.

  The snarling stops. The tension fades from his shoulders. As he turns to look at me, he stands up as well. He looks as though he’s wearing the skin of an animal on his head like a caveman, with the animal’s face forming the hood. The wolf has distinct features all its own floating there, covering Rex's head and shoulders. But there is one feature it lacks. Where its eyes should be, two blank holes hover instead.

  The eyes are in Rex now, in his human self, whatever might remain.

  I reach out for him and he backs away, jumping back with more caution than he'd afforded the necklace. And I suspect the necklace hurt him very much.

  “Rex? Is that…are you…?” Okay? I want to ask, but I don't dare. I know he isn't okay. “Are you there?”

  The wolf (and Rex underneath) looks sad now, the subtle adjustment of lines making it more personable, more softly featured. And gradually the ribbons began to recede. The ribbons break in half as they pull in. Like buckles, I realize, and think, He’s still in the chair.

  I break. I don't have energy to cry, but I collapse against the bars, letting them support my weight while I whine his name, “Rex, oh Rex.”

  The lines fade, leaving his face open and clear to me. Those red eyes change to chocolate with a tinge of bright red around the edges. Not the eyes of my Rex, but the eyes of something like him I hope. I hiccup, the sound startling me. Then hiccup again. And again, and then the sound sounds to much like a giggle for me to stand, reminding me of Edith’s girly laugh. I put the crook of my elbow over my mouth to hold it in.

  Rex waits, regarding me. He seems sad.

  And for awhile, we just stare at each other. I don't know what to say.

  “Does it hurt?”

  He shakes his head. And then, as an afterthought, he adds a spoken, “No.” His voice has the same rough torn quality as mine. From the screaming.

  I want to ask who he is, if he's my Rex or some new Rex, and if he chooses the second, I want to convince him that he must be my Rex no matter what. Rex can't be dead. I won't let him.

  But I don't ask, because I'm almost certain he'll say that no, he isn't the same one. I don’t know if I can convince him.

  A simple test then, to prove that I can make this work. I don't like Edith giving him orders. I don't like that she walked out of here without so much as a threat or an attempted attack. She’s got him leashed with that emerald necklace, but I have to make sure he isn’t completely hers.

  I pick up the empty glass from the floor and hold it out.

  “Can you fill it? I'm so thirsty.”

  He looks at my hand like it might bite him, like I’m the scary one with the jaws of a wolf and the bite of a viper. Like I hold the emerald in my hand. His breath quickens, and the lines start to surge over his face, only to recede back. It’s living and concious, this ink. What about the boy underneath?

  “Put it on the floor,” he says. “I'll fill it.”

  “No. Just take it.” I waggle the glass at him. “Fill it,” I beg.

  “Put it on the floor.”

  Stalemate. My hope is barely hanging in there.

  “You…you're her dog now aren't you?”

  “What?” he says, his voice tinged with a growl, his expression darkening.

  “You're her dog. She's got you on a leash.” Find something alien, poke it with a stick. I have to see that he’s in there, have to make sure he’s alive.

  His eyes flash red, then Rex is bent over and scrubbing at the ink, at the snout sprouting from his lower face, at the ears growing atop his hair. When he looks up it’s him again, the lines receded.

  “Are there two of you? Can you fight it?”

  “Can’t get too close.”

  That’s no answer.

  He starts forward, one careful step at a time, and I know he’s preparing to leap back if the wolf resurfaces. As he approaches, I can see that I’m right about his eyes. The irises bubble and swirl inside, the pupils are dark but without a definitive shape, just an absence of light. Standing at arm’s length from me, he reaches for the glass, taking it with only his finger tips. The ears re-form atop his head, sprouting from his red hair, angled backwards.

  Our fingers don’t touch. I let the glass go and pull my arm back inside the cell, uncertain.

  Like he can read my mind, he confesses, “Arrie…I don't know what I am…”

  Me neither. But maybe my test can determine whether or not he’s salvageable.

  “I'm thirsty,” I say, pleading.

  He looks down at the glass, up at me, and goes off to the kitchenette. I hear the sink run. I hear the cupboards open, things rattle and clash. Then the sink turns off. He reappears caring the glass of water and two cans of soup, the kind with the tops that peel off.

  He starts to set them on the floor in front of me.

  I reach for him, and he startles, scrambling backword, growling, “Don’t!”

  My grasping hands stretch for him, steaks to be waved at a grizzly bear, out there for chomping.

  “Please. I'm thirsty.”

  He considers it. And then approaches holding the glass out as far as possible. He tries to be careful passing, but I make sure that our fingers touch.

  “Don't! Don't touch me, okay?” He says harshly. But softer he adds, “It's not safe, Arrie. I don't know what I am. But I'm…I'm dangerous.”

  I almost drop the glass, but otherwise nothing happens, and I r
each for the soup with my free hand. When he starts to put it on the floor, I say, “Please. I’m so hungry.”

  His expression twists to one of pain.

  “Don't touch me. Swear you won’t.”

  “Why? What’ll happen?”

  “Just don't. This thing it…we…I don't know. Whatever. We, I guess, are angry. Just…here.” He passes one can of soup into my hand. I turn, pulling my items into the cell with me, and he doesn't see my crazed but pleased smile. He has passed the test. He’s my Rex still. Different, but mine. And thank god because I can’t survive in here alone, I can't.

  I finish the water quick and tear the lid off the soup, chugging it the same way. He passes me the second can of soup, careful as ever. No test this time, I’m starving. How that’s possible after so much nausea and agony, I can’t fathom, but with the knowledge that Rex has somehow survived, my will to do the same is ravenous.

  “Thanks,” I say when everything has been consumed. He takes my trash and puts it in the garbage—a simple white step-lid can that is way too normal an object to be down here, just like the microwave and the dolphin soap dispenser.

  “I'd give you more, but I—I can’t.”

  I nod, understanding that he means, She won’t let me. “Yeah, that's okay. She might notice if you tried. I don't want you to get in trouble.”

  All at once that wolf is back and angry, but it recedes as quickly as it had come forth, with only a short barking growl to mark its anger. I’m safe for now, in my cage. But I’ve got to find a way to save him.

  “Is it hard? Does it hurt?”

  “Yes…no.” He looks at me, seeming lost. “Its…I'm different now, Arrie. I don't know what I am. Something’s happening…”

  I nod like this is all matter of fact. Rain is wet, yup, yup, I'm way ahead of you, but that's far from how I feel. The calm manner is for him. Inside, I want to scream and beat the walls.

  “It's alright. We'll figure it out.”

  Rex gives a disgusted snort.

  “Yeah. I guess we will.” He looks at the ceiling for a moment. “Man, we were so close weren't we? I should have killed her. God, I wish I'd killed her.”