Arrie and the Wolf 2 Read online

  “Me too,” I say.

  It seems to me that his voice is different now. A bit deeper, a tad rougher. Him, but not quite. That could be because of the roughness of his throat. Could be. But I expect that if this ink could give him new eyes to see with, it could also heal his throat. If I cut off his arm, I expect that the ink would build him a new one.

  Or maybe it would be a paw. Who knows?

  I hope Edith doesn't plan to find out. Her curiosity is a dangerous, uncontrolled thing.

  Rex pauses there for awhile, lost in some fantasy where he kills her, where we escape. And who knows, maybe we say goodbye and go back to our respective lives, never to see each other again. But I think not.

  Then he comes out of it. And he goes to the cleaning closet. He pulls out gloves and a bucket, and I realize that he's going to scrub his own blood off the floor. I shiver. He disappears into the kitchenette and comes back with a soapy, sloshing bucket and rag in hand.

  He gets on his knees and starts scrubbing. His own blood. His face takes on a blank, lost look as he does it.

  “You don't remember do you?” I say, thinking he must have blacked out like I did, thinking he couldn’t possibly stand to clean himself off her tile so stoically.

  He looks at me sharply.

  “Of course I remember.”

  “Oh.”

  The wolf resurges over his face all at once, his voice erupting in a gravelly roar, “What, did you think I could ever forget?!”

  Human Rex stays kneeling on the floor, rag in hand, but the ink jaws come flying at me. They close several feet away, unable to leap that far from their host.

  “I'm…God, Arrie…I'm so sorry.” Rex drops the rag, covers his head with his hands wearing bright yellow gloves.“God…god…”

  I brush hair from my eyes, bewildered. I didn’t have time to even realize I was in danger, much less react. My eyes tell me I’m fine, he’s fine, they didn’t come anywhere near me. But that speed…the sudden, uncontrolled hostility…

  I have to be more careful.

  Rex curses and picks up the rag again. He starts scrubbing furiously, frowning deeply, talking angrily to himself.

  “I'm sorry,” he says, and he doesn't take his eyes off the tile.

  “I didn't mean it that way,” I whisper, trying to assure myself it’s alright, that I can work with this. Rex can’t be lost to me. “I don’t want you to remember…” His eyes are muddy red, his expression angry. “…because it was terrible. I hoped you would forget.” Like me. I can’t confess that though.

  My own memory is a big blank, completely gone though the event took place only about an hour ago. I’ve taken his pain, corraled it inside electric fencing and slapped a big No Trespassing sign on the gate. I refuted my reality, went a tad insane to protect myself. Rex doesn't have that luxury.

  He goes back to scrubbing, faster and faster.

  “I won’t forget,” he mutters. “I'm going to get her someday. I’m going to eat her.”

  I’ll just ignore his choice verb for now. This is another thing that Crazy Arrie decides for the day. Because he's tired of the universe not working for him. He’s tired of God not answering his prayers. He's taking control of his own fate now, making the universe his bitch.

  “We'll find a way. We'll break her command.”

  His scrubbing becomes less forceful. “Yeah,” is all he says. He doubts me. But I mean it.

  Edith returns, her arms filled with light bulbs of at least three different kinds balanced precariously with one arm while she holds her fancy dress to not trail on the floor. When she comes in, she lets the hem go. It meets the damp floor and leaves a thin trail of brownish color.

  “Get the door,” she says. She has her nose slightly lifted, clearly full of herself and smelling her victory. She dumps the lights all over the table, but gently enough not to break them. “You'll take care of these.”

  Rex grumbles and scrubs faster.

  “And you'll say yes, ma'am to acknowledge that you've heard your orders and intend to obey.”

  “Yes, ma'am.”

  Edith touches her pendant and smiles. Rex is kneeling, scrubbing like crazy, and she watches with a sick pleasure. Then she steps toward him. He stops scrubbing. Her palm descends, going to pat him on the head like a dog. The wolf looks at her hand and this stops her, but she starts forward again.

  Rex's growl fills the room, rumbling and loud. Edith's hand poised like a claw lowers carefully. And after only a moment more, she touches her hand to the base of his neck. The black ribbons part, rushing away from her touch, leaving the back of his head exposed where she strokes his hair.

  “There's a good boy,” she says smugly.

  She gives him two loving pats. Rex makes a fist and mimes punching the floor. His head hangs. Perhaps to cower. Perhaps out of shame.

  “You'll put everything away and make sure this place is in perfect condition, understand?”

  “Yes, ma'am.” The words are sour.

  “Good.”

  Then she disappears into the kitchenette. I can't see her, but I follow her humming noises and the little sounds she makes. I hear the squeak of her armchair as she sits down and the rustle of pages as she finds her place in one of the novels. I can hear her smile in the hum from her lips.

  Rex shoots only a brief look my way. Then he's back to scrubbing, his expression twisted into furious grief.

  I’m boiling over, but a thought comes and calms me.

  She's a dead bitch.

  He goes over each tile with the same care that Edith had before, getting his blood out of the grout, wringing the brownish mess into the bucket, leaving no trace of his suffering behind. Her control is absolute, her commands carrying more than words. Why, I think I can almost hear him humming along with her tune.

  He’s hypnotizing to watch. The lines move like fish swimming in an aquarium, circling around each other, moving with a floating, swirly grace.

  My cheeks feels swollen. I must have bit them on the inside. I flex my jaw. My arms ache, and I reach for the ceiling, loosening them up. I give my legs a break too, going to sit in the corner, to watch impassively.

  The hag’s a dead bitch. I’ll kill her and free us. Rex can eat her if he wants.

  (But won’t he eat you next?)

  “I don't think so.”

  Rex looks up.

  Woops. I smile sheepishly and he goes back to scrubbing. Edith never stopped humming. She must be lost in her literature.

  The important thing is that she dies.

  I watch Rex work and study this new thing he's become. The lines around his face form downward brows. He’s thinking angry thoughts and the wolf is reacting to them, I think. He’s different, but he’s in there.

  He knows my name.

  (Like that proves anything.)

  It wouldn’t be so bad for him to be darker. A darker Rex would have killed the old bat when he had the chance, instead of leaving her alive and gasping on the floor. A darker me, standing over her while she drew the chalk circle, would have stabbed her. Several times, right into that centipede spine sticking out from her thin skin.

  Down here, lightness is bad. I remember having that thought before the black out and Rex’s transformation. So, down here, a lighter us must be bad too. Had we been darker, we would have made it out already.

  Maybe I need him like this.

  (But can you kill him when you’re done with him?)

  The ears are fully formed atop his head, bent back with aggression still, and there’s a shape that might be a tail curled around his knees. I can’t imagine walking him into my apartment, letting the neighbors think I’m into the furry stuff.

  Suppose we do escape and I hold the necklace in hand. Will I smash it? Or will I take it home? (It referring to the stone and the boy).

  I can still get out, can still be human and go back to school, or even go home to my parents if I want to. But Rex?

  What’ll I do with Rex?

  He stands before
the chair with the dripping rag. With Edith's call of, “Hurry up!” he has no choice. The first touch is hesitant, a prod to see if the thing is still alive.

  It isn't. The leather straps remain dead and limp. It might be my imagination (probably is, my mind is a frayed wire), but I sense the chair is bloated and too fat to move, like a cat with feathers on its chin. So it remains just a chair, in appearance, and Rex has no choice but to bathe it.

  He washes the seat. He goes over the straps and gets in the grooves and little crevices of the buckles. He dumps the bucket down the drain and gets some fresh hot water for washing the head brace caked in his blood. His eyes glow a vivid bright red for this. His teeth bare a silent, permanent snarl for the job. But he does it. And he does it thoroughly.

  No longer is it enough to get out of my cell and run home. Nuh-uh. I want that necklace. It won’t be enough to be free of here. I want revenge.

  The details of such a plan are impossible to work out, but I will find a way. Somehow.

  In the meantime, Rex washes and polishes until the chair shines like new. And then he washes the tools that had cut into him, dries them on a clean towel and puts each one back in its home. Not with the care that Edith had shown, but he does it.

  “Take the apron and my boots to the laundry room and come straight back. Don't touch anything you don't have to and don't delay.”

  If there had been a loophole in her command, he would have abused it, but her commands carry thought and intent, I’m certain, which means loopholes are harder to come by. He returns in a short time.

  “Good.” Edith reappears. The stain on her hem can barely be seen in such a black fabric. I expect that after a wash, the dress will look as fabulous as ever. No trace at all remains of the horrible sight the lab had been. It is again smelling of bleach and copper and only sinister in its potential, not in actuality. I can’t stop seeing the mess though.

  “Now, go to your cell. Lock yourself in, and give back the keys. If that girl should try to escape, you stop her.”

  Rex stands, his hands in fists. When he doesn't move right away, Edith's nostrils flare. I watch with hope. Has he finally done it? Has he kicked her influence?

  “What are you doing? Do as I say!” she roars.

  Rex flinches. He lurches in my direction but stops.

  “Tell me not to hurt her,” he says.

  Edith gapes. Shaky fingers come to clutch at her pendant. She doesn't look so smug anymore.

  “What did you say?”

  “Tell me—”

  “You don't talk back! You do as I say!”

  Rex opens his mouth. Seems to be trying to speak. Can't. The growl starts up again.

  Edith breathes hard, holding the necklace in front of her, straining the chain forward.

  “Go to the cell. Lock it. Toss back the key. Those are your orders.”

  Another lurch. The growl grows louder.

  I lick my lips. He’s fighting it. He’s winning.

  “Give…the…cah—” Rex's jaw clicks shut. After a moment he finishes the sentence with great effort. “Command!” he says in a growl that renders the word nearly incomprehensible.

  “You don't talk back to me. You can't,” Edith says faintly. “How? How?” She starts pacing, both hands at the necklace.

  The wolf is back, it's head more solid than ever, the ribbons forming a near complete creature with fur and a wrinkled, snarling snout. It snaps at her and Edith freezes.

  “Don't you dare. I—I have the stone.” She lifts it. “You can't do anything. I have the stone.” But she sounds uncertain. Disobedience is a nasty surprise, I can see. I cheer him on with all my heart, quietly ignoring the nagging sliver in my brain that says he’s coming after me next. I want to escape, but his demonic smile makes me glad I’m behind bars at the moment.

  “Do it,” Rex says in a strangled voice.

  “I will not.” Edith closes her eyes, seems to search for something within herself, and says in a cool tone, “Go to the cell.” She holds the now-glowing necklace with one hand and points at me with the other.

  Rex lurches but stays.

  Edith waits.

  Then she goes to one of the drawers, pulls out a cleaver and hurls it at him. Human Rex dodges easily. Her aim is clumsy and way off. Wolf Rex gets an ear lobbed off, I watch with fascination as the ribbon-formed ear falls as a complete piece for a short ways before becoming liquid, splashing across the floor, and evaporating. The ear leaves behind a hissing crater as though someone blasted a hole in him.

  “Silver!” Edith crows. “And I've got more, boy, you better believe it. I can strap you back to that chair and hack away all night! So get in that cell!”

  Already the ear is growing back. But the snarl has diminished to a horrible pained whine. Rex walks to the table to pick up the keys, stiff like a zombie, still fighting, but giving in all the same.

  “The order,” he spits out.

  “I can't give it.” Edith is a little calmer now that she’s being obeyed, if imperfectly.

  Rex growls, but already he’s coming to the cell, coming to do exactly as she says.

  “Why?” he asks.

  “That's how it is.”

  Rex looks pained as he unlocks the cell and steps in. He’s scarier standing right there, right in front of me. He’s on my side now, invading the safe space of my cell. That weird ink stuff is right there, just a couple feet away, and that wolf is looking sour and Rex has his lips pulled back in a weird inhuman way. His gaze isn't on me, and I quietly scoot farther into my corner and bring my knees up in front of me.

  He locks himself in. Tosses the keys back. They skid to Edith's feet, but she doesn't look reassured.

  “Bet you wish the bars were silver,” Rex says with a big smile.

  “Sit down!”

  The emerald stone flashes and Rex drops to his butt like he's been pushed.

  “Good. Good boy.” Edith lets the stone go and runs her hands down the side of her dress. “I just have to channel my will into the stone, that's all. That's all it is. Will. I hope you had your fun. I won't let a thing like that happen again. Don't for a second think I can't punish you.”

  Rex growls. She waits just long enough to establish who is in charge, then collects her cleaver and leaves without seeming to flee, but she’s gone a little faster than normal and without the usual hum.

  A rune under his elbow looks like a jagged blade, the point aimed at his clenched fists. His veins make lines of their own over his arms, sprouting amongst the ink. His back to me, he should be nothing but a dark shape against the scenery. Instead, the ink gives off a shimmer as it swims over him, wrapping him in a dim glow. I get to appreciate every muscle in his back, tensed and contained.

  But for how long?

  I'm pressed as far back into the corner as I can possibly be. I want to hold my knees in front of me like a child, but I’m too cautious of exposing myself, so I sit on my ankles and turn into the walls to occupy as little space as possible. My tricks for bending reality don’t feel so true in here. His profile tilts my a way, an eye lighting up, a fanged smile cut out against the light from the desk lamp Edith kindly left on.

  I have a sudden image of me wrapped up like hamburger and on display at the grocery store with the big orange sticker, Cook or Freeze by…What day is it?

  Rex scrubs the jackal grin away, the inky ribbons sloughing away. “Stop it,” he mutters. “Not her. Don’t.”

  Reminding him of my existence is a bad thing, a very bad thing, but it's cold and Rex is shirtless now and shivering. His jacket lies between us, beckoning me, and I get an idea. Perhaps I can show this thing possessing him that I'm a likable guy. Like approaching a dog with an open palm, only I would offer his jacket back instead.

  See? Me good. We friends. No bities, 'kay?

  I’m hilarious.

  My small giggle comes out as a squawk, Rex suddenly punching the prison bars and yelling a swear. He explodes into violence, shouting and grabbing at his hair, then
seizing the glass from the floor and smashing it.

  With a yelp, I curl tighter, wishing I could disappear, wishing for a table to hide under. The wolf snaps at the prison bars, his fangs tangling around the iron, molding around them like a liquid, then returning to the wolf’s form. But I suspect they won't have a problem cutting through flesh.

  When it ends, Rex is panting, every muscle in his back prominent and tight. The black ribbons cascade up and down his form with smooth grace, swimming from his skin into the wolf form and back again. The ink coils up his spine, creating a tree that branches out over his shoulder blades, the foliage that of spirals and runes and Celtic patterns.

  “Arrie.” He kicks a chunk of glass at me. Fear makes me agile, and I dodge aside like I’m ducking a bullet. The glass skitters to a stop near my hip. “Pick it up.”

  My brain takes an extra second to catch up.

  “Uh, ‘kay.” And I fetch it with two fingers. Anything to make him happy. “Here.” I hold it out to him.

  “NO!”

  I flinch, drop the shard, and scoot back into my huddled ball. My mind casts a semi-circle labeled Safe Zone, an invisible arc about two feet from my toes.

  Gripping the bars with one hand and clawing down his face with the other, a red glow behind his fingers, he heaves and rasps, “Pick it up. Keep it.”

  I am staring at two faces, two creatures. One that looks pained. And one that wants to kill me. The wolf spares no hatred. It looks at me as though I’m Edith herself. Rex is my Rex. But this thing? It’s wild.

  “Alright, Arrie,” Rex says with heavy breaths. “This thing…it can't see if I don't look at you. So I'm going to turn away. And…and you have to cut me.”

  I have to what? I gape at him.

  He tilts his head to expose his neck. “Right here. Drive it in, pull it out, and jump back as far as you can, okay? You have to be quick. And then…you have to survive. I'm gonna come at you, but I w-won't…”

  He’s losing it. He hunches over, hiding from me.

  All I can say is a squeaky, disbelieving, “What?”

  He turns to the bars, brings both hands up to grip them like they’ll save his life, and hangs his head.