The waiting game is merciless. Callous. Unrelenting in its ability to drive a person insane. On a good day, it would be unbearable. But on a day like this, wherein I am forced to relive everything that has happened over the past two weeks? It is nearly unbearable.
Standing here, in the living room, I look out at the quickly-repopulating grass across from the Meadows family home, and find myself trembling with unsung rage.
Remember, the Light Wolf says, to remain calm and composed.
But how can I, I wonder, when all I want to do is scream?
Beneath me the last of my mother’s plants are sprouting. Nestled in their simple pot, in their simple soil, in their simple space, they have risen from the tests of time to signal that life continues to go on, regardless of what has happened in the past.
I frown as I turn my head to look at the ghostly house.
Jackson and his father have gone into town to fetch groceries, leaving me to not only the home and my own devices, but the inner demons that plague me.
A part of me wants to avoid everything that has to do with the world as it sees fit. Another, however, questions what exactly has happened in the time since the funeral has ended.
I haven’t checked my social media for days.
Are people still mourning the young men from the school, or have they moved on?
That thought, troubling as it happens to be, inspires me to lift my phone.
I have no sooner than brought up the lock screen when a text comes in from J’vonte.
Her message simply reads: Turn on the TV.
The TV? I think. What is she—
Another text message comes on. Hurry. Now.
I scramble to do just that.
Within moments, I am swiping the remote from its place on Mister Meadows’ armchair and turning the TV on.
The front door opens just as the words ARSON SUSPECT BROUGHT INTO CUSTODY.
“Hey,” Jackson says as he steps into the house with several bags of groceries on his arms. “What’s going—“
“Shh!” I hiss.
“Authorities have confirmed that an arrest has been made in connection with the burning of both the Flora Fantastica shop and its owners’ family home,” a news reporter says. “According to Police Chief Ronson, Easton Wells—son of the esteemed Paxton Wells of Wells Hunting and Fishing—was responsible for the arson that destroyed not only the town’s premiere flower shop, but also ended the lives of its owners. He is being held without bail for two counts of arson and two counts of manslaughter.”
“Manslaughter?” I ask, stunned. “They’re getting him on manslaughter charges?”
Jackson blinks.
Zachariah steps in shortly behind his son, and asks, “What’s going on?”
“They got him on manslaughter?” I repeat, spinning to face the older Meadows man as he steps into the home.
Zachariah considers the television for several long moments before sighing and saying, “Oaklynn—“
“I can’t believe this,” I continue, my voice rising in pitch as I slam my finger onto the OFF button on the remote. “I just… I can’t… believe…”
“How could they do this?” Jackson asks.
“His lawyer is probably arguing that he didn’t mean to kill anyone,” Zachariah explains. “Hence the manslaughter and arson charges.”
“But Dad! He helped kill—“
But it is at this point that I stop listening. Blinded by my rage, and unable to keep from reacting, I lift my hands to my head and begin to tug at my hair.
“Oaklynn?” Jackson asks what seems like an eternity. “Are you all right?”
“Do I look all right?” I ask in an eerily-calm voice, which seems to frighten Jackson but is terrifying me.
“I… I don’t… I mean, I—“
I spin to face him—and though I cannot see what it is in my eyes, Jackson can. His face pales. His lips curl into a frown. His one eye twitches, and his fingers reflexively curl from what I realize is a nervous response.
He sees something, the Light Wolf says from her place at my side, that few humans do.
But what is that? I then think. Fear? Hate? Rage?
I don’t know. Whatever it is, it lasts only for a moment—and soon, Jackson is sighing, and turning to face his father once more.
“Oaklynn,” Zachariah says, in as calm a voice as possible. “I understand that you’re angry.”
“You don’t understand anything,” I say, somehow able to keep my voice calm, my tone considerate. “You don’t know what I’m feeling.”
“But I do,” Zachariah says, “because he took something from me too.”
Then it hits me.
His wife.
His wife was killed by the Wells family too.
Not just killed, a part of me whispers. Stuffed. Put on display. Made an icon of hatred for a small ignorant town.
Something, and I’m not exactly sure what, ignites within me. Bursting into flames, and raging like an inferno, I find the metaphorical walls of my conscience burning in a nightmarish blaze, during which everything, my better nature included, comes crashing down.
I don’t hesitate to turn and stalk toward the door.
“Oaklynn?” Jackson asks. “Where are you going?”
“Nowhere,” I reply, and throw the door open.
I can’t stop what happens next.
One moment, I’m standing on the Meadows’ front porch.
The next, I’m stalking across the road.
“Oaklynn!” I hear Bernard call from the RV that has been parked outside the road for the past few days. “Is everything all—“
I ignore the man, even as he stops and calls out to me once more, and make my way toward what used to be my property line.
Don’t change, the Light Wolf says. Not here, not now. You don’t know who might be watch—
I ignore her instruction and burst into a run.
The air rushes by me. The world at my sides. The grass underfoot.
Within seconds, I am rushing into the woods—and turning, in a matter of moments, into the Light Wolf.
A single cry escapes me as I rush through the underbrush in her lupine form.
Wild and free, and devoid of my human emotions, I rush through the woodlands that lie in the lands between my property and Wolf Creek and make my way with abandon toward the river that runs through the small town of Red Wolf, Texas. There are no thoughts in my mind, save the uninhibited joy I experience without doubt or rage, and there is no violence in my mind.
No.
There is nothing but abandon in my heart.
So, with that in mind, I do the only thing I can think of:
I run.
And run.
And run some more.
And run even further than I could’ve ever imagined possible. Through the trees I wander, and around snarling roots I jump.
Come time I reach the river, I make my way across the bank and then up the stream, fully intending on distancing myself from not only my past and present, but my future as well.
I have just reached the edge of Wolf Creek when I hear a voice say, Stop.
So I do.
Standing here, in the Light Wolf’s form, looking on at the trees that lie in the distance, I find myself breathing in the sweet autumn air, and staring at the vegetation before me.
Do you feel better? the Light Wolf asks.
Now that I’m away from there? I ask, breathless in not only body, but mind as well. I wait for the Light Wolf to answer. When nothing comes, however, I simply exhale, and say, I think so.
You need to be careful, she replies. You don’t know who might be watching.
No one’s watching, I say. Besides—you don’t have to worry about me.
You are reckless at times, Oaklynn Smith. You should know that your actions could have consequences.
I… I don’t—
The Light Wolf sighs her breathy, lupine sigh, then says, I wish I could do more for you.
You’ve given me this shape. This body. This… this freedom. I could never ask for anything more than that.
Still, the Wolf within me says, I wish I could take away your pain.
I think…
You think… what? she asks.
I think I need this pain.
Why do you say that?
To heal. To laugh. To… recover.
The Light Wolf doesn’t say anything at first. Rather, she looks through my eyes into the distance—and then, in a low, short voice, says, We should go home. There’s a storm coming.
I lift my eyes to look beyond the canopy—and smell, distantly, the humid scent of rain.
Okay, I say, before turning and starting back down the creek.
Before I can make it very far, however, a thought strikes me.
Light Wolf? I ask.
Yes, my friend? she replies.
If you know my pain… and you’ve experienced it before… can I ask if it ever goes away?
No, she says. It doesn’t.
And that, above anything else, haunts me.