By Flora Xia
Flora Xia is a Chinese-born Canadian residing in Vancouver, British Columbia, where she attends high school as a sophomore. She is currently at work on a new novel and enjoys drawing, playing music, and living an active and healthy lifestyle.
“Secrets” was inspired by Flora’s fascination with the supernatural. “It’s about the borders between fantasy and reality, life and death, and choices and impulse,” she says. All of which transpires against her main character, Jeff, in a very different Rochester.
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Choices, always the root of the problem.
Twenty-year-old Jeff kneaded his forehead with his left hand while scraping off the yellow paint of his pencil with his other hand’s nail. The professor scowled. Jeff raised a thin eyebrow at the professor and smirked.
Using the paint-free pencil, Jeff circled A for the last multiple choice question. The young man handed the neat sheaf of papers to the professor and smiled again as he walked out of the classroom.
Ignorance is bliss, after all, he thought. Jeff made quite a sight: a twenty-year-old strolling through the Rochester River campus with a wafer-thin briefcase and an ironed Armani suit. Everything but his skin and teeth was black: hair, eyes, shirt, tie, suit, shoes, briefcase, socks, polarized sunglasses, watch, and so on.
He sat down on the bridge overlooking the vast black waters of the river. Pulling out a blood tester, Jeff pricked his index finger, waited a moment, and then shook his head as he saw the readings. He’d have to visit his doctor again. The college student stuffed the blood tester back into his pocket, took out a syringe gun, and injected a bluish liquid into his arm.
Jeff took longer than usual to get to his dormitory suite. His roommate Scott was sipping coffee in the kitchen, reading a magazine.
“Hey Scott,” Jeff said uneasily as he set his briefcase down on the floor.
“Wazzawp?” Scott drawled in response.
“I need you to drive me to the hospital,” Jeff sighed, “again.”
Scott raised an eyebrow and looked up at Jeff. “It’s not getting worse, is it?”
“Just hurry up, will you?” Jeff replied.
Scott grunted.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Jeff walked out of the door, leaving Scott gulping his coffee and cursing as it burnt his tongue. Scott opened the door to a gritty white pickup truck and climbed in. Jeff sat shotgun and picked at a loose thread on the seatbelt as his friend turned the ignition.
The truck puttered to a start and roared down the street. Jeff stared absently out of the window and watched passersby, trees, grass, houses … He couldn’t say goodbye to all this now, could he? As the familiar looming hospital came into view, he retracted his thoughts and focused on what was to happen. And he already knew what the doctor was going to say. Two weeks. Fourteen days. Fourteen, and people said thirteen was the evil number. Jeff almost snorted in contempt. Human beings, coming up with amicable and antagonistic numbers. Bad luck was never coincidence, it just … happened.
“Do you want me to come in with you or wait in the car?” Scott asked, jolting Jeff into the present.
“You can stay,” Jeff said as he swung out of the truck. He strode into the lobby and pushed open the double doors.
“Excuse me, young man, will you please—?” a secretary piped up, but the rest of the question was lost as a tall man walked up slowly to Jeff.
The tall man was a complete opposite of Jeff. Everything he wore was crisp, clean, and white, but his skin was a dark bronze.
“You called me yesterday, Mr. Noyes?”
Jeff nodded stiffly and shook the doctor’s hand.
“Afternoon, Dr. Thaddeus,” Jeff grunted.
“Come inside my office.” The doctor jerked his head to an open office door. Jeff slammed the door behind him after he entered the room. The young man handed the syringe gun and the blood test readings to the doctor.
The doctor shook his head sadly; his expression was easy to read.
“I have to finish school,” Jeff said desperately.
The doctor sighed and shook his head again. Jeff blanched. When you see professionals acting like that, you know things have gotten really serious.
“I don’t know, Jeff.” Dr. Thaddeus swabbed the syringe gun with antiseptic and scrubbed it clean in the sink.
“Why?”
“It’s better if I don’t tell you.” He unscrewed the syringe gun and filled it with a clear liquid. He clamped it onto Jeff’s wrist and squeezed the trigger.
“I’m sorry, Jeff. Two weeks. Hope you have your decision then.”
Jeff jerked his wrist away when the doctor released the clamp. He rushed angrily out of the office, through the lobby, and into the parking lot.
“Well, what’s the news?” Scott asked, his brows furrowed in concern.
“Two weeks,” Jeff said curtly.
“Two weeks till it’s cured?” Scott said hopefully.
“No,” Jeff answered quietly.
“I’m so sorry, Jeff,” Scott said.
“That’s what the doctor said.” Jeff stared out the window once again and tried to avoid Scott’s sympathetic gaze.
After several minutes of uncomfortable silence, Scott drew a breath to speak, but Jeff cut him off. “I have to finish school. It’s something I promised.”
The rest of the journey back to their university was held in awkward silence.
It was midnight and sleep still eluded Jeff. He climbed out of bed and walked into his bathroom in a T-shirt and shorts. He stared into the mirror and splashed water onto his face. Jeff glanced over his shoulder to see whether the door was securely shut; he could imagine Scott slumbering peacefully and in his room. Jeff looked back into the mirror.
Dark black fur sprouted from his cheeks; lithe muscles hardened beneath his T-shirt. He pulled it off and stared at his half-man-half-wolf beast reflection. He pulled open the window and climbed down the drainpipe; it was slick with rain, and he was partially soaked already. He raced down and landed in the grass.
Jeff bounded down the muddy banks and slipped into the overflowing river. It was freezing, but he held his breath and swam. Chunks of ice floated past his lupine head. He swam to the right of the stream and shoved his clawed hands down a rusty filter. He lifted it and swam in. The pipe dipped slightly but curved up again, and he surfaced to a cement platform.
Screaming as pain clawed at his brain, he groped around the sewer’s grimy wall for his syringe gun. He found it and injected a strong dosage. He shouted again. Pain crawled up his leg and into his chest, but the injection worked fast and the agony subsided.
“Going … to … stay … alive …” He gasped and climbed to his feet. Relief spread as his vocal cords thickened slightly, enabling speech once again.
“Staying … alive … for … Jake.” Jeff grinned as he spoke his brother’s name. His bleached white teeth were now sharp and twisted to fit his grotesque face. The werewolf screamed hoarsely at the surroundings.
When he was five years old, his mother drove him to the police station to visit his brother. Jeff held his brother’s scarred hand shakily through the bars of the cell.
“I don’t get it; why are you in here, Jake?” Jeff asked.
“I … I took something that wasn’t ours, Jeff,” Jake replied mildly to his crying little brother. “I’m sorry.”
Jeff sniffed and looked into his brother’s eyes.
“Can you promise something for me?” Jake said.
Jeff nodded eagerly.
“I want you to finish school, Jeff. Don’t you dare to wind up like me—”
They shook on it.
His thoughts somehow brought him to Scott, who didn’t know about the curse, of course. He’d be too scared if he did. Painkillers were all that Dr. Thaddeus gave him, but they provided some small comfort in all that he had been through. He did his best to stay at home or in the sewer when the moon was at its fullest.
Jeff collapsed on the ground, silently praying thanks to the gods, or rather, Dr. Thaddeus.
A dark shadow lumbered across the cement floor. Another werewolf.
“Nice seeing you ’gain, Jeff. How long do you have left?”
“Two weeks. I don’t want to kill anymore. Our city’s crime rate has skyrocketed over the last few months; haven’t you noticed?”
“You mean you’d rather die?” George raised his eyebrows, or rather, the fur where his eyebrows should have been. Jeff gave a lopsided shake.
“What was that, a yes or a no?”
Jeff didn’t answer.
“For God’s sake, are you joining me on your last hunt or not?” George said, Jeff nodded reluctantly.
At age sixteen, Jeff had been bitten by a true werewolf, one that was born with two werewolf parents. True werewolves could change at will into their true forms, and they could complete the change to a life-sized wolf, not a hideous human half-breed. Therianthropy was the term for the curse of a twisted animal’s spirit in a human body. The beast within had a lust for human blood. In order to keep it at bay, a therianthrope would need to kill, to let the spirit within feast upon the soul of others. If a therianthrope didn’t kill others, the beast would consume its own human spirit.
Jeff and George loped through the sewers and emerged in another part of the vast city. George sniffed the air.
“Follow me,” he said. Jeff followed reluctantly and climbed a rusty fire escape.
And then the massacre began.
The two of them took no mercy on the occupants. No longer human, they were nearly mindless beasts, absorbed in bloodshed. They crushed bones, ripped flesh, tore skin. Jeff’s last feast would be one he would remember.
He slurped on the juicy entrails and organs of a woman he had just slaughtered. They would have to leave soon, because her screams had woken the building’s occupants. Already his werewolf’s enhanced senses could feel footsteps in the main lobby, the vibrating creak of the elevator.
George lifted his massive head, which was slicked with blood and bits of foul-smelling flesh. He grunted and started toward the fire escape.
The two descended into the night. Jeff could hear cries and screams of horror. Guilt gnawed at his soul. He thought nothing could be more painful, but again, he was wrong.
Jeff woke with a painful throbbing in his head, but he didn’t feel weak anymore. Still, the woman’s screams haunted him. Blood was smeared in his face and hair; grime was slathered across his body. He groaned and climbed into the shower.
As he lathered shampoo into his grisly hair, he watched dark lumps of sludge spiral down the drain. Several times, he had to bend down to pick out some of the larger pieces and flush them down the toilet. It was an excruciating task.
Twenty minutes later, he was dressed in his usual black suit, shirt, and tie. He slicked his hair back with gel and sniffed himself.
Hopefully I don’t smell too much like the sewer. Jeff gathered the gore-stained sheets off his bed, stuffed them into a garbage bag, and tossed them in the corner with his other dirty laundry. Then, he walked casually out of his room and made coffee. He drank slowly and the warm liquid brought him back to his senses.
All through class, Jeff couldn’t concentrate: everything seemed to be spinning through warp speed. It seemed that he was living in another world altogether. The woman’s screams still echoed in his ears. Maybe he should imitate George, who took pills at the full moon. Jeff didn’t know why it bothered him so much this time; he had committed plenty of murders before.
It must be because it’s the last time killing, Jeff concluded. He knew what he was really thinking though … What was truly more important? He shook this thought out of his head as he walked back into his dorm.
Jeff wanted to walk out as soon as he entered the room. It seemed to suffocate him; the walls seemed to be crushing him. Pain wrapped around his brain. What’s the matter with me? He clutched his head and dropped his books on the floor. The world started to spin around him. He crumpled to the ground pathetically.
Jeff woke in Scott’s arms. His roommate splashed more water on his face and shook his shoulders.
“Hey, you okay? Looks like you had a hard time today. It’s your birthday: buck up, man!”
Jeff sputtered, grinned, and stood up shakily.
“Here, I got you something.” Scott took a little box off the dinner table. Jeff wanted to pass out again as Scott brought the box closer to him. Coincidence. Just coincidence, Jeff told himself, just coincidence, just coincidence, keep thinking that. Good boy! He almost laughed aloud at the ludicrous thought.
He extended his palm face up and Scott placed the oddly shaped box on it. Jeff almost yelped as pain seared through his chest. Coincidence. Didn’t take enough painkillers. He undid the neat wrapping to find a smooth, pearly white crystal. Power radiated from it, and with it came unbearable pain. Pure coincidence.
“Moonstone. I got it from the lab. They let me keep it.” Scott smiled hopefully.
Jeff hugged Scott tightly. “Thanks, you didn’t have to get me anything. I only have twelve days—” Actually it was thirteen, because of the woman he killed the previous night. Moonstone, that rang a bell. He stared in horror as fur ripped out of his arms, which were still wrapped around his friend’s torso. Jeff pulled himself away and stared at the moonstone in his hand, which was morphing into his paw. He shoved the rock back into Scott’s hands.
Jeff fell; he screeched and writhed on the ground. The suit jacket tightened uncomfortably around his broadened shoulders. He ripped it off. Then he kicked off his polished black shoes as another wave of pain crashed into him. He clutched his arm and stared at the fur sprouting out of it.
It’s the moonstone. Aloud he rasped to Scott, “Run.”
Pain, unbelievable pain.
Nothing could stop Jeff now: the pull of the moon was too strong.
Jeff’s transformation exploded from inside him. Imagine a demon inside your soul, tearing its way out into your head.
Jeff loped after Scott, who had run to the balcony and was trying to make it down the fire escape. His roommate was clutching a huge knife and was shaking.
The werewolf pounced through the sliding glass door and pinned Scott down. Scott stabbed him with the knife. The monster shrieked and bit his other hand. Scott screamed and lost his grip on the moonstone he was holding.
It shattered against the pavement.
Jeff jumped after it.
“NO!” Scott shouted, but it was too late. He watched his friend fall the whole nine floors. Scott finished screaming and started to sob. The young man raised his hand and saw the jagged bite marks in it, then looked down at the twisted body nine floors below him in a pool of scarlet blood.
The werewolf’s foot was twisted backwards, and ribs poked through his black shirt. The knife was still buried in his back. Jeff returned to his human form and his sanity. He held his palm up shakily and looked at the beautiful shattered crystals. He laughed as blood gushed out of his chest. I’m sorry Jake…
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