Chapter 9: No Backing Out Now

Code of the Wolf (6/13):

"Survive each day." ~ Rafhael Vieira

Emerson

I squeeze my eyes shut and prepare for the end.

Except, it doesn't come.

I peel my eyes open, wondering if this is really just a terrible dream and I'm going to wake up next to River, and laugh it all off. Some extreme nightmare brought to me by the universe to tell me to appreciate life more and stop taking things for granted. Well, the message has been fucking received. Crystal clear. I finally open my eyes, standing up, and the scene before me makes my heartbeat quicken.

The flames are all around me, on top of me, below me, as far as my eye can see. Why am I not being burned alive right now, how am I not dead? Is this really just a dream? Out of sheer impulse I stick my hand into the nearest flame, before pulling it out hastily. My hand catches fire and I ball it in to a fist, the fire nips at my skin with a heat that would put the sun to shame as sparks spew out on to the ground at my feet. The flames are the same as before, they blaze a bright yellow and the flames are red and orange. Up close like this I can take in the exquisite beauty of the flame, as it moves with my hand like it's alive and living and breathing through me.

I'm so caught up in looking at my hand that I almost forget the situation I'm in. I look around me and the courts are all up in flames. My shoulders slump as I realize that the place I've come to play tennis for the past few years is gone. By the time someone puts the fire out, this place will be unrecognizable and will take time to be rebuilt. I look down at the flames surrounding my feet, touching me but not setting me aflame.

How can something so beautiful be so destructive?

I need to get out of here, but how? I look down at my flaming hand that encapsulates my skin, before looking at my entire body that's been left intact. I stare right in front of me at the entrance to the courts and realize it's the only way out of here. Taking a deep breath, I begin to walk forward. One foot in front of the other, the crackling of the flames is loud and clear in my ears but that doesn't deter me, on the contrary it spurs me on. It's almost like the flames are encouraging me, like they want me to make it out alive and not be consumed. Cheering me on as a mother would at her son's first tennis match.

The entrance is closer to me now, just a few more feet away, before a terrible pain shoots through my entire body, halting my steps. The pain spreads through my body and is impossible to bare, so much so that I release a cry of agony. I drop to my knees, unable to hold myself up anymore. I wrap my arms around myself, in an attempt to comfort myself and make the pain stop. My hand skims the area where my gash is expecting it to be irritated in this heat, but strangely enough I don't feel anything. Being so close to the ground, the fire is the only thing I can see. The flames start to catch on my clothes, before receding, the flames bend over towards me a bit, almost like they are bowing...at me.

I bring my hand up to try and shield my eyes from the heat, but what I see instead jolts me to sit upright. My hands aren't my hands. I mean, they're my hands, but not really.

The smooth skin of my hands is replaced with one that is very hairy, with black talons—no, claws replacing my fingernails. What's going on?! I check my other hand, the one holding fire, to see that it looks animalistic as well, while still nurturing the flame in its palm but with white fur. The pain is truly severe now, and I find myself believing I may actually die. Not from the flames, but from this agonizing pain coursing through my body. I look down to see a faint, white glow coming from the necklace with the coin on it around my neck.

Before I know it my body is expanding. My skin feels like it is being stretched thin, and my blood feels like it's boiling as hot as the fire surrounding me. Fur grows from my

pores. I feel my teeth elongating, and I feel myself changing, into what, I don't know. I feel my bones crack and snap underneath my skin and my spine begins to stretch and bend. The last thing I hear before blacking out is a long, ear-piercing howl.

***

Mason

I look at my clock and see that it's 1 AM. I can't sleep. I sit up straight, and the bed creeks underneath me. The old hunk of wood is probably decades old and the bed is very lumpy, if I could afford to I'd buy a new one, but sadly I can't. But it's home, and I have a roof over my head, that's all that matters.

I feel like my skin is buzzing. It's as if a gazillion tiny electric shocks are being applied to my skin, leaving me jittery and restless. I struggle to stay still as my foot taps unremittingly on the wooden floor. Tap. Tap. Tap. Over and over again, but I can't stop. My body feels like a video that's on loop without a pause button. A powder keg about to explode. I'm used to feeling like this though, it's part of the cycle. The never-ending cycle that dictates my life, and everything I do. I'm practically under this disease's thumb and I don't see myself coming up for air anytime soon.

I was diagnosed with Bipolar 2 about a year ago. I ended up at a free clinic a few cities away from here, and stayed there under observation for seventy-two hours one time when I was going through a really bad depressive episode. I remember feeling so hopeless. Like no matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried, I would still be stuck in this same hole I've dug for myself. Clawing and clawing yet never able to reach the surface.

My manic episodes aren't as bad as my depressive ones generally and they usually last less days. When I start to feel like this, like I'll jump out of my own skin, it's a sign that it's coming. I wish I could just be normal, that my brain could function the right way, that my thoughts would stop racing a million miles per hour.

I shake my hands out in an attempt to calm down and slow my racing heart. I run a hand down my face. I hate feeling this way. I just need all the noise to stop. Please.

***

Blake

I check my watch to see that it's almost 2 AM. I've lost track of time again, and wonder if I should bother even going home. I'm definitely going to be grounded, or worse, yelled at. It's my fault though. I always get so lost in thought when I come here, and after that fight with Emerson, there is a lot to think about. So I have time to admire the ivy that creeps over the autumnal ground and pause to read the inscriptions that will soon be hidden away by the freeze-thaw of another winter in just a few months.

The cemetery looks the same as it always has. Dying trees everywhere, with twigs and fallen leaves littering the wilted grass. The air is dry and slightly chalky tonight, so it's a bit hard to breathe in the atmosphere. But also, one, I don't want to disrupt any spirits floating past. And two, I can't help the nagging feeling in my gut telling me that I'm being watched.

Unlike the air, the sky is clear tonight. Which is weird since it was stormy earlier. The weather has always been like this for as long as I can remember. Sunshine and clear skies one minute, grey clouds and thunderstorms the next. I look around warily all around me, but can't find anyone there. I'm just being paranoid. I force myself to look up instead, at the bright, full moon above. The last day of the full moon is tomorrow night on Friday, and I can tell I'll miss it when it's like this. So complete and whole. Unbroken by the night sky. I've always admired the moon. Legends say that when a wolf howls at the moon, it cries for a love it will never touch, and a feeling of dread flows from my head all the way down to my toes. My mind desperately tries to recall my fingers running through red hot curls, the feel of his lips on mine. Suddenly both my fingers and mouth feel numb.

I'll never see Sam again. I'll never be that happy again, just like the wolf will never truly know what it feels like to be touched in a way that sets your entire world aflame, and makes you come running back for more.

The anniversary of his death is still in a few months but I can already feel myself plummeting into a hole that I can't climb out of, ready to sink to the bottom like quicksand. And contrary to what my dad believes, I am trying. I'm trying so fucking hard to get over him, but I just can't. It's been months and his hold on me is just as strong as it was when we were together. Maybe even stronger. When we were together we were like a knot so intertwined and laced in one another that it couldn't be taken apart. But now it's as if I have this rope dragging along behind me, a massive weight, just waiting for someone, something to pull me back. So I'm done fighting it. Because what they don't tell you about quicksand is that the longer you fight it, the deeper you sink.

And I've already dived in head first. I have to reunite with him, I have to be with him. I just have to. All of a sudden my body begins to shake, my hands spasm so much that I drop my phone. My eyes roll back inside my head, before a voice booms in my head as concrete as the tombs around me.

"Beware of your enemies, friend and foe. For how you choose to act, will determine how your story will go. A knife to the back from someone you hold dear, will lead to endless amounts of torment and fear."

Just as quickly as I started, I stop shaking and the voice exits my head. What the hell did I just hear, and what does it mean? Was it another vision? Also, why the hell did it rhyme?

I need to write this down. I bend down to pick up my phone, the second I come back up I hear a low, growling sound. I stop in my tracks. I slowly turn around and meet the eyes of a white wolf with golden eyes. It is breathtakingly exquisite, and if I didn't fear for my life right now, I would have stopped to watch in awe. Instead I start to back away slowly.

"Nice, wolfie. Just stay there." I continue to speak in a gentle and calming voice while slowly backing away from the animal. "You don't want to eat me, I doubt I'd taste any good, but Mr. Stanley? I heard he rolls around in meat twice a day." Just before I am far enough to be out of danger, I hear a crunching noise under my foot. I stepped on a branch. Ugh, fuck me. I turn to look at the wolf, and it looks at me intently before breaking out in to a run.

I don't waste any time, I turn on my heels and begin to sprint across the cemetery. I dodge tombstones left and right, doing my best not to step on any gravestones. I leap over a fallen tree trunk in a deserted part of the cemetery, before reaching a dried out patch of grass where no tombstones are. Not having the energy to run anymore I turn around, before I can process what's happening, the wolf jumps on top of me, and my back collides with the ground and I land with a soft thud, thankful for the dry, yellow grass underneath me cushioning my fall.

I am face to face with the wolf. I fight the voice inside my head telling me to shut my eyes, so I don't have to watch myself get eaten alive, but I maintain eye contact with the creature. Up close its face doesn't look as ferocious, the wolf looks...curious. I scan its eyes which for some reason seem familiar. They hold a certain sparkle that I've only ever seen in one other person in my life.

Emerson.

There's no way...

"Emerson? Is that you?" I ask carefully, not wanting to upset the wolf who with one movement could detach my head from my neck.

At those words, suddenly the wolf begins to morph into something else. My mouth opens in shock, and before I know it Emerson is right there in front of me. I blink. Then blink again. My brain failing to process what just happened. He's still my best friend. Only his hair is way messier, and he's got an untamed glint in his eyes which are still shimmering gold. He blinks once, and the bluish-green returns. I push him off of me, and stand up abruptly.

"Did you just...?"

I look down at him, and his eyes look like he's in a daze, and he's breathing heavily like he just ran a marathon. He quickly stands up, brushing himself off. "I just transformed into a wolf." He says, more to himself than me.

A million questions flood through my mind. But the one that comes out is, "It's almost 3AM, where are you coming from?"

Emerson's eyes suddenly become wide with fear as a realization strikes him. "B, the courts!"

"What courts?"

He suddenly digs in to his pocket, looking for something. When he doesn't find it, he turns to me and says, "Blake, I need your phone." His voice his insistent and laced with urgency, without asking questions I hand him my phone immediately. He enters my password and dials 911 and tells them to go to our school, because a fire has broken out on the tennis courts. He then hangs up with no explanation.

"E, what do you mean a fire broke out on the tennis courts? Is that where you are coming from? Oh my God, are you okay?" My eyes frantically dart across all his features, scanning his face and body for any visible bruises.

"I'm fine, B. I think someone may have started it on purpose though."

"What do you mean?"

"I saw someone running away when I was in the flames."

"Hold up, what? What do you mean 'in the flames?'"

"Blake, it was crazy. I was standing there, in the middle of the fire but none of the flames burned me. They weren't repelled by me per se, it seemed like the opposite, it's like they refused to hurt me. Like I was their master, or something."

"How did it feel?" I whisper, partly scared of the answer.

"How did what feel?"

"Transforming, er I mean. I mean being a wolf. How'd it feel?"

Without hesitation he replies, "I've never felt more comfortable in my own skin. I felt so...free. So complete." Like the moon. We're silent for a moment.

"Wow." I don't know what else to say. What else could I say? That shouldn't be possible, this is all crazy, are we losing our minds? None of this makes sense, so why does a small part of me feel curious to see where this all goes? I'm still worried we are way over our heads, but two visions? That can't be a coincidence. We stay there like that for a few moments. Taking in all that just happened, wondering what would come out of it. There's so many questions still rustling in my mind, but one screams louder than the others.

Who would want to hurt Emerson?

Titus

After a million tries, I finally get the stupid contacts out of my eyes. I got them in a shade identical to mine in case my eyes ever want to start acting crazy again. I hear a knock on my door, which prompts me in to a sitting position. I've been on edge ever since what happened a few days ago. I still can't believe I was able to control someone. A part of me is pleased at what this can mean for my business. If I can make people do what I want whenever I want, think of how much money I can make, think about all of the power I can obtain with that ability. The other, more practical part of me, is uneasy. I shouldn't have been able to do that, it's unnatural. Plus, my eyes turned red. What could be more strange than that?

I walk over to the door, and check to see who's in the hallway through the peephole, but there's no one there. I carefully open the door, body alert and ready in case anyone tries to pull anything. When I'm convinced the hallway is empty, I open the door all the way to see a black, velvet box on the floor in front of my door. It's not addressed or anything, but I know it's for me. I survey the hallway once more, looking left and right to ensure no one is watching me, before hastily pulling the box inside with me, and closing the door, locking it behind me.

I set the box tentatively on my table, after checking around the edges and outside for anything potentially dangerous to me. I take hold of the metal clasp, and pull it upwards slowly, opening the box. Inside is a gun, a revolver-type pistol. Small enough to hide in the inside of a coat, but large enough to kill a person a few feet away from you. I take the gun out of the box, and establish a good hold on it, trying to get my hand used to the weight of it. I make sure the chamber is empty of any bullets, before aiming it at my window.

Out of the corner of my eye, a shiny glint catches my attention. Also in the box are packs of bullets, and a folded up note that one may have overlooked if they weren't as attentive as me. I put the gun down on the table and read the note.

No backing out now.

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What do you think of Mason's diagnosis and how do you think it will affect him moving forward? Did you expect Emerson to survive? What about his transformation? And uh-oh what has Titus got himself into this time? Thanks for reading, make sure to like and comment, let me know what you think! Stay golden:)

~Fallen Rose🥀