By Emelyn
It had been two weeks since the lockout began… and Ambrose was starting to wish for a shower and a large steak more than anything in the world. In a way, it actually comforted him that his entire life could be turned into upheaval once again, and he could manage to cope in a way that his greatest problems were that he was dirty and somewhat ashamed of his food sources. But it wasn’t a great comfort- rather, just something to console himself with as he made his way through the underbrush, smelling the scent of blood and dirt on his fur as he went.
He was tempted to drop his armload of tinder and head west, towards the lake. He knew how nice it would feel to walk straight into the water and soak for a solid hour until all the caked dirt had gone and the fleas that had taken up residence in the short hair on his legs drowned. But he also knew that the others in his camp were counting on him: not only were the rest of them occupied with their own tasks to help the group’s survival, but they’d anointed him a sort of unofficial leader. Ambrose couldn’t let them see his indulgence of a long soak when they were all working so hard to keep them warm, building shelters and finding food- particularly not when they were tasks that he’d assigned them. He had to set an example for his gathering of islanders. Luckily, there were few that would complain even without him as an altruistic model: Amaya, Emelyn and Cassidy were especially unlikely to complain about a little dirt and hard work. Even the one Ambrose would have considered the most likely to kick up a fuss- Vasile- had been silent and cooperative, not wanting to draw undue attention to himself after being forced into the camp… stark naked. After such a theatrical entrance, not even the coat of thin muck that covered his new fur could cause the silver fox to complain.
But really, Ambrose didn’t mind keeping busy. As long as he had something to do, it meant he wasn’t focusing on the turmoil that was his thoughts- that were all of their thoughts and fears and wondering what this lockout meant. To wake up in the wild, away from their duplexes and put in compromising positions- what was the purpose? Ambrose and the others had discussed it under the dark of night, in hushed tones around the fire or as they hunted for food- still afraid to turn it into an open-air conversation for the fear of the cameras, and of the ever-present, almost omniscient blanket of fear that Moreau had left upon them. They were a band of humans turned animals… struggling to find where they fit in, unsure whether the wild would accept them or cast them to the earth, bloodied and broken. Ambrose himself had only been half-wolf for a precious few months- the change still felt somewhat new to him- and there were others whose transformations were fresher. They were a band of collective misfits- two couples and Amaya- just trying to survive until the reasoning behind the lockout was clear.
Ambrose didn’t let his thoughts consume him that fated day- but rather, let a wordless tune fill his lips as he moved through the underbrush. He didn’t realize that he was heading toward the helipad- or that he would find something that would change his life- yet again.
His nose told him where he was before his eyes did- before he cleared the jungle to see the helipad and its all-too familiar carnage. It was a stench of charring- of metal and leather and plastic all melted together to form an acrid abomination to the eyes and the nose. Ambrose had seen it before- the crumpled remains of a helicopter, coupled with what seemed to be two bodies in the interior- burnt beyond recognition- and he hadn’t meant to come so close to seeing it again. Once was enough to leave the memory of it on his mind- forever.
Ambrose very nearly turned back, intent to deliver his load of tinder to the camp- which was quite a bit further down the river in a clearing- but a tell-tale sound caught his ear and caused the half-wolf to bound through the jungle to the helipad. …The sound of chopper blades.
The charred remains of the helicopter were still there- a sad pile of destruction that had given Amaya such pain to see- its blades still akimbo and blackened. Ambrose knew that they had not been the source of the whirring. …Not when there was a whole, unharmed helicopter merely fifteen feet away from the carnage- and a familiar figure in the cockpit.
Ambrose’s eyes went wide- if James was alive, and his copter was in tact- who- and what- was that colossal mess? Ambrose’s mind raced, desperate to understand what was going on- but he hadn’t much time for musing. James… was taking off.
“Wait! No, stop! Please stop!” Ambrose waved his arms, abandoning the wood in his arms. It rolled onto the helipad and he practically leaped over it on his run to meet the metallic beast, to beg the man at its helm to keep it grounded.
“Please, James! Don’t go!” He must have been a sight- half a man, and half a wolf, arms waving recklessly in the air as he bounded towards salvation. It was even more of a sight that the helicopter seemed to respond, setting down upon the earth it had just eclipsed by nearly a foot, and the blades slowly spinning to a halt. Ambrose knew it couldn’t have been from his words- in the deafening roar, only his passion and desperation could be discerned in those waving arms and pleading expression. Or… perhaps James merely did not want those flailing arms to be picked off by the blades. Whatever the reason, the helicopter was silent, and Ambrose found himself panting at its edge.
“What… is going… on?” He begged, looking up into the cockpit where James sat- dark glasses covering his eyes and most of his expression. “And if you’re alright, whose… is that helicopter? Who is in it?”
James did not answer at first- looking instead at his watch, and then over his shoulder as if afraid to find someone lurking there. It was a good, solid moment before he trained his hidden eye to the expectant wolfman, and answered him in that deep, foreboding voice.
“I don’t have the time to explain it. I have to take off.”
“No, please. Just tell me- what’s going on here? We’ve been so confused for these weeks- we don’t know who are dead or alive.”
“Everyone is alive. Dr. Moreau and Lockheart are on the mainland. This is their… vacation.” The word was said with an almost deriding tone, chewed and mangled by James guttural intonations.
“Their vacation? Then… but… who is in the other copter? Where did it come from?”
In response, James pulled down his sunglasses, resting them on the bridge of his nose, and stared at the wolfman with those black eyes. For the longest while, Ambrose fancied that unwavering glare was his answer- but then, the deep voice followed.
“It’s all a ruse. A game. They’re not real bodies, and it’s a shell of a Blackhawk. This one is still functional- I just took the Doctors to the mainland- but they’ll be back in a few weeks… and this… is my last chance to leave this godforsaken hell hole forever. So good luck. You’re going to need it with these bastards.” It was the longest thing that Ambrose had ever heard James say- it was practically a soliloquy for the imposing pilot. But the fact that it was his self-proclaimed swansong sent a pulse of realization through Ambrose.
“You’re leaving? …Oh god, take us with you. Please- take us home.”
James pushed his glasses back up on his nose and turned back to the innumerable knobs and dials. “Sorry. No can do.”
Ambrose
planted both his furred hands on the opposite sides of the open door, as if his
will could keep the chopper from taking off again. “Please, you can do so much
good in just an instant. …Just give me a minute to run and go get them. I can be back in ten minutes- you can help us
get back to our families. …James,
please. I know you’re a good man.”
Ambrose pleaded, feeling no shame for his appeal. This was his life in his hands- his, and
those of the ones he’d become close to- the surrogate family that had made his
life bearable upon this
But James shook his head, and Ambrose knew his entreaty had fallen on unsympathetic ears.
“You don’t understand. This is the only chance I have to go. I had to come check back in after dropping off the doctors- and I was already scheduled to have left again. I stayed too long. Had some…things, to attend to.”
“Ten minutes, James. Ten. You can make the difference in so many lives with just ten minutes.”
“Damn it,” James cursed- not loudly or angrily, as might Jamal- but rather, his expletive was a silky extension of his regular language- a punctuation that grabbed attention and explained his mindset in a succinct package. “Ten minutes could mean being caught- and then no one would be free. Besides- how many people do you think I can fit in this chopper? Not half as many as you’re probably thinking to save. Do you want to be the one to tell them that you’re playing God?”
“But… Amaya… Emelyn…” his words caught in his throat, and only then did he realize the decision he was about to make.
“No. Now. Or never.”
In that moment, a war was being raged in Ambrose as he stopped to realize the decision he was making- the gravity of whether to take the chance- the once in a lifetime chance- and go, heading towards freedom at last… or to stay and try to find some other way off the island- or perhaps even stop trying to escape, and try to make this place his home. He knew that taking the chance meant not being able to say goodbye- and worse, it meant ‘jumping ship’- leaving the others behind. Cassidy, Vasile, Amaya- countless others that he’d become close to, developed irrevocable bonds with- they would all continue to transform, caught beneath the thumb of a madman. And what of the well-known rumor that anyone who did not receive their full complement of injections would contract cancer? Ambrose didn’t know much about gene splicing- or any of the other science behind Moreau’s miraculous monstrosities- but he did know that the human body could only take so much tampering. Who could possibly presume to know the contents of those serums- beyond the heartache and loss, wrapped about strands of animal DNA? What sort of bolsters would need to exist to support such a drastic mutation of the very building blocks of life- and in so short a time? Ambrose did not know- but in that moment, he had a vision- clear as day… yet as foreboding and dark as a nightmare. He saw himself leaving the island, hiding from Moreau and Feral Labs… but unable to run from the true pursuer. He saw his cells cry out once his current dose of serum ran out- a cry of war. Kill the usurper cells, multiply, grow and feast upon this unfamiliar DNA: we shall not be the host to this animal virus. And one by one, a million upon a million, Ambrose imagined those cells going to war- dying… and multiplying to satisfy the feast and casualties of war until there would be nothing left to save. Ambrose didn’t know if the rumors were true- but the thought alone was enough to cause him to step back and drop his hands from the chopper to his sides. He couldn’t leave. Not without saying goodbye- and not when it meant being the only one to face salvation. How could he live with himself, getting in that helicopter and lifting off from the earth- perhaps even seeing his camp as they soared into the air and left it all behind… without being able to say goodbye to Cassidy, or Emelyn…
Emelyn. The name resonated in his mind- but where a picture of the brunette woman should have appeared… instead, the visage of a similarly featured one traipsed into his memory. Brown hair, blue eyes fringed by a mess of black eyelashes- a warm, loving smile and keen survival instincts and knowledge of the world behind it all. It was Angelina- the image that was forever in his possession: pristine, beautiful- and lost forever, gone the way of the rest of his life and freedom. It was that sudden burst of a memory that coiled itself around the wolfman’s consciousness, squeezing the life out of his fears of cancer- silencing, at least for now, his guilt of leaving the others. He knew he would give up everything- just to see her again.
“Are you coming or not?”
Ambrose looked up at the black pilot- but where words should have come, all he had to answer was a nod- and a hurried leap as he jumped into the back of the metallic beast. He could feel his heart thumping against his chest, and gripped the seat beneath him with two shaking hands.
“Get comfortable. It’s a long ride before the stopover!”
Ambrose only nodded, even though he’d not heard the end of the sentence at the start of the engine’s roar. The rest of the ride would be that way- a sort of eerie silence created by the deafening din of the blades. It was somewhat appropriate, Ambrose thought- that such a paradox existed- silence caused by noise… when his own heart was providing him with a paradox of his own at that very moment. As he watched the island grow smaller beneath them- and then behind as James pulled out over the docile sea- he wondered how it could be that, in one moment- he was the most miserable- and the happiest- he had ever been…
* * *
“James, I
can’t do this. Please, can’t you just take me into
The substantial man shook his head, dark glasses still in place as he pulled a bag from beside his seat and hauled it down to the earth.
“No can do. This is where I’m expected to drop this chopper off. If I deviate from my flight plan the Airways contact my supervisor to let them know that I’ve either violated my airspace or that I’ve gone missing, and would they like to organize a search party now…” he thumped a second bag to the pavement. It fell like it was filled with rocks “…Or later.” He picked up both bags and looked at Ambrose. “Suffice it to say… if I don’t park this thing here, you and I would have more of a chance of escaping by doggy paddling off the island. …No offense.”
“None taken,” Ambrose said- an automatic response to the phrase. It’s possible that someone could have called the well-heeled New Englander a rat-faced moron, and as long as it’d had ‘no offense’ tacked to the end, there would be a good chance Ambrose would respond the same before thinking to possibly be offended.
James nodded, hefting the two bags up into position and walking towards the building that was attached to the helipad. Ambrose could see people waiting in the interior- through the glass doors that James had practically reached in six or seven steps. He cried out from where he still teetered on the edge of the chopper- as if he didn’t dare to step down onto the pavement.
“James! …What am I supposed to do? You can’t leave me here- what if people see me?”
For a moment, Ambrose thought the man would continue to walk, ignoring the pleas of the wolfman behind him. He even came close enough to the automatic doors that they slid open, waiting silently for their Ali Baba to press through his wordless ‘open sesame’. But at the last moment, James turned, and over his shoulder he huffed a deep, resounding laugh.
“It’s
* * *
It was not
easy for Ambrose to take James advice and walk out into the bulk of the
city. Every person he passed, he winced,
trying to hide his face or duck into an alley.
He kept waiting for someone to scream- for terror to ensue, and to have
to run down a crowded
Ambrose didn’t know exactly where
he was going- for although he’d been to New York a few times in his youth- once
to compete in the Long Island Fencing Tournament with a few other members of
his elite team- there was positively too much for the half-wolf, half-man to
take in, and hope to reconcile where he was… with the memories of where he had
been- and where he needed to go. To a
normal person, New York is an overwhelming place- innumerable blocks comprised
of sky-high buildings, constant congestion in the streets, the sights, the
vendors, walking down the hot pavement while people press in at you at all
sides- it can overpower the senses and leave a man drunk with all the
assimilated information. But to Ambrose-
whose senses were keener than any mans, the city was a hodgepodge of minutiae-
one good, intent sniff and he could tell you how many people had walked down a
sidewalk in the past ten minutes- what was the frightening ‘mystery meat’ in
that hotdog vendor’s wares- or what color eyes the jaguar pin being worn by the
woman across the street had. It was
intense- making Ambrose realize how much his life really had changed. Living on
the island where the changes had been relatively gradual, and the sights and
smells were all familiar- he hadn’t realized how much of normalcy he’d truly
said goodbye to along with half of his human DNA. On an island of fellow misfits, it was hard
to feel like you were out of place for the sake of being able to see better
than ever before, or smell, or to live with the hunger of a wolf… when everyone
around you was experiencing changes of their own. It was the humans among them-
those temporarily unscathed new islanders that always seemed the most out of
place there, on the
But all the thoughts about the island only pushed his guilt to the surface- and reminded him that he would never see any of them again. They would not know what had happened to him, he knew- and there would be many who would worry about him. For all he knew, those at his camp had already begun to miss him- wondering why their unofficial leader had not returned with the tinder to stoke the fire. He imagined a search party being formed, his friends and island compatriots combing the jungle and looking up at the shut-down lab… wondering if he was inside, and redoubling their efforts to try to break in and see if they could rescue their friend. It filled Ambrose to the brim with a seething sense of remorse, and he hoped that they could one day find it in their hearts to forgive him for what he’d done. If he could- he knew he would do anything to help them, to save them from that island terror. But at that moment, Ambrose knew he wasn’t in any position to help them- not when he lacked even the means to help himself.
After hours of wandering- a subway
sign reminded him that there was a way home- almost directly so. Grand
The former two- were still out of his reach after several blocks of wandering- for despite the fear he had that police or cronies from the Labs would descend upon him at any moment, and the feeling he had that time was of the essence- he couldn’t bring himself to ask for directions… and certainly not to beg for money. It wouldn’t have mattered, anyway- were the wolf to have hunkered down on the side of a building like so many homeless he passed, imitating their hunched shoulders and forlorn posture, his face a slacken surrender to the unpleasantness of life- he still would have been unable to give off the same aura of despair and apathy that sat with them as surely did the stale smell of alcohol and dirt that permeated their personages. Even as dirty as he was, Ambrose Maurlias carried himself with pride- a sort of upright, unquestioning posture given to him only somewhat by a birthright of wealth. The true poise of the man came from three sources: his fencing training- that true core of balance that only an athlete possesses… from the wolfen grace that he had been bestowed with- that same natural instinct that helped him glide silent through a forest while on a hunt… and finally, what kept Ambrose walking tall- was a sort of personal peace he’d almost never been given he opportunity to achieve. He himself did not realize the sort of difference- not tied in with those of the animal nature- that had come upon him since his arrival on the island, of a sort of independence and freedom that came, even in captivity. On the island, he was an important person- one that others looked to, cared for, even …loved. No one in his life had ever truly felt that way about him before- except, of course, for the one soul that drew him ever nearer- away from the fears of his choice, and away from the guilt of having left the others behind. Angelina.
Although he was closer to her now than he had been for the past five months, Ambrose knew how far away he still was- and that standing on the hot pavement, afraid and hungry- would do him no good. He looked about, hoping to find something that he could eat- something to silence the hunger that was only beginning to creep upon him. What he found instead- was much better than food. Hal Offren’s Costume Emporium- only two buildings down. Ambrose grinned- a strange look for his wolfish face- and darted into the tiny establishment.
It can be said of so many places that their exteriors do not accurately represent the true size of their interiors- and so it could also be said about the Costume Emporium. …It was even smaller inside. Ambrose felt like ducking as soon as the bell jingled behind him to signal a customer had entered the Costume Emporium’s domain. The low ceilings had been made to seem even more closed in with the addition of streamers and signs that hung down- advertising things like a two-for-one special on Gorilla suits- or offering free dry cleaning to repeat customers. The entire place looked as if it had been put together by a Hobbit addicted to speed: colorful banners and signs and masks hung from every corner of the tiny hole in the wall- racks upon racks of costumes had been assembled, seemingly haphazardly placed and, in the corner, the tour de force: a skeleton arranged to be sitting up in a chair, decked out with Groucho Marx glasses, an Abe Lincoln stovetop hat, and what appeared to be a very old, slightly yellowed Easter bunny suit on from the neck down, only missing the bunny hands. A sign sat in its lap which seemed to be equally as ancient (if not as yellowed) as the skeleton’s furry body: “If Hal can’t get it for you, It Doesn’t Exist.” One of its bony hands had been arranged around the sign- as if to remind customers what happened to those who tried to find such nihilistic costumes as did not exist beyond Hal’s domain. Ambrose couldn’t help but let out a chuckle despite himself.
“Ah, I see you found Freddy.” Ambrose turned to place the source of the voice- a thin man, mousy haired man behind the counter who hadn’t been there, moments before. Ambrose’s keen eyes saw a blue curtain behind him rustle- and realized the must have come in from the back when the bell had signaled Ambrose’s arrival. “Welcome to the Costume Emporium.”
“Um… thanks.” Ambrose tried to turn his head away and disappear into the racks. When there had been no one at the counter, he’d half-imagined his conscience would allow him to slip into the mountains of costumes, find something that could cover his blatantly inhuman features- and slip out again before anyone could realize that he’d committed a very unwilling- but necessary- misdemeanor. But with someone’s eyes upon him- Ambrose simply didn’t have the heart- or the criminal mind- to continue his plan of thievery. He tried to turn and leave directly.
“Whoa, hold on there, buddy.”
Ambrose stopped cold, turning his head away from the man.
“…You didn’t think I was going to let you get away without telling me where you got that awesome costume, were you? I mean, rock on, man. That’s the best fursuit I’ve ever seen.”
Ambrose returned to face the mousy-haired man- realizing that he couldn’t be more than a year or two older than he was. “…Fursuit?”
To his continued surprise, the man winked and nodded. “Oh yeah. I gotcha. Your… fur. It’s beautiful.”
“Um… thank you?”
“No problem, man. Say, you wouldn’t want to part with any of your… parts, would you? I’d be happy to do a trade-in.”
Ambrose shook his head, thinking that he was missing something. “I don’t think I can part with any of them, sorry.”
“S’alright man, s’alright. I understand. Besides, I don’t think I’d have anything quite up to snuff with what you’ve got going on. Nothing you’d be interested in.”
Ambrose tried to keep his ears from perking up- he could have nothing that would indicate that his features weren’t part of some elaborate costume but rather, his own flesh and blood extensions.
“Actually, you might have something I’m looking for. I just need something to… cover up, a little.”
“We have a wide selection of masks in the back.”
Ambrose shook his head- somewhat fearful of the idea that such a jam-packed shop had a ‘back’ to speak of. “No, actually, something more along the lines of covering up- well, the tail and the ears.”
The man nodded. “Ah. Gotcha. Incognito. Gotta stave off the haters. Hold on, I think I’ve got something you’ll be interested in.”
He hopped over the low counter- not bothering to walk around the side, for where the opening should have been, a stack of Victorian dresses had been unceremoniously dropped, instead- creating a dusty pile of whalebone and eye hooks lost amidst cheap fabric. The man- who Ambrose assumed was Hal- went directly to a rack near the crowded window and pulled a garment out, then, without hesitation, leaned back to another rack and pulled two hangers from it, tugging their garments free from the tangle. Ambrose might have thought that there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the organization of the racks- but obviously Hal knew exactly where everything was, for he’d wasted no time in finding what he’d been looking for- and held them out to Ambrose, one by one.
“This one is just your typical doom cloak- sort of your typical dungeon master, dark mage sort of apparel. Not too fancy, but it gets the job done. I used to have this in velvet, but someone bought that last week.” He held it out for Ambrose to take- but the wolfman put his hands up and shook his head.
“No, I think that may end up being more conspicuous than the fur.”
“Righty-o…” Hal said, tossing the garment behind the counter without any indication that he’d been offended by the rebuff of his costume. “So I guess the musketeer wear is out, as well, then?” He held up a cheap imitation of a musketeer top, emblazoned with the blue and white cross- complete with matching hat that hung from the hanger as droopy as the feather that had been inappropriately stuck in its brim.
“Pretty much.”
“Yeah. Well, too bad, anyway- that hat would have covered the ears up, too. Oh well.” As Hal sent that garment soaring as well, Ambrose couldn’t help but smile- remembering his Halloween costume of the same nature- and wondering how different he might look in the same apparel, now that he had undergone his second transformation. Then, the smile froze in wonder- as he realized that he need never think on it as his ‘second transformation’ again. Now, he would have only a first…and a last.
His inner dialogue must have put a strange expression on the wolfman’s face, for as Hal held up the third garment- a long grey trench coat with a matching wide-brim hat, he clicked his tongue and said, “This one no good, either?”
Ambrose shook himself out of the realization. “No, no- actually, it’s perfect. I could even turn up the collar to hide even more. It’s just that… well… I can’t actually pay for it.” His eyes were apologetic. “I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to make you have to go to the trouble.”
Hal shrugged and smiled. Ambrose was beginning to wonder if anything fazed the man.
“No trouble at all. It’s not often I get to talk to a fellow furry.” Hal stepped forward and handed the hanger to Ambrose, his easy smile still in place- a crescent moon beneath a long, bumped nose. “Here, just take it- on the house. And if you ever go to AnthroCon, just look for a big black ferret with white claws and green eyes. Going by the name Lenzcar.”
“I.. I will. Thank you.”
“I might be with a big Pegasus girl- but don’t let that keep you from coming up and saying hi. She’s the nicest winged horse you’ll ever meet.” With that, Hal chuckled- his Adam’s apple jostling up and down as his mirth bubbled to the surface. It was all so absurd that Ambrose couldn’t help but laugh as well. They were a strange sight- man and half-man, standing amidst a mountain of apparel for people who wanted to pretend to be something other than themselves, bonding over a fake fursuit.
“Well, really- thank you. This will make it so much easier for me.” Ambrose took the hanger from the coat and handed it back to Hal, who tossed it as carelessly as he’d flung the two abandoned outfits while Ambrose donned the coat.
“Don’t mention it.” The hanger clattered in the back. “Where are you headed, anyway?”
“Home. …If I can ever find a way to get there.”
“Hm,” Hal said, an appreciative murmur, “Far away?”
“Not really,” Ambrose said, affixing the hat to cover his ears and noting how strange sounds were once they’d been muffled by the thick felt. “Just… I don’t have any money on me, and I have to take a train there- but I don’t even know where Grand Central Station is.”
Hal had started to walk back to his counter- on the way, giving ‘Freddy’ an appreciative tap on the chin. He got to the other side the same way he’d come- with a neat little leap over the surface.
“I’m sorry about your money situation. Too bad a costume can’t get you train fare, or I’d be happy to help. I can give you directions to the station, though. No worries about that. …Isn’t there anyone you can call who can help you out, buy your ticket for you? They can do it online these days, y’know. Have it waiting for you at the desk.”
“I don’t know,” Ambrose said, honestly, “I don’t think there’s anyone I can call.”
“Not even your parents? No friends? Anyone have a little extra stashed away to get an old buddy home?”
The idea of calling his parents- even after all this time, still gave Ambrose an uncomfortable chill. And as for friends- he couldn’t think of a one that he could call for help. But it was something else that Hal had said- not about getting an ‘old buddy home’- but rather, that there had to be someone about with some extra cash who could help him- that set Ambrose’s mind in a flutter of realization of what had to be done.
“I think I know of someone. …Those directions would be great, thanks. And… do you have a phone?”
* * *
The train
ride was less than pleasant. All the way, Ambrose had to keep himself low in
the seat, his collar up high, and his nose turned away from the other passengers.
Even with these precautions, however, (and perhaps especially with them), he
still painted quite a picture of oddity aboard the late train, and he received
several nervous stares from the people around him. Luckily, there were few that
hour who were trying to escape the city to head for
He recreated the phone conversation he’d had with Dreu all the way home- not only to hear his brother’s voice again- but also to try to garner some understanding from his words… why he would have sent the ticket so readily. Was he truly glad to hear the voice of his long-lost little brother, and wanted to speed him on his way home: or was there something behind those easy words, those ‘how’vya/where’vya been’s’? Ambrose didn’t delude himself into believing that everything between him and the eldest Maurlias brother was ideal- he knew that what had happened with Dreu and Angelina intricately involved him- at least in the way that Dreu still held resentment towards Ambrose for taking Angelina’s side- and for aiding her in marring his ‘perfect’ image. It didn’t surprise Ambrose that there had not been a hint of hostility in Dreu’s voice over the phone- nor a lick of hesitation when Ambrose said he needed a train ticket- his brother had never been one to exact his revenge in an obvious manner. He was the sort to plot- to seethe- and one day decide to uncover your secrets or shame you bare in front of the people you cared about. Even when they were very young, Dreu would not push or yell at his little brother when the eager little blonde child would annoy him- but instead, he’d smile that winning smile and tell Ambrose that their mother’s favorite flowers were peonies and- if he loved her at all- he’d draw her as many peonies as she could ever look at… right on the walls. The Maurlias household had never been a comforting one for Ambrose- not since the very moment he was born, second best, second loved.
These thoughts preyed on his mind as he watched the scenery roll by- and they did not cease when the train stopped at its numerous stations as they crossed what over into what any true native would consider to be ‘New England’- which was anything west or north of the state of New York. He did not even give himself peace as the train pulled into his stop- and the only thing that kept him from chewing on those same elusive wonderments as he stepped out onto the platform- was the sight of two figures- anxiously awaiting the return… of the not-so-prodigal son.
Ambrose’s heart ran cold, as if his blood had somehow been peppered with antifreeze at the sight of Ambrosia and Andreu Maurlias. The two were not an inherently frightening sight- not that high-class, well-heeled pair done up in fine attire and standing as if the world revolved around their station. It was only that they were there that filled Ambrose with a sort of unapproachable despair- for he realized at last the price of accepting Dreu’s help- this sort of lukewarm betrayal that would end up being a greater payback than Dreu could have ever imagined. …Hadn’t Ambrose specifically asked his brother not to tell his parents that he had returned? He would tell them on his own time, he said, after he’d settled a few things, gotten back on his feet. (And, not that he would mention this to the elder Maurlias- but he wanted to have the opportunity to see if his choice to leave the island was indeed fatal… or whether the effects of the serum were reversible before deciding to approach his parents.) Ambrose realized that he should have known better than to trust his older brother- a sudden vision of peonies erupted in his mind, a flower forever soured by such a childhood taint- but, despite it all, a certain flush of warmth crept in to warm Ambrose’s frightened heart. It had been months- even more so than those that he’d been trapped on the island- that he’d seen his parents- and no matter what argument had nearly torn them apart nearly a half a year before, they were still his parents, and he loved them- and missed them.
It was that love- that unconditional love- that walked Ambrose forward on the platform- the same love that, for the moment, did not let him think of the fur on his face or the tail that was hidden beneath his coat. The features on those faces were so familiar to him- so comforting, despite it all. He had the same eyes as his father- same masculine features, yet set somewhat gentler than that chisel-jawed man. In his mother, the willowy Ambrosia, he saw more of the set of his face- his long, aristocratic nose and high cheekbones- the delicate arch of golden brows. She was a beautiful, if not sanguine woman- her icy pearls seemed to be the warmest thing on her. And yet, this was his mother, and an aching need to wrap his arms around her came over Ambrose- to cling to her and let her protect him. In those moments, it did no matter that she had never done so in the past- that, even as a child, there had been a sort of ‘distance of propriety’ between all the members of his family. All that mattered was that this was, in some ways, the soul of a child- the child that had never been allowed to truly exist and act the way a child does- in the body of a half man, half wolf.
“Mother… Father…” Ambrose began, coming close to them. The looks on their faces- were indescribable, and Ambrose knew in that moment that everything was alright- that although he did not know what they would say, and he was anxious- it was the sort of anxiety one has right before they’re about to win an award: they’re all a flutter- but it’s only for good things, for that sweet smack of anticipation that precedes something wonderful.
But Ambrose’s smack was not sweet. It was not even bittersweet. Only fearful and angry.
“What in God’s green earth are you? Stand away. Get away from us.” The words, filled with disgust- had been the blow. Neither Maurlias had reached out to touch their son- indeed, they moved back, shuffling in expensive shoes along the platform. Ambrose shook his head hurriedly, anxious to convince them of who he was.
“No, it’s me, Ambrose. I know I look different. Something’s happened to me. Please, let me explain.”
His mother had a deathgrip on his father’s arm, and seemed to squeeze it tighter with every word from Ambrose’s mouth. How, Ambrose thought, could she not recognize my voice? I’m her own son. He didn’t understand how she could look at him with such fear- her face had gone white and her fingers were gripped around Andreu’s arm so tightly the man tried to pull away, jerking at his elbow but failing to free himself from those fingers that shuddered as they made a vice around his sleeve.
“Andreu… get the stationmaster.” It was hardly more than a harsh whisper- but of course Ambrose heard it- and marveled at how she could keep her voice down at a time like this- more afraid of causing a scene than at the possibility of facing down a dangerous creature. The bulk of the population, were they faced with a situation in which the ‘new’ thing could potentially maim or otherwise dissemble them- would err on the side of caution and, propriety be damned, make quick for the hills. To the Maurlias’, however, there were worse things than death.
“Mother,
you don’t have to get anyone. It’s Ambrose. Don’t you recognize my voice?”
“Our son is dead,” Andreu
hissed, “And you are a monster.”
“I’m not dead! Feral Labs lied to you!” He came closer. “It’s really me. Please believe me. I’m not a monster. They changed me- they injected me with…”
“Not another word!” Finally, a bellow from one of the pair. Andreu Maurlias let out a great yell, waving his free arm- the end fisted- at the furred, muzzled creature that came nearer to him. “This is a sick joke, and I’m not going to stand for it. I don’t know who or what you are- but you’re nothing. Nothing! You’re not my son.”
“Father… how could I sound like me, even know about Feral Labs if it wasn’t me? Dreu sent you here. I called him. Please… it’s me. I’m not dead.” it was a last, desperate plea as tears formed in Ambrose’s eyes.
“I would rather Ambrose be dead than this. Get out. Get away from us!”
He didn’t turn to his mother to repeat his plea. She had buried her face in her husband’s shoulder, trying to erase the image of the sharp-toothed half-man. It was well enough, anyway- she wouldn’t see her husband lash out at the creature that was in fact her son- or see him place a well-aimed kick at Ambrose’s knee. She would only hear the scuffle- and the half-bark of pain as Ambrose’s leg buckled and he fell to the station floor. She certainly wouldn’t see as the man she married placed another kick in the stomach of her son, or realize that the cry of pain had come from her own flesh and blood. She would hear, however, the growling snarl, and the frightened cry of her husband as Ambrose crawled back to his feet and, suddenly overcome by a wolfen need to protect himself- snapped with sharp teeth and claws near the patriarch of the Maurlias family. That was Ambrosia’s cue to faint, and to nearly drag Andreu down with her.
“Ambrosia!” Even as he cried out, his father worked to disconnect her grip and free himself from sharing her descent. She lay, prone on the floor- drawing even more of a crowd- all wondering what on earth was occurring between these three strange people.
“Get out of here, you abomination!” His father quaked, his very personage rattling with a mixture of fear and anger. Ambrose cowered- ashamed of his automatic reaction to growl, to bare his teeth and to frighten away the threat. He saw something in his father’s eyes- a recognition, of sorts- but it was overpowered by that thick fear and loathing… it was palpable, and the scent of his emotions was clear. He was hated in this form- and even if they could recognize that he was their son- which, in all possibility they did- they would not accept him. It was the final destination on a long road of memories in which his family had scorned him- and it deepened the hole of loneliness in Ambrose by an immeasurable amount.
In his emotional state, Ambrose was overcome- plus, with his aching leg and stomach, he became the less willful of the two entities that coexisted in his mind and in his very genetic makeup. The human had been scorned- tossed aside, kicked to the ground by the very parents that were supposed to love and accept him no matter what fate might do to him. So the wolf took over. It tipped Ambrose’s head back, and issued a mournful howl that sang up past the sky- a beautiful, haunting sound that calmed Ambrose- and, he knew, would have calmed his friends on the island to hear something so familiar and comforting- something that spoke to their personal strength. But here- as he tipped back his head, his grey felt hat fell to the earth, and he was exposed as what he was- half man… half wolf, baying to a moon that had not yet come out to play. The sound did not comfort the assembled crowd- but rather, put them into panic. Some screamed, the rest just stood, slack-jawed and petrified at the sight of the ‘werewolf’. One man ran to his truck to get his rifle. Luckily, by the time he returned, Ambrose was gone- having been run off by some of the braver members of the crowd who came at him with swinging fists and furious cries of ‘Freak!’ or ‘Monster!’. With his blood riled, the man still took his rifle and let off an air shot once he’d returned to the platform. Ambrose, as he bounded off through the side-streets, heard the warning shot and ran faster- away from the mob, away from the noise… and away from the family that had never truly known him. Now, it seems- they never would.
So he made
his way to the only place that he still hoped held some acceptance- towards the
face that had brought him this far, already.
Ambrose winnowed through the back alleys and any route he could think of
that would get him into the heart of
* * *
It had been a long day for Angelina. First, her boss had thrown up a fuss about something that had gone wrong with the cash register- dragging her into his joke of an office and giving her a ‘talking-to’. It was absurd- he knew perfectly well that she didn’t have anything to do with cash outs- and to blame her for an imbalance in the till was too likened to accusing her of being a thief for her tastes. So she’d yelled back- and the two had gotten into a screaming match- large, badly suited and balding against young, punkish and beautiful. The latter had won the battle, but unfortunately large and ugly had won the war- Angelina would need to find a new job if she could hope to still make ends meet.
The apartment alone was stretching her budget. Even as the landlord offered to give her a cheaper place across town in one of her other apartment buildings, Angelina knew that she wasn’t willing to pay the emotional rent for a move. She had shared this apartment with the one person who had ever truly mattered in her life- and after his disappearance (for she refused to call it a ‘death’, as those lying sacks from Feral Labs said), she held out hope that he’d someway find his way home- that he’d appear on her door one day, ragged and alone but so happy to see her, and she’d bound into his arms and kiss him all over and then- only then… would she find someplace new to live. But until then, the memory of her best friend- her soulmate- tied her to this one-bedroom, one-bath hole in the wall- faults and all. Once, she’d hated the way that you had to run the water in the bathroom if you didn’t want everyone in the main rooms to hear what you were up to- now, every time she closed the door she had to remind herself that she was the only one there… and she hated that more. The crack on the ceiling where water damage still seeped through from the Mackenzie’s old place upstairs used to be a damn hassle. After Ambrose left, though, she would pots out on the linoleum and sat on the counter, sitting on one leg and hanging the other over the edge- watching drops come through the ceiling and fall with a ‘plink’ to the pot beneath. She likened the crack to a profile of Johnny Depp, now- called the crack ‘Captain’ and found she didn’t mind it so much, anymore. There was little else to fill her nights but such strange comforts. It kept her from worrying.
That night after her unceremonious sacking, she took comfort from nothing, however- not the crack in her ceiling or the fact that there was a pint of generic chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream waiting in the freezer. She didn’t even worry- not about Ambrose or about the rent- just stalked about and fumed about her pig-headed ex-boss, and about the rotten deal that she’d been handed yet again. Ambrose was far from her mind as she banged through the kitchen, kicking at the water-catching pot and opening and closing the refrigerator door with a clout. She stalked from the bedroom and back- not a long pacing route- and only came back into the main area when there was a knock at her door.
A force of nature herself, Angelina stormed from the bedroom into the living area- rounding its brownish red couch and stomping down on the beige-grey carpeting with angry feet. Were she not otherwise occupied with her frustration, she may have stopped to realize with her wry sense of humor that everything in cheap apartments seemed to an unwritten law that it had to be an ‘iffy’ color… the sort of in-between that is nearly impossible to categorize with a single, stark name. The couch was not brown, and it wasn’t quite red, either. It was brown-red… and the carpet- that sickly combination of light and din- was beige-grey if it was anything. (Other than ugly, that is.)
But Angelina’s mind was far from the color of her apartment as she made a beeline for the door. She tossed a section of her straight brown hair away from her face, out of her blue eyes that raged with emotion, yet still betrayed her vulnerability- underneath it all. She was an independent, forward-thinking woman who was unafraid to do what she needed to survive… a beautiful, talented creature who had overcome a dark past… but truly, she was still this marvelous person- in a crappy apartment in downtown Amherst, fired from her job and living alone, without the benefit of the one person in her life who had ever loved her. Yes, there was vulnerability there- and fear. But she would be damned if it would show through- and so, added another veneer of inapproachability to her tough-skinned exterior.
“Mrs. Carlson, now is really not a good time to be trying to get the rent early.” Angelina opened the door, ready to send the landlord packing- only to find that she was hit with a wave of indescribable emotions.
“Angelina… it’s me.”
It was him. His voice- the set of those features, the way her heart caught in her throat- it was him. And yet- the fur, the teeth, those ears, the ferocious changes- it wasn’t him. All in an instant, Angelina wanted to leap into his arms and play out the track she’d had running in her mind for all these months- to kiss him all over and tell him never to leave her again. But a stronger, baser instinct took over. Fear. This couldn’t be Ambrose- couldn’t be him, no matter what her senses told her. And she backed away, trying to close the door- as if she could shut her fear in, make him vanish if he was beyond her sight.
Ambrose caught the door with a clawed hand, and pushed his weight into it to keep it from closing.
“Angie, please...”
But she’d caught sight of the clawed hand and she backed up, her eyes wide with fear and confusion. Ambrose counted his blessings that at least she hadn’t screamed- but still, he couldn’t purge from his mind the unbidden image of villagers descending upon him with pitchforks and torches. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting from Angelina in those first moments- but a fear gripped him that she’d not be able to see it was him, either.
He did not try to advance upon her any further- just closed the door behind him to keep the neighbors from getting snoopy- and stood as far away from her as he could, up against the door. Only after he took this stance did he realize what it must seem like- the monster closing her in, and now barring her only means of escape. He shook his head.
“It really is me, Angie. It’s Ambrose. I can prove it to you- please, just believe me.”
It was his voice again, and the shock of it caused Angelina to disregard where she was going, and she tripped over the arm of the couch. Her balance had been immediately compromised- and, with a squeal, she capsized back over the arm.
“Angelina!” He rushed forward, forgetting himself, intent to catch her or at least see if she was alright. She was laying on the couch, her knees still up over the arm, her legs dangling on the other side- stunned by the sudden reversal of her gravity so that when she looked up at Ambrose she did not seem shocked or surprised- but only for an instant. Then she scrambled to sit up, away from the ever-so poignant features on his face. Ambrose sunk to his knees, desolate. If she would not accept him- then there truly was no place for him on this world. It would mean that Moreau had taken away from him everything in his life, and replaced it with a sham- a mockery of a life, cleverly spun into the image of a beast.
“Oh…” he exhaled, feeling defeated and lost. “Angie, don’t tell me I’ve lost you, too.”
The pause was ominous, as he stared down at that beige-grey carpet- until finally, a clear voice cut through the deadly silence.
“Lost me? Ambrose, I’m not the one who disappeared for all those months. Where have you been… and… for god’s sake, please tell me what’s happened to you.” They were shaky words- her fear was not completely assuaged, Ambrose knew- but just the sound of his name, and the tones of her voice- gave him a joy unheralded by the angels. He tried to explain- realizing that the words were coming out in one long, tangled ramble- but so anxious to tell her everything, to have her understand and to be with her again that he didn’t care what the words seemed like.
“I’ve been
on the
“Test subjects?” Angelina was still on the opposite end of the couch- but she didn’t hold back from him- and she hadn’t moved any farther away.
“Yes. For DNA-splicing experiments. We were all injected with animal DNA, some sort of serum that made us change, mixed us, somehow. This…” he held out a furred arm, as if to demonstrate, “is what having wolf DNA will do to you.”
“…A wolf? And we? Who is we? There are more of you?”
“Dozens, at this point. All being transformed into a different sort of animal. Oh, Angelina- I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you. There’s been no chance for escape- the island is impenetrable, Moreau is so powerful.”
“Moreau…” Angelina’s eyes went wide, and she remembered the packet of materials that was sitting on her dresser. “He’s the head of Feral Labs, isn’t he? Those lying pieces of…” Her voice trailed off, taut fingers to her lips as she thought. “Then I was closer than I thought.”
“What… what are you talking about?” Ambrose asked.
“The Labs! The Feral Lab Corporation. They told me that you were dead, you’d been lost at sea, no remains to be had. You’ve got a plot out in the cemetery- a headstone- but nothing buried. …Your parents had a funeral.” She didn’t add that they hadn’t invited her.
“But how do you know about the Labs?”
“You disappeared! Here one day, gone the next- then I get some phone call saying you’ve been lost at sea, and I’m supposed to accept that? I had to find out for myself, I had to do some digging. …I thought you were dead, Ambrose.” Then, as if the gravity of her words had finally struck her- she said them again, this time, with a sudden wash of tears in her eyes. “I thought you were dead.”
“Oh, Angie…” he didn’t hesitate in going to her, in wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. He expected for her to resist- to cry out and move away from him- or at least to hesitate in the presence of that furred embrace. But she just held on tight, burying her head into his chest and letting everything that had been going wrong with her life for the past five months sink away, feeling only the perfection and the love that was enveloped- here, in his arms.
“Don’t ever leave me again,” she said, her voice muffled by the emotion it contained.
“I never will.” He promised, hoping that he would be able to keep it as he smoothed down her hair- a gentle motion that was not intended to be one of the functions of his clawed hand. He didn’t tell her that the Feral Labs Corporation was everywhere- that, based off what the other islanders had told him about how they’d been brought to the Shores of Hell, Moreau and his minions must have branches and spies all over the United States- perhaps even all over the world. He didn’t even tell her that he might have set in motion the events that would lead to his death- that in leaving the island and his serum regimen behind, there was the very real possibility that cancer would engulf his body. There were many things he knew had to be said, explained- among them, what his life had been like on the island- an apology for very nearly falling in love again- and for starting to move on with his life. There would be time for it all later. For now, only this wordless embrace- a true force to the power of their love- that even through the distance, and the time and the changes that they’d undergone- they could still pull at each other, connect like motherless children searching for somewhere to belong. She was his family-and he hers. And Ambrose could have stayed that way forever, holding her close- if it weren’t for the sudden screech of tires that assailed his sensitive ears.
They perked up, veritable summits that crept up the sides of his head. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” Angelina was focused on his ears- half-fascinated that they’d moved the way they had.
“Tires. Outside- someone just pulled into the parking lot. …In a hurry.”
“Oh, it’s probably just some drunk guy trying to get home. It’s nothing. …Ambrose?” Her voice asked the question why he’d gotten up- left her- to go to the window. She did not see what he could, down to the parking lot- but her eyes did get a feast of tail where it hung, and she sat in wonder over what the human body could endure.
What Ambrose saw, however- was no testament to the human body, or to the strength of his character to bear his wolf-like features. Instead, his canine eyes saw through the dark to distinguish a black van pulled to the side of the building in a hurry- its wheels askance and its doors flung open. It was empty- but what truly filled Ambrose with a dead sense of fear- was the mark on the side. The profile of a single blue wolf- and the initials FL.
Before he had a chance to warn Angelina, to tell her to run, save herself, hide- a cacophony of feet came powering down the hallway. They smashed into the door and began to tear at its wood, pound it down with an almost animalistic force. Angelina jumped from the couch and sailed into Ambrose’s arms.
“What is it? What’s happening?” She cried, already too confused from the day’s surprises to try and make sense through the terrifying noise.
“…They’ve found me.”
Then, he looked down at the woman in his arms- in a way, so delicate- and still strong… white, clear skin and human features that looked up at him with a mixture of love and fear… and a new, terrible thought gripped Ambrose as the door started to come down.
“They’ve found… us.”