THE PACK
By Grand High Idol
IV.
"…You're joking."
"I'm dead serious, Bloo." Mac flopped down on his bed, looking up at the ceiling for awhile, before turning his attention back to his best friend, who lay on the bed beside him. Heaving a deep breath, he continued. "Terrence was attacked by a wild animal out in the woods. And then, to make matters worse, Mom yells at him and makes a comparison to me, so now he's probably just as angry with me as he is with Mom." He groaned and covered his eyes. "Just great. Wedgie City, here I come."
"Man, that oaf just doesn't know when to quit, does he?" Bloo replied, crossing his arms; Mac sighed and pulled his pillow over his head. "Look, Mac, if I were you I wouldn't put up with this crap. I'd go into his room and give him the punishment he so richly deserves."
"No, Bloo," Mac muffled through the pillow. He sat up and threw the item off of his head, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "I need to deal with this in a civilized manner, and if that means confronting Terrence head on…" He swallowed nervously. "Well…so be it."
Bloo reached out an arm, attempting to stop him, but it was then he realized that Mac's mind was made up. Instead, he demanded, "Let me come with you."
Mac gently slapped his arm away. "No, Bloo." He heaved a deep breath and jumped down from the bed. "This is something I have to deal with myself. Besides, could you imagine the reaction he'd have if he saw that you were with me?"
"Good point." Bloo flopped back down on the bed. "I don't really approve of it, but, good point." He rolled his eyes. "The lunkhead would probably squeal, anyway."
Mac shot a suggestive glance at his imaginary friend, but did not say anything more. Heaving in a deep breath, he stepped over the threshold of his bedroom and began to walk down the hallway to where Terrence's supposedly was.
Mac found Terrence in his room, stretched out on the bed and listening to a Metallica CD. He was cringing a little from the pain in his back, but other than that he appeared indifferent to what had just happened earlier. Peeking over the threshold, and deciding that it would be best to leave him alone until the thing passed over—especially what his mom had said earlier—he slowly departed from the room.
"He'll be better in the morning," the little boy told himself, as he slowly trudged back to the room where he and Bloo were sleeping. "He has to."
As Mac walked off, Terrence continued to remain sprawled out on the bed, listening to the metal guitars pound through his head. Heaving a deep sigh, he arched his back slightly, and then turned over onto his stomach, resting his head atop his folded arms, continuing to hear the words that were being spoken to him through song, as he slowly drifted off:
"Come crawling faster…
Obey your Master…
Your life burns faster
Obey your Master…
Master…"
…
Master…
A strong sensation of cold suddenly overtook him. Trembling, he wrapped his arms around himself, finding that he was clad only in his jeans—no shirt, no overjacket, no shoes. His breath left his nose and mouth in visible clouds of steam, the snow underneath his feet so cold, so unbearably cold…
We are the one.
A strong heat suddenly overtook his body—not a feverish heat, but a strong heat, as if a fire had just been rekindled inside him. He reared his head up to face the scene that lay in front of him, a peaceful woodland; trees spread out as far as the eye could see, the snow falling in light, fluffy flakes, the sky a pale gray hue. A long howl echoed in the distance as he stood in the middle of the clearing, letting the flakes fall upon his face, the heat from his body melting them instantly.
We are the only.
From out of the clearing came a group of wolves, some black, some gray, some red—but all of them large, almost the height of a man, and much more muscular than the average wolf would seem. Their eyes held a look of calm, of welcoming. Slowly, he began to tread forward, the hard snow crunching under him, as he approached the wolf in the center—a bright red one, streaks of orange gracing its fur. It looked at him with its gentle green eyes, and lowered its head soundly.
We have been since the beginning of time, since Man walked the Earth
He approached the orange-red creature and slowly reached up his hand, running his fingers through the creature's soft, snow-covered fur before looking directly into its eyes. Its soft nose nuzzled against his neck softly, its green eyes filled with lust. Gently, it placed a large paw on his shoulder.
We do not mean harm, but harm will only come out of our endless Desires. Love…
The other wolves formed a circle around the two, sitting down and waiting patiently, their blue eyes blazing, their ears pricked to attention. He and the red wolf stood in the center, gazing into each others' eyes, and all of a sudden he could feel a sudden attraction. But this wolf was not Rusty, and could never be him; nonetheless, he reached a hand toward the wolf anyway, their faces dangerously close to one another…
Lust…
Suddenly the wolf bore a human body, though its head still remained animal. A scientific impossibility, but he didn't seem to notice. Bringing their faces close, his arms wrapped around the creature's neck, the creature's paws on his shoulders, they brought their lips together and kissed openly, passionately, fiercely…he felt blood trickle down his chin as the wolf bit his tongue, but he didn't care.
…Pain.
Blood began dribbling from both their mouths now, as if they were ripping each others' tongues to shreds rather than playfully nipping them. The wolf made a low groaning noise, one of pleasure, and it drew him closer.
We will last forever.
Finally, they broke apart, blood trickling down from both of their chins and dripping onto the snow, staining it red. The other wolves in the circle tilted their heads upward and gave a long, low howl, as if he had completed some sort of test, an initiation of sorts. But how could that be true?
He lowered himself to all fours, hands now braced against the cold snow. The red wolf lowered down next to him, and looked at him, right in the eyes again…and was that a playful smile on its face? He couldn't tell, it was so snowy, and he felt so faint, so woozy…
For we are the Pack.
The wolves began to run, together, heading deeper into the forest. He followed them, feeling the cold wind against his face, and for the first time in years…
…He was happy.
"Wha?...OW!"
Terrence was jolted awake from his slumber, in such a way that he fell off of the bed, landing hard on his back. The cuts and scratches from earlier were still new and flared up, prolonging the pain and making it even worse for him. He grimaced, his fingers curling, a cold sweat dripping down his face, and the music of "Leper Messiah" blazing in his ears. Growling, he yanked off the headphones.
"Son of a bitch!" he cursed, then slowly got to his feet, rubbing his sore back. He could feel the gouges from where the beast had attacked him, that damn animal…he didn't know what had provoked it, but he was glad that it was dead. Now if only the same thing could happen to his mother and his stupid little brother…
Shaking his head, Terrence took the time to remember the things he had seen and experienced in his dream…and suddenly felt immensely hot. Not just normally hot, being that it was summer, but hot on the inside as well as on the outside. Not really thinking about it, he hung his tongue out to one side, panting like a dog, tugging at his shirt collar as he looked out the window; peculiar that even though it was nighttime, the temperatures had risen so high. He shook his head.
Heaving a sigh of frustration, he stood up, letting his overjacket slip off of his shoulders and fall to the floor. The heat inside of him grew, and he moaned and removed his black T-shirt, as well.
The red wolf
He didn't know what exactly was going on, but he was feeling wonderful. Flopping down on his back into the bed, his hands traveled down to his jeans, and in an instant he had unbuttoned them, revealing his boxers.
Openly, passionately, fiercely
Terrence shimmied the boxers down just a bit, then drew his hand down into his crotch area, feeling, exploring. His back arched and he gave a sensual moan of pleasure as he felt this area; he didn't even know why he was doing it, but it felt just great…!
Love, lust, pain
Eventually the pleasure inside of him built up, and, lifting his head, he let out a loud howl of pleasure—not at all remotely human; an animal howl, a wolf-like howl that rattled the bones of the empty, quiet nighttime town.
Not even the dogs answered.
"No, Bloo!"
"But Maaaaaaacccc—"
"No, Bloo!" The little boy's words were firm as he pulled on his T-shirt. "For the last time, you cannot come down to breakfast with me! Mom's going to be down there and if I haven't said it already, if she sees you, she'll freak!"
"But Maaaaac, I'm hunnnngrrrrrryyy!" Bloo whined, holding his stomach as an added visual. Mac heaved a sigh of frustration.
"Look," he said, folding his arms, "I'll bring you something back when I'm done eating, okay? Then we can go start the day together. How does that sound?"
Bloo was silent for a moment, then finally shrugged as a response. "Eh, beats nothing."
Mac sighed and rolled his eyes, then started out the door and down toward the steps. He was halfway when something rushed past him, and he gave a cry of surprise, almost stumbling backward (but catching himself on the balcony ledge just in time). Narrowing his eyes, he looked over to see Terrence…but surprisingly, Terrence did not appear to be in a bad mood. In fact, he was smiling playfully as he spoke:
"Race ya, bro!"
Mac blinked in confusion, but Terrence had already accepted his unsaid answer as a "yes" and was bounding for the stairs. "Last one down kisses horse-ass!"
"Uh…" Was all the little boy could manage to get out of his mouth, but he decided to go along with whatever game his older sibling was playing. Removing himself from the balcony ledge, he began to race for the stairs alongside Terrence—who raged ahead of him as easily as if he had been a tortoise. Mac could only watch in amazement as his older brother cleared the steps in one bound, landing gracefully feet-first, then turning and running for the kitchen.
"Guess I kiss…oh, whatever," Mac murmured to himself as he started down the steps. Although he couldn't help but wonder. "I've never seen Terrence so active before…or so playful. It's like he's an entirely different person this morning."
Coming down the last step, he turned and headed for the kitchen. Terrence was already in there (naturally) going through the refrigerator, while his mother was at the stove, making scrambled eggs by the smell of it. Licking his lips, the little boy pushed a chair over to the table and hopped up, seating himself comfortably.
"Wow, Mom, those eggs smell really good," he commented, sniffing the air. "Be sure to make mine with extra butter!"
"Thank you, honey." The boys' mother removed the frying pan from the stove and wiped her hands off on the apron she was wearing. "It's so wonderful to finally cook meals for a change. I'm so glad that we took this vacation, despite the…well, minor technicalities that have occurred." She drew her gaze over toward Terrence. "Terrence, we still have to have those injuries looked at today. I don't want them to become infected."
"Whatever." Terrence was still focused on digging through the fridge, muttering to himself. "Gross…gross…ugh, gross…here we are." He slammed the fridge door shut, a package of bacon—raw bacon—in one hand…and stuffing it into his mouth like a ravenous animal. Mac's mouth opened slightly in disgust, while his mother's reaction was more…amplified.
"Terrence Kraigen!" she shrieked; Terrence's head rose like a rabbit interrupted from its meal. She snatched the package away from him. "Take that out of your mouth at once! You're going to get sicker than you already are!"
Terrence swallowed what was left of the meat and snarled at her, through clenched teeth—an almost animal-like growl, Mac thought to himself. He saw his older sibling narrow his eyes at their mother, fists clenched.
"And what is that supposed to mean?" he challenged, arching his back.
The boys' mother seemed taken aback. "Terrence, honey, I didn't mean it like that. What I meant was—"
"I don't care!" The raven-haired boy approached the screen door that led out to the woods and thrust it open, turning his head to look at them. "I don't need your petty lectures and I don't need your friggin' doctor. What I need is to be away from YOU!"
"Terrence—" Their mother began, but was interrupted by the teen slamming the door—harder than usual. The screen inside the frame rattled violently, and several glasses fell from a nearby shelf, landing with muffled crashes into the sink. Mac paused from eating to look at his mother, who now had her fists clenched; she then sighed and reached back to remove her apron.
"That boy is impossible sometimes," she huffed to herself. "Mac, honey, why don't you go out and play? It's a nice day, and I need some time alone."
Mac nodded, then took another bite of his eggs. "Okay, Mom." He looked down at his plate, then over at the package of bacon at the table. Suddenly not very hungry, he picked up his plate and jumped down from the chair. "Mom, can I take these eggs up to my room? I'll finish them later."
"Fine, fine, just go." Mac walked out of the kitchen in time to see his mother bent over the sink, her head in one hand.
Terrence sat alone on a barstool inside the diner, his head in one hand as he thought. Several times the waitress had bustled up and asked him if he had wanted anything, and, hungry as he was, he had declined the offer. All he really wanted to do now was sulk in his own misery, away from his mother, away from his little brother…
Away from that cabin where memories of him and his father lurked around every corner.
Sighing, he buried his head in his arms, waiting for the annoying twit to come around again and offer him a drink or whatever else was on the "breakfast special" today. Eventually she did come around again, and he raised his head up, but this time, instead of declining the offer, another voice spoke up from behind him:
"Yeah, we'll take two shakes, please. Extra-thick."
The waitress smiled, showing off a thick coat of lip-gloss that seemed to shimmer even in the dim lights of the diner. "Right away," she replied, scurrying off to the kitchen. Confused, Terrence raised his head and swung his stool around.
"Oh, Gary. Hi." His melancholy gaze returned, and he swung back around, placing his head in one hand. Gary took up a seat next to him and then reached out to touch the raven-haired teen's free hand.
"Hey, Terr, what's going on?" he asked. "You're not yourself today. Didn't you enjoy the concert?"
"Did I enjoy the concert." Terrence let out a mirthless chuckle before swinging to face Gary. "Did I enjoy the concert?! I was fucking attacked by a fucking wild animal out there! And you're asking me if I enjoyed the fucking concert?!"
Gary was taken aback. "Hey, hey, hey, calm down," he exclaimed, holding up his hands in a defensive gesture. "I was just asking you what was wrong, that's all." He sighed and brushed a lock of red hair from his face. "I'm guessing that you already told me what was wrong, huh?"
Terrence sighed. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? It's just that—well, my mom is being hard on me again, and I'm still not used to being up here at this place. She didn't even seem to care when I was attacked. All she said was that I should've been home before dark or it never would've happened, why can't you be more like your brother, blah blah blah." He propped his elbows on the table. "It's days like this that I wish Dad were still alive. He wouldn't have said anything like that."
"Well, I…" Gary stopped, then heaved a deep breath before continuing. "Listen, I know that you're not feeling at your best right now, but me and the guys were planning on going down to the old baseball diamond to watch the kids play, maybe have some fun ourselves. I was hoping that…y'know, you could join us." He blushed a little, thanking God that Terrence couldn't see it under the dim lights. "We would really like it if you'd come with us." His eyes locked on Terrence's, and he gently took one of the teen's hands in his. "Really."
Terrence couldn't help but blush a little in return, and he finally managed a weak smile. "I guess I could go," he replied. "I mean, it's not like I have anything better to do with my time today…"
"Great." Gary smiled, then leaned over the counter and cupped one hand around his mouth. "Yo, waitress! Are you making shakes back there, or are you making love? Cause I'm really fucking thirsty here!"
"I cannot believe that you talked me into this," Bloo muttered as he and Mac walked onto the field. "Playing baseball with the other kids? What gave you this great idea?"
"Aw, c'mon, Bloo, it'll be fun," Mac replied optimistically, throwing up the baseball he had brought with him to catch it in his glove. "We can't spend the entire summer alone. Who knows, maybe some of the kids here have imaginary friends, too."
Bloo eyed Mac skeptically, then squinted out toward the field, which was already crowded with a group of kids around Mac's age—but nothing more. He turned to look back at his best friend. "Really? 'Cause I certainly don't see any imaginaries out there."
Mac sighed. "Then just try to enjoy the game, okay? No one likes a poor sport, you know."
Bloo opened his mouth to say something, but shook his head and closed it instead, keeping his gaze dead ahead at the field, which grew ever closer. The two friends could now see several kids standing in a circle around one big kid—who appeared to be filling in for coaching duty. He was giving orders left and right, assigning positions, but stopped all activity when the two finally approached the circle. The other children, confused by the sudden halt of their coach's speech, turned their heads to look at the two. Mac smiled and waved.
"Hi!" he proclaimed. "My name is Mac, and this is my friend Bloo." He gestured toward the blob, who muttered a mumbled "hi" in response before folding his arms over his chest. "We were wondering if we could join in on your game today."
Several of the kids snickered, and the leader raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Is that…thing you have with you an imaginary friend?"
Mac frowned. "Yes, he's my best friend, too. Why?"
There was more snickering, and the leader finally couldn't help chortling himself. "Dude, no one plays with imaginary friends anymore," he said. "Only little babies do." He stepped forward and looked the little boy directly in the eyes. "Are you a little baby, then?"
Mac's face flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and anger, but he did not want to give in to the kid's obvious pleasure in seeing him squirm. "Well, if Bloo's still here, I guess I am, then, aren't I?"
There were several more chuckles from the crowd, then the leader, still snickering, finally stood back up. "Okay, little baby," he said, making an intentional emphasis on those last biting words, "You can join our game. But you have to play left field."
Mac sighed. "Fair enough," he stated. "Just tell me which team I'm on and I'll do my best." He then looked toward Bloo, who appeared to be waiting patiently for a response. "Oh!" Mac looked back toward the bully of a coach. "What about Bloo? What's his job?"
"Well, that's the thing," the leader replied, trying in vain to surpass a giggle. "Our lead pitcher is just a tad too short for some of our batters. We need a pitcher's mound…"
"There you are!" Paul exclaimed as Gary and Terrence finally arrived near the bleachers. "You're just in time! The game's about to begin." He focused his attention back on the little playing field in front of them.
Terrence's eyes trailed to the playing field, as well. It was nice, very professional-looking, even—it even had its own catcher's fence and benches. The kids were just getting into position, ready for the first unofficial inning—but what was that blue thing where the pitcher's mound should have been? One of those artificial rubber boosters, maybe? The lead pitcher was pretty short…
"Terrence!" Gary called, snapping him out of his reverie. The teen turned around in time to see Gary sitting on the topmost seat of the bleachers, beckoning him to come up. "Come on! The view is great from up here!"
Rolling his eyes, Terrence approached the bleachers, then climbed over the others to the topmost seat, where Gary was waiting. Smiling, the redhead put an arm around his shoulder in a quick hug before returning his attention to the playing field. "Little kids playing baseball," he said, probably thinking out loud. "Brings back a lot of memories, doesn't it?"
Terrence didn't answer, but nodded in response and, crossing his legs, eyed the field below. The lead kid—who was around his age, he assumed, but nowhere near the puberty-mess he had become—was shouting orders; he then walked around the batter and stood behind the catcher, eyeing the scene in front of him with utmost concentration.
"Okay!" he called, then waved, a signal for the game to begin. The pitcher stepped atop the blue mound—which almost seemed to shudder in protest—then wound up and threw the first pitch. The batter obviously had skill; before anyone knew what was going on the ball was careening toward left field, and the batter was running around the bases like a gazelle. The people on the other team were shouting out to left field, obviously miffed with whoever their left fielder was, the poor sap:
"Pick up the ball, you doofus!"
"Catch it! Catch it!"
"Don't just stand there like an idiot! Bring it back here!"
The child out in left field—who was so far away Terrence couldn't make out his features—finally found the ball in the waves of tall summer grass and was now running back toward the diamond, against the protests and shrieks of the other kids for him to just throw it to the third baseman before the batter made a clear home-stretch.
"Throw it! Throw it! Don't bring it here! Throw it, you ass!"
"Shit, those kids are mean," Theo finally proclaimed. She folded her arms, her eyes narrowing in disgust. "As if the poor kid really has a choice."
"Those are kids for ya," Rick replied, grinning almost deviously. "Always picking on the odd one out."
"Safe!" The catcher finally yelled, holding up both hands. "The score is now one to nothing, next batter up!"
"You idiot!" The teens heard one of the kids shout to the left fielder, whom had now come into a close-enough view to where they could make out his features. This set off something in Terrence, who was now climbing down the bleachers, a look of utmost anger set in his features. "You were this close to the third baseman! Why didn't you just throw the stupid ball?!"
"I—I'm sorry," Mac replied, hanging his head shamefully. "I tried, I really did, but the grass is so tall out there—"
"Who cares how tall the freakin' grass is!" the kid shouted in his face. "You had a clear chance and you totally blew it! Mark should've never agreed to have you play with us! You're one of the worst players we've ever had!"
Mac flushed angrily, his eyes closing tightly to keep back the tears, until a familiar voice cut through the kid's angry words like a dagger:
"It wasn't his fault, you little twit."
"Huh?" The kid looked up in time to see a teenager, around Mark's age with raven hair, standing about five feet away from them, eyes narrowed. Angrily, she began to spit back: "What did you just say to me?"
"I said, it wasn't his fault, you little twit." The teen's eyes narrowed further, and his posture seemed to change, a look that was telling whomever thought otherwise to bring it on. The girl's face flushed angrily, and she turned back to face Mac's direction, her face red.
"Brought some backup, you little baby?" she spat in his face. "Well, I don't care. In fact, let's see what your stupid friend thinks of this!"
Before Mac could say anything more he was shoved backward, the breath leaving his lungs as he hit the dust—hard. At that exact moment—from the moment the girl's hands shot out to push his little brother into the dust—something sparked in Terrence, something he could not explain, and with a furious roar of anger he shot forward, his focus fixated on nothing but the little bitch who had done his brother harm.
"Terrence!" he heard Gary calling from the bleachers. "Terrence, don't do it, man! Don't do it!"
But Gary's words were drowned out by the roar that was now in the teen's ears, and he drew ever closer, finally grabbing the screaming girl by both shoulders and tackling her to the ground. He kept her pinned, his eyes wild, his teeth bared, his fingernails digging deeply into her flesh…
He could smell her fear. He could hear it.
He could almost taste it.
Setting everything in the outside into the back of his mind, he opened his mouth and prepared to sink his teeth into her flesh…