Empathy
Chapter 1
by
NYC
Written to the song "You Say" by Vertial Horizon
Here in the light/it burns you up inside/here in the shell of a sun/we echo on
To much listening/not enough living And you say/what did I say/what did you
say/we just
go away/go away/go away
It helps you out/knowing I'm left out/locked in a box with a light/that won't shine
Turn it on and wait for/someone to come And you say
what did I say/what did you say/we just
go away/go away/go away
I'm here now/waiting/holding on to reasons/wasted/I faced it/watching you deny me
Here in the light/it burns you out sometimes/here in the shell of a sun/we echo on
And you say/what did I say/what did you say/we just
go away/go away/go away
The house was rather ordinary looking, athough it did have the kind of quiet that came with not being used for a long time. Even the air hung silent, waiting. The breezes of the outside did not rattle its shutters, nor did the regular creaks and moans that came with the settling of wood dare to echo down its halls.
There was nothing but the sound of her footprints.
Melody wasn't quite sure what she was doing here. Its empty appearance had attracted her from the outside, but now she was beginning to regret her decision to pass the night here. She had seen entirely too many movies about old haunted houses to not be wise to the fact that they all had the same general appearance. But that general appearance had consisted of high ceilings, large staircases, and long winding hallways lined with doors and rooms filled with old furniture covered with cobwebs. This place had none of those things. If it had gained a haunting, she thought ruefully, it must have been very recent, because the place was very tidy. The back door, from which she had entered, led in two directions--down a hall and up a back flight of stairs that was obviously a private exit. She decided to forego exploring the upstairs and went down the hall, which turned in a sharp 90 degree angle to lead down the main hall of the house. On one side was a kitchen that needed desperate redecorating, even though it was clean and quite useable, and a door leading to the basement stairs. A few feet farther along was the inevitable front staircase leading upstairs, and then the entrance to a fresh looking living room, perhaps the nicest place in the house. On the other side, it looked like offices, two small and one with two doors that stuck out a bit, obviously for someone important.
Melody looked at the two staircases and tried to decide which one would be wisest to explore first. She glanced down the basement stairs just to confirm her inclination not to take it, because she hated basements--even the basement in her own house had bothered her, in spite of its well-lit and well-furnished atmosphere. But just as she was about to look away, she noticed something that completely changed her mind.
A light was on.
It wasn't the hall light, but the light to another room, off to the left. It was a warm yellow light, friendly in this dank atmosphere.
"Hello?"
Her word of greeting echoed back to her. In a few seconds, she heard a shuffling.
"Probably a monster," she muttered to herself with a step back. She leaned against the door jamb and weighed her options.
The thought that it was completely stupid of her to go down those stairs and discover whatever was behind the source of the light and the noise did occur to her.
She remembered countless nights on her couch or in movie theaters when she told the main character not to be so stupid as to go investigate the "mysterious noise" herself, but instead to go get help. Well, she didn't want any help. She didn't wany anyone to know where she was. So that ruled out that option. She considered ignoring the noise completely and going upstairs, but then she realized that she could never have a moment's sanity in this house with the thought that there was a mysterious being in the basement and she didn't know what it was. If it was a monster, she would like to know about it. And she didn't believe in monsters anyway, so whatever it was, even if malicious in intent, it was less fearful, and thus less powerful, if she at least had some basic knowledge of its real idenity.
And then, of course, there was the ultimate reason she was here. She was running from devils far worse than any boogie man. Devils that lurked in her own mind, tormenting her with anxiety and guilt and dread. She was helpless to combat them, and at the same time helpless to end the battle by taking her own life. She had contemplated suicide but had dropped it because she wasn't all that sure about where she would end up on the other side if she murdered herself, and at least if she ran, which was the second option, there would be a chance of her redeeming herself, at least in her own eyes. So what did she have to fear from any monster? She knew what the real monsters were. They were herself. So let this thing try and take a crack at her. At least, one way or the other, she would be out of her misery.
With a determined step, Melody started down the steps. She looked toward the light, but realized that the shuffling, which had grown louder now, was not coming from the lighted room but from behind a door underneath the staircase, a bit off to the left. As she hit the thinly carpeted floor, Melody swung her weight on the ball of the banister and reversed her direction to head right for the door.
The weight of her swing--for she was not a light girl by any stretch of the imagination-- caused the staircase to creak loudly. Even snap. The noise was deafening in the closed basement and she paused for a moment, flinching.
That was when she heard the groan.
It sounded almost human.
Her stomach began to turn. Perhaps the devil she knew was much better than the devil she didn't. Perhaps she should just go back upstairs, maybe out the door and go running right into her old life, and let her paranoid delusions finally eat her alive. It was better than this--
No, she told herself, it isn't. It couldn't be better. At least she would feel the teeth as they closed around her. So she reached out for the door and gripped the handle, willing whatever was behind it to make its move and quickly.
The door was locked.
Melody made a frustrated noise and then reached behind into her backpack. She had bought the knife only that morning, believing in some childishly delusional way that she could use it to defend herself should she ever need to. The fact that she didn't know how to use a knife did occur to her, but it made her feel better, having it. The prospect of using it now in something usefull absolutely delighted her, and she pulled it from its hard leather sheath eagerly, anxious to pick her first lock.
Not really knowing how to do this, she slid it behind the metal place that protected the lock, feeling the wood, which had been ripped up and then covered up again, give way beneath the sharp, new blade. She pressed harded and hit something metal. It was the bolt that kept the door in place. She turned the knife a bit, thanking God she'd had the sense to get stainless steel, and began to wedge the knife in under the bolt.
The fact that she was a complete idiot for even trying this surfaced somewhere in the back of her head, but she ignored it. The delight of actually being able to pry open a lock was so overwhelming that when she did finally get the bolt to move, she almost forgot what to do with it. Regaining her senses, she pushed the bolt into the door, and pulled on the door handle.
It snapped open in her hand, as if absorbing air into a vaccum. The room beyond was dark, and slightly warm. She peered in, realizing that there was some light, she just had to wait for her eyes to adjust.
And then she saw a pair of eyes gleaming at her. They shimmered with the green-red irridescense of an animal staring into a light from the dark. They seemed to be at waist height, and for a moment Melody was sure that it was a dog who had been locked up.
It was silent, and it moved forward, coming out of the inky darkness and into the long streams of light that the room behind her was casting into the room. But as it slid its paw out where she could see it, Melody realized it was not a paw at all.
It was a hand.
The arm followed--long, lean, muscular. Perfectly built. The man lowered his head as he brought the rest of himself into the light, his dark hair hiding his face. He was wonderfully built, Melody realized, his arm being only the first part. He wore a dark pair of pants but no shirt, and his hair was thick and wiry, perhaps a bit too much on his arms, but only sprinkled across his chest.
He stood up, finally lifting his head to gaze at her. The beauty of that face, its gentle lines and smooth mouth, the deep set of the eyes that had now flashed from the strange animal-like quality to a huge puppy-dog brown, it was remarkable. Why anyone would want to keep such a being locked up in a basement was beyond her. As he looked at her, she felt pinned in place. Fear began to grow inside of her, distinct fear that he was sizing her up. Perhaps he thought she was one of the ones who had locked him down here. Then as she gazed at his hands, she realized that he had gained something she hadn't noticed before.
Claws.
They came right from between his knuckles, several inches long apiece, and there were three of them, gleaming white and seemingly razor sharp. They grew into place right before her very eyes, and he took one single step toward her, his eyes narowed, his expression hard, dangerous.
Fear waved over her and she felt dizzy. It seemed to only egg him on, and if she had been at all rational she would have realized that animals can always sense fear, and exploit that weakness to all the advantage possible. For her to show fear was the worst thing for her to do, because the very next thing he did was let loose a very low, gutteral growl from the depths of his chest.
The world around her turned blurry, and Melody was sure she was going to faint, but instead she saw her world turning around her and felt her feet begin a heavy pound up the stairs. She felt him following her, and pulled the basement door shut behind her only to hear the sickening sound of those claws tearing through the wood and putting the door out of his way. She ran down the hall toward the back door and made a sharp left turn into the kitchen, thinking she could get a knife or something to fight him off with, but as she scoured the counters and saw only a few small standard size steak knives in one drawer, he came up behind her and cornered her. She turned around, nearly falling over with terror, and landed on her backside on the floor, huddled against the lower cabinets. In the process of the fall, she dragged the drawer containing the kitchen knives out of its place and it tipped over, hitting the floor and spilling its insides.
He knelt down in front of her, one of his long arms on either side of her, pinning her in. She pulled as close to the cabinets as she could, shutting her eyes, unwilling to see if he had fangs as well. But instead, he leaned closer to her, his nose brushing her cheek, then drifting to touch her temple, from where her sweat had begun to drip in thin rivers down her skin. Then, to her utter shock, he followed the path with his tongue, the tip of it lapping up the moisture of her skin with the tenderness of a lover.
The gentle, feather-lightness of his touch was remarkable. His breath caressed her cheek, hot, but stale. She winced, trying to lean way from his inspection, but his arm blocked her path. She opened both eyes and saw him spread out around her, looked into his eyes, and saw something there she would never have imagined in a million years.
Lust. Pure, unadulterated, animal lust. A mixture of arousal and revulsion and defiance filled her. Maybe he'd been locked up in that room for too long and he just wanted the first female he could get, but she'd be damned before she'd let a half-animal like him ravish her in the corner of a kitchen. She slid her hand up and it brushed across one of the steak knives, which she pulled into a firm grip. Then, quickly, she brought it up and across his skin, leaving a line of blood in its wake. He snarled and pulled back in surprise, giving her just the leverage she needed to get her foot between them. She placed it against his chest and pushed, knocking him backwards and freeing herself. He roared his outrage, but she was on her feet and running again, this time toward the dining room. He was on her heels so fast, she was sure he had some supernatural speed. They way he had flipped up from being on his back to his hands and knees was like that of an attacking wolf.
She ran into the dining room, swinging out with one hand to push over the heavy table that sat there. It tipped, but she heard him smashing into it with his fists, turning it into kindling wood in seconds. She barely spared a glance behind her before rounding the corner and heading right back down the hallway again, toward the back door.
To her utter horror, he stepped out in front of her from the kitchen doorway, catching her in his arms. His limbs wrapped around her and locked her against his chest, and she found that in the effort of pushing him away she had only managed to get her arms wedged up between them, thus making them absolutely useless to defend herself with.
For a second, he just held her, as if expecting her to fight and being quite willing to wait until she was done, for all the good it was going to do her. He looked down at her, the feral rage gone, his eyes back in that intense, lustful stare he had on earlier. He lowered his face to hers, and she could hear him drawing air in through his nose. He was sniffing her. But not just that--he was drinking in her scent like it was some expensive or exotic cologue, or that of a rare flower. She stopped struggling, baffled by this attitude. Then, as she stared up into his face, confusion making her practically scowl, he lowered his head and kissed her.
For a moment, she was too stunned to even move. In fact, her whole body seemed to go limp, even as his mouth opened and pulled hers open with it. His tongue entered her, his lips and teeth bearing down on her upper lip, and she felt herself shudder, realizing that no one in the world had ever touched her like this, that she had never experienced a kiss of such raw passion. It was overwhelming, and she would have given into it right then and there if she hadn't felt something sharp graze the soft inside of her mouth, and then tasted the metallic flavor of her own blood.
He did have fangs.
She jerked back, and the surprise on his face was obvious, but fleeting. Instead, it closed into a scowl of frustration, and he released her only for the second it took for him to bend down and sling her over his shoulder.
Now Melody began her struggling in earnest. She kicked, she swatted at him with her hands, but he moved with purpose, oblivious to her unwillingness. He headed for the stairs and began to climb them, and in outrage Melody lifted her head to scream a protest but instead she slammed it against the low ceiling of the first floor as they went past it. The blow was so hard, she slumped against his back, clutching her skull and moaning in pain, and the world refused to come back into focus again until they reached the top and went through a doorway, then two. He uncerimoniously dumped her on the small, twin bed in the equally small bedroom, and then turned away to not only shut the outside door to the suite that they now occupied, but to the bedroom itself.
His drop hadn't been completely on target for the center of the bed, and Melody felt herself sliding against the dusty comforter that covered it. As she raised her head to get her bearings, she lost her balance and fell over onto the floor in an undignified lump. He came over to her, sliding one arm under her shoulders and pulling her to him, but not kissing her. The pain on her face must have given him pause, for he sat down beside her, using the other hand to caress her hair where the lump was starting to form. Realizing that he had no intention to ravish her in a cruel way, or else her injury would not have stopped him, Melody relaxed a bit. As her head cleared, reason began to surface in her again, and she pushed back her fear as she gazed at him and realizing that maybe if she tried talking to him, she might actually get somewhere. After all, if he had sense enough to find a bedroom and close both doors, there had to be human reasoning and rationality in there somewhere.
Underneath that thick, dark, wiry hair that spread down to his face, along his cheeks. Beneath those eyes that watched her patiently, curiously, and with the same desire as before. He cradled her in his arms for a few moments longer, and then, for the first time since she'd seen him, he spoke.
"Are you all right?"
His voice was husky, low, growling, and yet had a velvet quality to it that made her lose her train of thought. She blinked at him, realizing that he seemed to be making the first move, and nodded her head.
"Yes," she replied.
He gave her the barest hint of a smile, and then gripped her cheek to pull her in closer for another kiss. This one was gentle, his lips brushing hers softly and then more passionately, his teeth keeping far from her flesh, but his tongue pressing gently against the line of her mouth, seeking entrance.
Melody gave a little grunt of protest, but the next thing she knew, he had picked her up, one arm under her shoulders and the other under her knees, and he took her to the bed, laying her down before climbing on top of her, straddling her hips with his knees. Using his arms as leverage to hover over her, he deepened the kiss until Melody had no choice but to open her mouth. His tongue slid over hers and his hands went to her shirt, where they began tugging at her buttons.
Melody bucked against the intrusion and grabbed his hands, pushing them away. His reply was to twist his wrists around and sieze her hands and pin them on either side of her head. He then gripped one side of the shirt between his teeth and yanked it hard, effectively tearing away all the buttons and pulling it open all the way.
Real fear began to set in. He was going to take her whether she wanted to be taken or not. She glared up at him, and said with razor sharpness and scorn, "Don't you know how to take no for an answer?"
He cocked an eyebrow at her in reply. "If you were truly saying no. You may speak the word no," and he leaned closer to her, smelling her skin again, "but your body says otherwise."
It was at those words that revulsion began to fill her. She let it spread through her, killing all the exciting, arousing feelings he was creating. She shut her eyes and pulled the anger into her chest, letting those words and their implied meaning wash over her. No didn't mean no for him. No meant yes.
Those were the kind of men she hated most.
He was working at getting her bra open when he felt it. Or rather, smelled it. He looked down at her in time for her to open her eyes and glare at him defiantly, her courage finally worked up into a sense of ethical outrage. He frowned, then shook his head, and then as if a fog had lifted, his eyes widened and he recoiled from her in shock, pulling himself down to the foot of the bed, his knees against his chest, his hands in his hair, his expression all but screaming the words, "What am I doing?!"
For a moment, with his weight gone, Melody just let herself breathe. Then, she pulled her shirt closed and sat up, pulling her legs away from him. She chased away the sentiment of disappointment--after all, it was in a backhanded sense rather flattering to have a specimen as handsome as this one literally panting all over you--and regarded him carefully. It seemed that the animal part had finally retreated and the man whose form he took was starting to appear.
He looked at her, sincere regret and repentance in his eyes.
"Are...are you okay?"
His voice was shaking, all the arrogant confidence of earlier gone. The wolf had deserted him, and now he was all trembling human being. She felt sincere compassion for him, but didn't dare reach out and touch him.
"I'm fine," she replied. "But I'm a bit...confused."
He gave a strangled chuckle. "Only a bit?" His voice was hoarse, low, gutteral. Like it hardly had any tone to it at all. He dared another glance at her again, and frowned. "How did you get here?"
"I came in through the door."
This puzzled him. "How? I mean, didn't anyone try and stop you?"
She shook her head. "The house was empty. Except for you."
He looked away from her, his gaze going to the small open window. Those lupine eyes turned from puzzlement to anger and then to seething bitterness and contempt. "So they left me here," he muttered. "How long...how long were you down there?" He shook his head, lowering it so his chin nearly touched his chest. "I don't know. As long as I can remember." He looked around, as if he had never seen the room before. He looked to be as confused with himself as with everything else. He looked at her, his eyes begging her affections and yet too proud to hold that gaze.
"And what do you remember?" Melody whispered.
He shrugged. "Pain. Being locked up in the dark. Everyone being afraid to touch me." His face contorted, as if the shock of his cruel captivity were finally beginning to hit him. "Everyone being afraid of me or hating me. Or both."
His shoulders slumped, but his face did not crumble into tears. Instead, it held onto his hard, proud, determined expression, and the lines of his face held rock still, unwilling to even twitch. Unable to resist it any longer, Melody extended a hand to him, and his eyes darted to it as if they were hungry. She hesitated, then gently, slowly, she placed it on his shoulder.
He shut his eyes, taking in a breath with the contact. In a moment of fear, she almost pulled away, but he sensed it.
"Please don't," he whispered, and it seemed to tear from him, as if against his will. So she kept her hand there, letting her fingers settle against his skin, realizing how warm it was, how smooth, even with the dark wiry hair spotting across it. She moved just a little closer to him, allowing her hand to slide across his shoulder and up the hard chords of his neck to his cheek, her fingers spreading into his hair where it was thick at the nape of his neck. He sighed, leaning into the touch, until her hand was against his cheek, her palm cupping the line of his face, her thumb resting just below his eye.
He raised up his hand and pressed it over hers, holding her there as he shifted just slightly, touching the side of his nose to the heel of her thumb, taking in the scent. The shifting of the fine hairs against her skin was like caressing silk, and she moved closer to him, completely touched by the tenderness of the moment. For a long minute, she didn't speak, didn't even dare breathe, for fear of spoiling it. The pain on his face, mingled with the pleasure the sensation of her touch gave him made the air catch in her throat, nearly bringing her to tears.
He had to be extremely scent oriented to be putting this much importance on it, but after spending God-knew-how-long in the dark, she would probably become very scent-sensitive, too. She was about to ask him what he was, when the door opened. He opened his eyes, and they were fixed on the intruders with the sort of weary hatred that came from long years of imprisonment and continuous disruption of privacy. He did not release her hand, and she didn't have the heart to yank it away. The men on the other side of the door were silent, barking no orders, simply leveling their weapons on him--three of them, all aimed at vital parts of his anatomy--and paitently waiting for him to fall in line. Then one of them stepped to the side, and a fourth man entered the room. He looked exactly like the lupine man before her, only lacking any wolfish qualities, except for a distinctly evil air about his head, like lingering gaseous fumes. His hair was thinner, his skin paler, his frame slightly smaller, and his expression much less genuine. He regarded the two on the bed as if they were rats in a cage, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if he were considering asking them to continue their private moment for his observation.
Finally, her hand was released, but not before he brought it to his lips for a tender yet brief kiss. Then he stood up, his head lowered before the other man, who Melody realized was wearing a white coat, like a doctor or a scientist.
"Glad to see we can do this peacefully," the other one said, taking a syringe out of his pocket. His voice was rich, arrogant, having none of the gutteral, hoarse tones of the first, but yet it gave Melody the creeps. "No need for that," the wolf-like one said, yet he did not withhold his arm for the injection. The second one seemed to regard him for a minute, then injected him anyway. He stepped aside, and the first man moved forward to allow the guards to surround him and lead him away. The second man shut the door in their wake, leaving Melody very much alone with him.
* * * * *
"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice cold, like a doctor questioning the symptoms of a disease.
"The door was open, I came in," she said, her voice guarded as she clutched at the button- less shirt.
He gave her a mocking half-smile. "How simple. Like goldilocks and the three bears. Well, looks like the baby bear found you. Or should I say, the baby wolf."
She shook her head. "Your silly allusions are wasted on me," she said dully. "I have no idea who he was, or who you are, or what's going on here. So maybe I'd just better leave." She stood up, but he did not move away from the door.
"You're not leaving," he said softly. He regarded her cooly again, but there was something in his eyes..."He likes you, you know."
Melody scowled. "Who? Who is he? Who are you?"
The man laughed. "If I tell you, I really couldn't let you leave."
"If you don't tell me, can I go?"
He chuckled again. "Smart girl. But no, you're stuck here anyway, so you may as well be able to address me by my proper title. I'm Dr. Andrew Logan." He paused, his eyes holding hers. "You?"
She remained expressionless. She considered lying, but didn't dare. "Melody," she said.
He nodded. "You like him, don't you, Melody?"
Contempt for this man rose in her. "Dr. Logan, what do you want with me? If you're afraid I'm going to spill some big secret, don't worry."
He shook his head. "Stupid girl, you're not listening. Do you know what that creature is?" His eyes lit up, the brown depths turning a burning gold with excitement. "No one in the world would dare to touch him the way you touched him. He would never let anyone touch him so we finally had to isolate him. But this behavior is something I haven't seen in months."
It was her turn to shake her head. "You're nuts. I haven't a clue--" He took a single step forward and clamped his hands down on her shoulders, forcing her to sit down on the bed. "Then be quiet," he whispered in her ear, his voice omnious. "And you will learn."
Melody felt her earlier fear return, this time with no chance of fading.
"I am a doctor of science. My favorite subject has always been humanity, its many complex emotions, its traits, its potential and capabilities. But no one has ever allowed experiments on human beings, and even the research gleened from the death camps of Nazi Germany is mocked and scorned as the fruits of abominable cruelty." He shrugged and waved his hand. "I prefer to see things in a more indifferent, passionless light."
"So you experiment on human beings," she said softly.
He shrugged again, sighing. "Ah, yes, the mad scientist. We've been given a bad name by those such as you've seen in all those extremely bad horror movies and Nathanial Hawthorne short stories. Although the end of The Birthmark always brought a tear of happiness to my eye." He regarded her carefully. "Until recently, however, I came to some startling conclusions. It seems that as humans, we have been rather gyped in the order of the universe. Animals all have superior speed, superior senses, and many of our kind have become envious of their oblivious way of walking through life. Of course, the philosopher's argument is that one can't care what happens to one if one does not have a soul to save." He sighed. "But that's a discussion for another time."
She shook her head. "I don't understand why you're telling me this," she said, feeling like a broken record. "I mean, it's so cliche. The bad guy spills his evil plan right before he kills the hero? Well, forget it, I'm not interested."
"Oh, I think you are," he said, his grin turning wicked. "I saw you with my latest creation. I saw your reaction. You like him. He likes you."
She snorted. "He has a funny way of showing it. He attacked me--" "Unfortunately, the deprivation of contact does have some odd affects on the male gender," the doctor sighed. "His reaction was simply like that of a starving man." She nodded. "Yes. Not personal. I get that."
He looked at her knowingly. "Do I detect a bit of bitterness in your voice?"
Silence was her answer. Gingerly, he seated himself on the bed, a few feet away from her, still looking at her like she was one of his experiments. "You're going to stay here. I want to know if the reactions I saw were simply caused by his captivity or if he truly has feelings for you. And if you think that someone will find you here, you are very wrong," he said before she could even breathe a word of protest.
"I managed to find this place," she cut in before he could continue. "Someone else will, too."
He gave her a very dramatic roll of the eyes. "My dear," he said, "the only reason you found this place is because I led you here. I saw the whole experiment. I saw you coming up the street. We abandoned the house and made it look deserted because we knew the power of suggestion would draw you in. Why else would you have found the door unlocked? Or been able to pick the lock to the cage so easily? This entire house is just one giant lab-rat maze. And now, you are its new occupant." He stood up, thrusting his hands in his pockets, turning his back to her outraged look. "There will be food provided. There will be guards stationed outside, although they'll be camoflaged so that no one from the outside will see them. They won't interfere, no matter what happens. And I have video cameras in every wall of every room. I shall be watching at all times." He glanced at her over his shoulder. "But don't worry, I'll be by every evening to question you. And I do suggest you cooperate, or else I can make your stay here very unpleasant."
He was about to go, but she realized that she did have a question. "Wait," she called, and he paused, turning to her coolly. "What is he?" she whispered.
The doctor's cruel smile returned. "He is what you would refer to in traditional mythology a wolf man, but in more modern terms, he's what you'd call a mutant." His tone was cold, factual. "He's developed quite remarkably. I cloned him from my own cells--a breakthrough in modern science that the public has yet to learn, but they will, eventually. I used lupine DNA as well, and the result has been quite remarkable. He's only a four years old and already he has reached full growth, like any wolf would have. At first glance, he has maintained a largely human appearance, but you haven't seen him in close up detail." The doctor gave a slight grunt. "Precisely why," he added, "so many have a hard time with him. He is an abomination, but he is my abomination. And I shall complete the work I have begun."
"So what is that?" she challenged, standing, still clutching her shirt tightly closed. "You began to tell me, but your insane plan of keeping me here obviously overrode your senses. What do you want to do with him?"
"I want to prove something," the doctor said. "What, exactly, I haven't decided. Maybe its that the blending of humans and animals would make us superior rather than inferior. Or maybe I just seek to find a way to produce human beings for my experiments without violating any truly human rights." He gave a casual shrug.
"Whatever happens, I shall gain something valuable."
"And what about him?" she muttered, her consciousness barely holding off the utter contempt she felt for this man before her. "What will he gain?"
"The pleasure of serving me," was the reply. As he left the room, she heard the clicking of a lock, and Melody changed her opinion about her belief in monsters in this world.
* * * * *
They did not leave right away. Apparently, there was too much to prepare if they were going to leave her for several days, all alone with the wolf creature. She didn't like to think of him as that. In fact, she was desperate to give him a name, make him more real to her so that she wouldn't turn into one of the robots who just looked like human beings and wind up treating him with the same indifferent contempt as they did. She observed her watch carefully over the next half hour, before the doors finally snapped open. It was a shock when it happened, for no one was outside the door. Obviously, it had been done mechanically, from a distance. Apparently, they were finished with their business inside the house, and were content to step back and let the petrie dish fester.
Melody poked her head out of the bedroom to the tiny foyer, then out of the outside door that led into the hallway.
Silence.
She felt a grumbling in her gut and realized that she was hungry. It lasted a few moments--she didn't remember eating that day, or the day before for that matter. She'd run out of money just that morning, spending her last dollar on a McDonalds Egg McMuffin. Good thing they were on sale or else she wouldn't have even gotten that. If they were all gone, she reasoned, the only two people remaining would be herself and her new friend, and that she had no idea where he was. She stayed extra quiet as she crept down the steps, only realizing as she hit bottom that his keen hearing probably made him aware of her every breath. And if upon breaking loose he hadn't come and attacked her again already, he probably wasn't going to.
If anything, she realized, he was probably very much confused by her, and maybe just wanted to keep his distance for the time being. That was okay with her. She'd have plenty of time, she guessed, to straighten things out with him later.
After all, they were in this together.
She tip toed past the basement stairs anyway, not wanting to disturb him any more than necessary, and into the kitchen. It had been cleaned up since she'd been here--the cabinets no longer hung open and the drawer was back in its place, all the knives still in their slots. Dr. Logan seemed to want this experiment to go as naturally as possible, although that thought seemed rather absurd under the circumstances. But mad scientists, she thought with bitter bemusement, were not ones to be reasoned with. He would probably be just as delighted with his results if she took one of those knives and ran both the wolf-man and herself through after twenty four hours. But she wouldn't do that.
She pulled open the refridgerator door and saw that it had been fully stocked. There were vegetables of all sorts in the crisper, odds and ends foods in jars and bottles and tupperware containers scattered about the lower shelves, packages of cheese and loaves of bread in the middle, and a pitcher of cold water, a gallon of milk, and a pint of orange juice on the top. Beside the fridge was a case of Coke, as well as a box of kool-aid power in a variety of flavors. In the freezer there were several different flavors of ice cream and some white packages that were probably frozen meat. Her eyes landed on a package of chicken tenders and she pulled them out. Maybe she could do something with this, she mused. After all, she didn't have anything else to do.
Upon inspection of the rest of the cabinets she came across plentiful cans of soup and boxes of pasta, as well as some unopened jars of accompanying sauce. There was even a moderate liquor supply in one cabinet next to the fridge. It seemed that Dr. Logan liked to think of everything.
Within a few minutes she had the chicken thawed in the nearby microwave and was laying it out in a glass dish. She opened up a can of the soup--cream of chicken--and poured it over the raw chicken with a bit of the milk in the fridge. Then she layered it with some shredded cheese and shoved it into the oven.
Just as she turned around, she saw a familiar lock of dark hair peeking out from behind the door jamb, along with a very large, brown eye. It startled her at first, and she jumped, letting out a tiny shriek before recovering herself. He pulled away, disappearing entirely, and when she blinked he was peeking again, this time with both eyes, then part of his nose and mouth.
"I'm sorry," he said meekly. "I didn't mean to scare you."
She had clasped her hand over her chest by pure reflex, and as she glanced down at herself, she felt the incredible urge to laugh. So she did, shutting her eyes tightly, hoping that when she opened them this would all fade away like a dream. No such luck.
"I'm fine," she breathed. She waved at him to come in. "Come on, don't sneak around like that. It gives me the creeps."
"I'm sorry," he said again, and then, in a sudden shift of mood, his lips nearly curved up into a smile. "I didn't realize that you were still here," he said. Then, shyly, "I'm glad."
She nodded. "What do they call you?" she asked.
"You mean my name?" His voice was husky. "I don't think I have one...although one of the younger ones who used to take care of me, when I wasn't full grown yet, used to call me Ferro."
"Ferro?"
"I don't know what it meant. I think it was short for something."
"Ferocious," she tried.
He rubbed his face against her hand. "I don't know."
She nodded against his abdomen. "I'll call you Ferro, then."
"What is your name?" he asked.
"Melody."
"Sounds pretty." He stepped all the way into the doorway, but he didn't enter the kitchen. Instead, he looked around in amazement. "What is this place?"
She paused in the mid-motion of getting out some dishes. "What do you mean?"
"I mean this room. What is it called?" He leaned forward a bit, his feet on the edge of the carpet, just his toes touching the minoleum floor. He looked around it with wide-eyed amazement, especially toward the stove, where the food was cooking away.
"It's a kitchen," Melody said slowly. "Haven't you--" And then she snapped her mouth shut, realizing that they probably had kept him locked up in the basement all that time. The cruelty of it was amazing. But then again, he would never know that they had been cruel, because he didn't know anything else but this miserable existence.
And yet, he seemed to know enough to make him unhappy with it. He looked at her, his great brown eyes still shining with confusion and wonder. "A kitchen?" he whispered. "I've heard the others mention it. They said that their food comes from here." He looked at the stove. "Did you put your food in that?"
Melody walked over to the stove and pulled down the door, letting him see the dish within. "Yep," she replied. "It'll take a while to be done."
"Done," he echoed, not understanding the word.
"Cooked," she said.
"Cooked?"
She shook her head. Of course, they'd probably fed him raw meat, too. Funny, she was starting to think of him as more of a wolf than a man, and it frightened her how easily she made that transition. "Burning it, you know, with fire?" she tried to explain.
His expression scrunched up into one of revulsion. "On purpose?"
"Yeah," she said, laughing a little. "It's actually not bad, if you don't burn it too much."
He shook his head. "Sounds strange to me."
"I'll bet it does." She put her hands on her hips. "You don't have to stand in the door. You can come inside."
He looked at her with that puppy-dog eagerness that made her heart melt, and hesitantly stepped into the kitchen. He only made it a few feet in, however, before he stopped and looked around, his expression completely helpless. He had no idea what to make of this place, no idea how to behave or react. He was lost.
It made her want to cry.
He was still shirtless from before. Thank God he was wearing pants, she thought wryly. She had to turn away, and to cover up her flustered state she turned on the water.
She felt him jump. Then, eagerly, he moved forward, to her side. He was gazing at the faucet in fascination. He stretched out one hand and the cool stream ran over it, streaked down the rivets bewteen his fingers and across the back of his hand to finally drip off his wrist into the drain below. With the movement, she saw the long red cut she had made on his arm earlier-- there was a thick streak of blood, and it was dirty. She reached out to it instinctively, gasping at its ugliness.
He was startled by her sudden touch, but didn't pull away. She looked into his face, saw how he was trusting her, even though his eyes seemed guarded. She pulled his arm forward, letting the faucet run over the cut, washing away the dirt and the blood.
As it did, she realized that there was no longer any cut beneath the dried blood. Disbelieving, she touched the area with her fingers, searching for it. She reached up for a paper towel, stretching across him to get it, then pulled his arm out from under the faucet and used the paper towel to dry the wound off.
Nothing. There was nothing. Just smooth, unmarked skin.
Melody stared at it in disbelief. She looked up at him, the question in her eyes, trying not to be afraid, trying not to recoil again, trying not to be terrified of the prospects this new development offered.
"It healed," he said, his voice soft.
"How?"
He shrugged. "I don't know."
Her stare must have been too intense for him to handle, because he turned away and reached out his other hand for the faucet, using it as a cup, bringing it to his face and lapping the water up from his palm with his tongue.
Grateful for a new activity, Melody turned toward the cupboard and pulled out a glass. He looked at what she was doing, the water dripping off his cheeks. She laughed and used the rest of the paper towel to dry him off, then filled the glass with water, almost to the brim.
"Here," she said, "try this."
He took the glass, his expression puzzled. Then he lifted it to his lips and sipped it, just like a human being. It was a relief to see. Although it would have been a cute sight for him to try and drink it with his tongue.
He gave her his little smile, then said, "I've seen the others drink that way. But I still think a bowl is easier. It lets you get your whole face into it."
She returned his smile with an even wider one. "Well, this one makes less mess."
He seemed puzzled, but didn't say anything more. He continued to gaze at her, and she suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable. So she gave him a little push away from her, taking extra care not to be at all rough.
"Why don't you go sit down," she said. "I'll finish making dinner." He nodded and pulled away, but when he returned to his intial standing point in the middle of the floor, glass still in hand, he turned back to her. "Where should I sit?" he asked in a small voice.
"Right there," she said, guesturing toward the chair that sat beside the kitchen door, but apparently he didn't understand it because instead of sitting in the chair, he sat down right next to it, on his haunches, right on the floor. She blinked, but the surprise quickly passed. She went over to the stove, checked the dish, surmized that it was still going to need some time, and then went over to sit beside him, on the chair.
He looked at her, still puzzled. "Are you staying here?" he asked.
It was such a simple question, but she had no clue as to how to reply. Finally, she yanked her small pack of cigarettes out of her pocket and lit one up. "Yes," she said.
His face seemed to lift, eagerly. "How long?"
She shrugged, taking a deep drag. "Until they let me go."
He frowned. "They're making you stay here?"
So he was a very bright boy after all. "Yes," she said, honestly, but with no anger in her voice.
He seemed to shrink away. "You probably want to leave."
More softly, "Yes."
He hunched his shoulders forward, angry. "You're probably mad at them for making you stay here with me. You probably hate having to stay here with me."
She let the question hang in the air long enough for the smoke from her cigarette to drift away before answering, "No."
Slowly, he turned his head to gaze back up at her, a flicker of hope in his eyes. "No?"
"I'm angry that they're keeping me prisoner, but not because of you. I don't hate being with you. I just wish--" And she stopped herself, not wanting to go that far just yet.
"Wish what?" He wasn't going to let her get away so easily.
She frowned at him. "Don't you hate being here? Don't you wish you could be free?"
He almost laughed. It was a strange, strangled sound. "Every day. But I don't know where I'd go. I don't know anything else but this place." He looked around him. "I don't even know this place. They never let me upstairs."
Before she could stop herself, she said, "But you seemed to know where the bedroom was."
He gave her a very different smile this time, this one positively wolfish. It was a completely different man that gazed at her now, hardly a lost puppy. "I escaped once," he said, his eyes holding hers. "I snuck up the stairs, and I found the bedroom. One of the doctors was sleeping in that bed." Finally, he let her eyes go, and his expression turned sad. "I wasn't going to hurt her. But she was the only girl I'd ever seen. I just wanted to...to..."
"Touch her?" Melody dared.
He sighed. "Yes. But she woke up and screamed and screamed and screamed." He seemed to deflate, a slight whimper escaping from his chest. "I never saw her again. That was when they started to lock me in that room at night." Anger flashed across his face, making him bare his sharp teeth for just a second. "That was when I started to hate this place."
Melody glanced around. "Well, you're upstairs now," she said. "At least it's a step forward."
He snorted.
She carefully considered her next question. "You talk very well for someone who's been locked up in a basement," she said. "I take it you learn a lot just by watching and listening."
"I've learned everything that way." He looked down at his hands. "People don't know what they say when they're not saying anything. I know I'm not like the rest of them. I know I disgust them, I scare them." He glanced at her. "You're the first person who's ever touched me because you wanted to."
"What about Dr. Logan?" Melody tried. "How does he treat you?" Ferro gazed out into space for a long minute. "It's strange," he said. "I don't understand it. It's not the same, each time I see him. Sometimes, it's like he hates me, the way he talks to me. He puts me down, as if he's afraid of me. And then sometimes he's nice, even gentle. He talks to me, he tells me all kinds of things. It's not like he always talks the same. A lot of times I don't know what he's talking about, but there are things I've begun to understand. Sometimes he talks so fast he's hard to understand. It's like he's trying to teach me something, and then sometimes like he's just talking to hear himself talk and I happen to be his ears. It's not like I ever have a choice."
"Do you like him?"
He looked at her. "I don't know. He scares me, but there's something about him. It fascinates me." He shrugged and looked away again. "I don't know how to explain it. I'm not smart like he is."
Melody reached out and laid her hand over his shoulder. He turned toward her touch. "Do you know that he made you to look exactly like him?" she ventured.
"I know he made me," Ferro said, his voice very small, "but I didn't know I looked like him. I know our hands are a lot alike, and he smells a lot like me. Sometimes he comes into the room and I don't know he's there. He's not furry like I am. He doesn't have claws like I do. But he won't let me see my face. I saw it once in one of the labs, in one of the metal cabinets. But I've never seen it since. It reminded me of him, but--" She reached down and took his hand, pulling him to his feet. "Come on," she said, leading him into the bathroom. She turned on the light and realized that there was no mirror over the sink. She dragged him with her down the hall, looking in every room, but there were no mirrors. She even went up the stairs and into the bedrooms, searching all around, but not a single mirror was to be found.
Finally, she landed back in her room, and went to her backpack. She looked for her mirror, but realized with frustrated shock that they had somehow gotten to it, too, and removed it.
"Dammit!" she screeched, pounding her fists against her thighs. He tensed at her anger, recoiling a bit, the tips of his claws jutting between his knuckles out of physical instinct. She looked up and him and sighed, waving her hand. "Nevermind," she said, sinking back to lean against the bed. "It's gone."
"It's okay," he said, dropping to one knee in front of her. "I don't want to see my face, anyway, if I look like the doctor. He's not very nice to look at sometimes." She frowned.
"You think he's ugly?" she asked, amusement creeping into her voice.
He shrugged. "Yes."
She felt her shoulders shaking as she tried not to laugh. He frowned back at her, puzzled.
"What?"
"Nothing," she sighed. "But if you think he's ugly, I'd hate to see your definition of beautiful."
He just gazed at her for a long moment, then slowly, hesitantly, reached out and caressed the side of her face, his fingers brushing over her hair. "I think you are beautiful," he whispered.
She gently pushed his hand away. "Yeah, but you don't get out much," she returned, getting to her feet. "Come on. Let's get back downstairs before we burn dinner too much."
* * * * *
When they got back to the kitchen she opened the stove door and pulled out the dish. It was bubbling and the cheese was melted over the chicken in soft, yellow goodness. She drank in the aroma, and he was beside her in a second, doing the same.
"It smells very good," he said, surprised.
"You'll have to try some," she said, setting the dish down and closing the door. With a shrug, he reached out a hand, as if to dive right into it. She batted his hand away with a startled shriek, and he recoiled, frightened. "Not like that!" she said, then groaned. "Have you ever seen the doctors eat?"
He seemed to cradle his hand as if she'd hurt him. "Once the doctor ate a sandwich while he talked to me. He used his hand."
"Yes, but this is different. Have you ever used a knife or a fork?"
"A what?"
Melody shook her head. "Nevermind. You go sit down, and I'll take care of it. I'll show you how to eat with a fork. Although I'm going to have to cut your food up into tiny pieces because I'm not going to give you a knife yet." She pulled out some plates and got out a large serving spoon and began to dish out the meal. She placed some bread on her plate and spooned the gravy on top of it with the chicken, but for him she decided to just go with the meat. She cut it up into bite sized pieces and then grabbed a hand full of bread and set it on top. She took both plates and headed toward the dining room, gesturing for him to follow. She placed the plates down on the table that the cleaning crew had so graciously provided to replace the table Ferro had destroyed during their initial meeting. She pulled out one chair and motioned for Ferro to sit in it, which he did, although he seemed rather puzzled.
Then again, he always seemed puzzled lately.
She told him to wait, and then got them forks and a knife. She came back to find that he had lifted up the plate to his mouth and was lapping at the thick gravy. She gently made him put the plate down and picked up a piece of bread, running it through the gravy.
"It's good," he said, watching her intently. "I've never eaten anything like it, but it tastes like really thick milk."
She chuckled and brought the gravy-drenched bread to his mouth. "It's good like this, too," she said, "and much easier to eat."
He glanced at her, and then sniffed at the bread and gravy. He opened his mouth, putting his teeth forward like a dog to nibble at the break. Then, liking what he tasted he took a bigger bite, nearly drawing half the slice into his mouth. Melody pulled away in time.
"Here," she said, putting it in his hand. "Now you do what I did."
And he did. Perfectly.
She sat down across from him. "Okay, lesson one, grade A," she said, reaching across the table with the fork. "Lesson two." She speared a piece of chicken and lifted it to his mouth. "This is how we use a fork."
He opened his mouth and drew the loaded fork into it, but bit down too hard because he instantly winced as his teeth met metal. He grunted, but pulled away, looking at the fork with distrust.
"That's easier?" he said incredulously.
"Yes, if you don't bite too hard. Just put your lips around the fork and pull the meat off. Like this." She put his fork down and took up her own, as well as the knife. She cut into her chicken, ran it through the gravy, and lifted it to her mouth, pulling it away when it was empty. "See? Easy."
"If you say so," he muttered, picking up the fork and imitating her. He timidly wrapped his lips around the fork prongs and closed them, then pulled the fork out of his mouth. He still seemed incredulous of the act, but it worked. He did it again and again, obedient to her order.
"Oh," she said, "wait," and got up to get his glass of water from the kitchen. She brought herself back a glass of ice with a can of the soda, and popped it open. He watched her with that same intensity as before.
"What is that?" he asked. "This?" she said, lifting the glass. "It's called soda. Don't the doctors around you drink soda?"
"Yes, I think so." He looked at her eagerly. "Can I try it?"
She hesitated, then passed the glass to him. He brought it to his lips, took a sip, and then turned his head and spat it out on the floor. He coughed and gagged and shuddered, handing her back the glass. "And they think I'm a freak," he said, disgust heavy on his face.
She stared at him, mute with shock, and then started to laugh. "Oh my God," she sighed, resting her head against her hand. "Well...would you like some milk, or would you just like to stick with the water."
"Water," he said, stuffing his mouth with another forkfull of food. As he was chewing, he took half a piece of bread and ran it through the gravy, shoveling it in after with expertise. He was a very fast study, after all.
* * * * *
After dinner, she sat on the floor of the living room, just resting. She hadn't realized how exhausted she was. It was getting late, and she felt dirty, and she was even considering taking a shower. Ferro was wandering around the house, quite fascinated by everything. He'd even watched her do the dishes, surprised that she cleaned the "food dish"--"But it just gets dirty again, doesn't it?" At one point he'd wanted to help, but he'd dropped one of the plates, breaking it. He was extremely upset about it, but she told him she didn't care, they weren't her plates. She even broke one to prove to him that it was okay. He looked at her with that bewildered expression, and then had smiled at her--his first real smile--and started to laugh.
It was an amazing sound.
As she cleaned up, however, she told him to go "find something to do," which he did, quite readily. He disappeared down the hallway, and while she was sure he wasn't in the basement, she really had no clue as to what he was doing, and she didn't really care at the moment. It wasn't her house. She didn't care one bit about what damage they may do.
She was, however, mildly concerned that Ferro might hurt himself. Then again, the memory of the healed cut floated into her mind, and she dismissed that thought entirely. Besides, she hadn't heard any noises, and she wasn't his mother, and she needed a bit of time to herself to just sit and think.
It disturbed her, how she was adjusting to this captivity. But she knew it was a necessary part of her psyche, to survive in whatever conditions presented. So she pulled a pillow off the couch and stuff it under her head. She was really too tired to shower.
She was too tired to do anything but lie there. Even too tired to do the thinking which she so anxiously wanted do to. She felt footsteps. They were so soft, so light. It amazed her that a being as well built as him could be so quiet. She opened her eyes, which had temporarily closed as she let her body finally rest, to see him standing over her, gazing down at her, his chin practically resting on his chest.
For a moment, the two just looked at each other. He had told her so much about himself, maybe all that he knew. Still, she felt that there was so much she didn't know.
"Do you know why you're here?" she finally asked.
He sat down in the place where he had stood, his legs folded under him, Indian-style. He shrugged. "So they can test me. Mostly they just look at me. They seem to like looking at me. I know I'm not like them, so maybe that's it. I know I like looking at things that aren't like me." His eyes drifted away a bit with a memory. "In the beginning, they'd bring in animals for me to play with. They seemed to love that. And they also spent a lot of time trying to teach me things."
"Like what?"
"Like letters. How to read."
She lifted her head, surprised. "You know how to read?" There was definite pain on his face. "Yes. The doctor, the woman...she was teaching me the alphabet and some words. I was able to read a book by myself before she left." He looked down at his hands. His fingers restlessly slid against each other.
Melody frowned, lifting herself up onto her elbow. "So you were close to the lady doctor, weren't you?" He nodded, the gesture an effort. "Why did she get so scared of you when you went into her room?"
His eyes would not meet hers. He blinked several times, and it looked like he was going to cry.
"Ferro," Melody pressed gently, laying a hand on his knee, "you didn't hurt her, did you?"
He shook his head. "No. I was...I was cold. And I liked her. She smelled good." Finally his eyes came up to hers, and the pain there brought back in her the desire to take care of him, like a lost puppy. He shook his head, as if to get rid of the memory. "I guess she didn't like me as much as she pretended to. I don't think any of them do. Since then, I feel like they're all just faking their smiles and their nice voices. I know I can't trust any of them. So I don't."
Melody nodded, drawing a ragged breath. It had to hurt so much, to learn so young that you were completely on your own. She laid back on the pillow again, looking up at the ceiling. "Neither do I," she finally whispered.
His mood shifted--she felt it lift like a mist. "What about you? How did you get here? I know you're not one of them, you don't look like any of them. They're always dressed in white, but you," and he tugged at the cuff of her shirt, fascinated by the colors of the material. "Where did you come from?"
She considered her answer carefully. After all the openness and honesty he had shown her, she would be some sort of monster not to return it. But at he same time, she knew that whatever she told him, Dr. Logan would probably find out soon enough. Not so much because Ferro would tell him, but because they were always being watched. Always.
"I ran away from my home," she said in a very low voice. "I didn't like it anymore."
"Wow," he murmured. "That sounds so...I mean, you can do that?"
"I did. I'm here, aren't I?"
"But why did you run away? It can't be worse than this place."
She rolled over, getting very close to him. Knowing these bastards, they would probably use some special microphone to pick up her words, but she owned Ferro something. She gestured for him to come closer and he bent his head down, putting his ear beside her lips.
"I'm not running away from a place," she said. "I'm running away from myself."
He pulled back a bit, confused. "How do you do that?" His voice was equally low.
She shrugged. "You dump all of your problems and leave them behind. You move on. I couldn't handle my problems anymore so I moved on."
He shook his head, still baffled. "I wish I could do that."
She squeezed his knee. "Wait. But sometimes, you wind up walking into bigger problems."
"Would you like to go back to your old problems?" he asked.
She considered the question, and then said, "Not really."
"So," he went on, "you are saying that this is better than where you were."
She said, so softly so only he could hear, "Yes."
He blinked slowly, turning the words over in his head. As he did so, she laid back down on the pillow again, her eyes blinking sleepily. She was so exhausted-- completely drained of even the energy to move.
"I can't imagine that." She gave a little chuckle. "Well, I haven't been locked up in this house for my whole life, being experimented on. This is only my first time. Give me a few days, I'm sure I'll change my mind." She shut her eyes, and didn't reopen them. She could hear him talking, but none of his words made sense. It all got farther and farther away until she fell into a solid sleep.
* * * * *
She was dreaming about her parents. It was a reccuring nightmare she'd had since she was a child. No two dreams were ever the same in details, but they were very much alike in theme. In them, she was being sent away--kicked out of her house by those who she loved and trusted the most. Sometimes it was their old home in Texas, and sometimes it was their newer home in Ohio. Sometimes it was her grandmother's house, in which case the old woman just stood around and did nothing as her father silently threatened her with death if she didn't run. In this version of the dream, her mother and sister and her father's best friend were kicking her out of the house she was in now, and she was hiding in the bushes next door. She saw, in the twisted, almost demented imagery of dreams, her father come home, and she came running over, thinking that he would set things right, but instead as soon as she came in the front doors he was giving her a look of amused contempt, that she would think he'd be her hero, that she didn't realize that he hated her as much as the rest, that her exile was in fact originally his idea.
She pulled away from the dream, wanting to come out of it but not knowing how. Instead, she just wandered around the neighborhood, waiting for the worst part to happen. Soon, her exile wouldn't be enough. They would chase her, hunt her down, seek her death.
It was insane, she told herself. Her parents loved her--at least they would never try and kill her. They just didn't understand her--especially her father. And her sister would never do the hateful things she did in this reoccuring dream. But as she wandered about, feeling lost and deserted, the despair set in, until finally she rebelled.
She did not care what they thought of her. She would survive. She would turn her life into one great adventure. She would become all the things they had prevented her from being, the things she could not bring herself to be because of fear. She would never fear anything again, for she no longer had anything to lose.
Her eyes opened and the dream dissolved calmly, melting away to turn into inky darkness with only the streetlights outside casting their golden glow through the filmy curtains. She moved her arm and realized that she was on the floor of a strange room, and there was a heavy weight beside her, almost on top of her.
She resisted the urge to panic. It wasn't an unpleasant weight, but one she just wasn't used to. She lifted her arm to realize that someone was sleeping, curled up beside her, half-spooning her and half burrying her. It wasn't uncomfortable--in fact, it was very warm and reassuring, keeping out the cold currents than ran through the room.
There was a steady breathing on the back of her neck, through the thick locks of her hair. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light and she saw an arm across her waist, curled up and crossing over her chest. There was a hand against her neck, fingers burried in the warmth between her shoulder and the pillow her cheek lay upon. Legs were lined up with hers, and as she tried to move her head she realized that Ferro had burried his face in her hair, and was breathing so peacefully she didn't have the heart to move him.
Melody let out a slight laugh, wondering how in the hell she had gotten into this. Her memory came back to her quickly, recalling how wounded Ferro had seemed when he shared with her his dire experience with the lady doctor. No doubt the woman would have panicked and ran if she had awoke to Ferro trying to nestle her like this. But as Melody lay there in the dark, she realized that his behavior was probably very natural for a canine. All dogs, no matter what age, huddled together for warmth. And no doubt the contact of another, human or canine, was probably something for which poor Ferro was starved.
As she thought even more about it, it explained quite a bit about him--his reaction to her touch, her smell. Looks probably meant very little to him, unless it was something new and different.
And like all dogs, he probably had some very strong urges that his human half was struggling to contain. Which explained why she was still fully clothed. The thought made her laugh, and it made her chest rise and fall quickly. He lifted his head, smoothly, not at all startled, as if he had been half-awake the whole time.
"Melody?" he whispered.
The sound of her name made her close her eyes. That his whispering her name in the dark should excite her so..."Yes?"
"Are you okay? I haven't hurt you, have I?"
She shook her head, turning a little. He gave her some room and she realized he'd been sharing the pillow with her as well. "Why would you?"
He gave a little shrug which she felt more than saw. "The lady doctor didn't like it when I did this. It made her scream."
"Then why did you do it again, to me, if you thought it would make me scream?"
"I don't know...I couldn't help myself. If I'm hurting you, I'll--"
"You're not," she said quickly, turning a bit more. She could now gaze up into his face, and she reached up with the arm between them and stroked the thick hair on his cheek.
In return, his other hand, the one over her head which she realized he'd been using to hold the pillow in place, came down on her crown, running through her own hair. She doubted it was very pleasant to the touch. It was turning a dishwater blond from the lack of care. But his touch was so gentle, loving, that she shut her eyes, relishing its feel.
He leaned closer to her and his lips brushed her cheek, more as if he were feeling her skin than in trying to kiss her. He moved down toward her ear, and his tongue darted out, his hot breath sending a shiver through her. He stopped, startled. The cold air between them was barely enough to bring her back to her senses. She rolled away, getting upright and her legs between them as Ferro reared up, his face unreadable in the dark.
"Did I--"
"No," she stopped him before he could finish the inevitable question. "You didn't hurt me, Ferro."
He was on his knees, seeming very tall against the windows, his figure towering over hers.
"I know that," he said, stretching his arms out to crawl closer to her. "Melody..." And he reached her quickly, his mouth against hers, gently pressing, but demanding nonetheless.
She let him kiss her, but the fear began to rise in her chest. This was too much like the first time--if she pushed him too hard, she wasn't sure if he'd be so willing to relent. They had just been starting to trust each other, but apparently his instincts were getting the best of him.
She got her arms against his shoulders and managed to wiggle a few inches of space between them. She looked him straight in the eye and called upon all the force she had within.
"Stop."
It was a sharp, quick order, not hard or mean but definite, like commanding an animal. It made her sick that it had to come to this.
"Why?" He obeyed, but his face was angry. Hurt. She reached out and stroked his cheek.
"This isn't right," she said. "We shouldn't do this."
"Why not?" Frustration now. She had no clue how to explain it to him. Maybe because she didn't know why, but she did know that it just felt wrong to be doing this, with him.
"I don't know how to explain this to you," she said gently, scooting away and getting to her feet to turn on a light. He winced a bit, his nightvision struggling to adjust. She saw down in a nearby recliner. "People don't just...they don't do this sort of thing just because they feel like it." Actually, that was bosh. She knew plenty of people who did "this sort of thing" whenever the hell they felt like it for no good reason at all. But she had been raised to wait for marriage. She didn't know why she was clinging so hard to that belief right now. It was a part of her life that she should be discarding with all the rest. Morals weren't so important...or were they? Maybe it was all she had left. At any rate, the thought of violating them sent a panic through her that she didn't like at all. For all the excuses people gave about it "feeling" good, for her, it "felt" bad. Wrong.
And then there was the fact that they were being watched.
He seemed to consider her words. "The professor told me about sex, once," he said, his voice calm. "He said it was something people sometimes did because it felt good, and sometimes because they loved each other. He didn't think much of it either way, he just found it a handy way to reproduce more subjects for him to test on." He paused. "He didn't seem to need it to make me."
Melody rested her head in her hands, feeling overwhelmingly tired. There was no way she was going to get anywhere with this. He obviously had very little grasp of right and wrong, and even if he did there was the fact that he'd been inbued with it by people like Dr. Logan, and people like Dr. Logan had no concept of family values or morals on any level. Besides, there was no good way to explain this.
"Well, it's wrong for you and me to do it," she finally said with a sigh. "We aren't..." *Oh great, no concept of marriage.* "Well, it's just wrong."
He looked at her, blank for a few moments, and then his face turned dark with confusion. "We aren't...what?" he challenged, unwilling to get her earlier comment go.
"We aren't mates?"
Okay, so it was mates for him. That made sense--animal kingdom logic and all. "Maybe wolves do it with whomever they please," she said, taking on a sense an of pretention, "but humans don't. At least, they shouldn't, and I won't."
This came to him like a blow to the head. "So you don't...we're not mates," he said, his voice low, soft.
She blinked in surprise. "Mates? Of course not!" She tried to keep it from sounding sharp, but it was just too hard. It sounded bad either way. "I mean, we hardly---"
He was slumping now, dejected. "We're not," he whispered.
There was an uncomfortable silence. "Did you think we were?" she finally asked.
The look he gave her nearly broke her heart. "Yes."
More silence, so much silence she couldn't bear it. She felt like she was going to break apart and melt into the floor. It was too much--she could feel him too keenly. She had been feeling him too keenly the entire time she'd been here. This person, this creature, had completely invaded her and had fused himself to her soul within the span of a day, and it filled her with a strange, delirious glee and at the same time made her want to scream and kick and run.
She got up and headed for the stairs. "I'm going to my bed," she said, her voice low, trying to stay contained. "It's too late for this for me. I'll see you in the morning." And she managed to crawl her way up the stairs and into her bed before she had a complete and total emotional breakdown.
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