Heather and Dita shook their heads. Lisa sat between them, embracing them affectionately. “Guys, don’t worry, it’s perfectly okay to be frightened, and to not believe what is happening. We all go through it. Let’s all go to a movie!”
"It might be perfectly okay to be frightened, but is it okay to watch your friends grow old and die while you remain untouched by time?" Heather asked quietly, her face solemn. Her mom hadn't mentioned the immortality in their earlier conversation.
Lisa paused, then replied, "I don't know, honey. All the people I truly love share my condition. Don't look at this as the end of everything you know; look at it as the beginning of a new future."
"That's a bullshit answer," Heather said, eyes welling with tears. "That's something a guidance counselor would say, or a therapist! I don't WANT this!"
Lisa stood up, smelling the fear and anger (they commonly went hand in hand) on Heather, and to a lesser extent, her daughter. "I'm going to let you compose yourself, sweetheart. I know this is hard, but you'll learn to love what you are much sooner than you think. You girls take all the time you need. We don't have to go to a movie; we can just as easily rent one."
"Or you could just find some stray woman and film a movie of you dyking out on her and ruining her life! That's apparently a favorite activity around here!" Heather shouted, hoping her mother heard. "I don't FUCKING WANT THIS!" She screamed, tears rolling down her face.
"Heather.." Lisa began, searching for words to soothe the girl, a girl she'd watched grow up, who truly was like a second daughter to her. But those words wouldn't come. She stepped forward to embrace Heather, to hold her close, wanting nothing more than to calm the girl.
But as she did, Heather lashed out, slapping Lisa across the face. "Don't FUCKING TOUCH ME! YOU RUINED MY LIFE!" Heather slapped her again. "THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! IF YOU HADN'T MET MY MOM, THIS NEVER WOULD HAVE HAPPENED!" Tears were pouring down Heather's cheeks, her soft, white skin now puffy and red. Dita remained seated, shocked at the scene.
"Heather, stop," Lisa weakly protested. She made no move to defend herself; better she should let the girl take it all out on her now. It's not like it was hurting her physically, though inside she was weeping as hard as Heather. Down the hallway, Debra buried her face in a pillow, hearing everything with perfect precision. She'd always thought of this day being a magical one, a happy time...never like this. Eighteen years of hopes were being washed away in a torrent of tears and anger.
"FUCK YOU!" Heather said, balling her fist up, slamming it into Lisa's stomach, doubling her over for a split second. Lisa realized that without knowing it, Heather had begun to tap into a fraction of her lycanthropic strength, due to her anger, and had caught her off guard. "FUCK YOU!" Heather swung again, and this time, Lisa caught her hand, holding the fist effortlessly.
"Stop," Lisa said softly.
"COME ON..COME ON!" Heather challenged her. "COME ON, BITCH!" Heather spat in her face. Lisa felt a pang of pain, as though a part of her soul itself was stabbed. "COME ON! FUCKING CHANGE! FUCKING FIGHT ME!" Heather screamed, her voice going hoarse, on the verge of hysteria.
"No," Lisa replied,turning her back, not wanting Heather to see her tears. She was alpha, she had to be strong.
Heather fell to her knees, unable to stand, collapsing in a heap, "Please.." she croaked, "Fucking kill me...I don't want this..I..I..don't want this.." Dita darted to Heather, wrapping her arms around her.
"Shh...shhh..babe, don't be like this," whispered Dita in Heather's ear, cradling her head to her chest. She looked over to her mother, who had paused at the door, and mouthed the word, "Go!". Lisa left the room, shutting the door behind her, knowing it was for the best, but wishing she could be there for the girl. And then she heard the sobs of her lover down the hallway, and knew that she was needed more desperately by someone else.
Her mother removed from the situation, Dita let her own tears flow as she held Heather to her. "Babe, don't worry...we'll get through this," she assured Heather.
"All alone...all alone.." whimpered Heather.
"You're not alone," Dita whispered, stroking Heather's hair, doing what she could to calm her. She could tell it was having an effect; Heather's breathing had slowed to a more normal rate and her sobs had simply faded into soft cries. "You're not alone...you have me..and..and we'll go through this together. You and me....best friends forever. Remember? We pinky swore on it in fourth grade. You remember?"
Heather nodded, a slight smile on her lips as she stared up at Dita. "Best friends," Heather said, lifting her hand up, her pinky extended. Dita returned the gesture and they locked pinkies, smiling sadly at one another, though their spirits buoyed for a moment as they both thought back to happier, far more innocent times. Times that were gone....and an innocence that had forever been lost.
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Dan, meanwhile, sat in his living room, a bottle of Jack Daniels whiskey in front of him, half finished. He wasn't normally a binge drinker, but the situation with Wendy had put him under a high amount of stress, and it was the only way Dan knew how to cope; the military had taught him that.
He never thought that Wendy would be compromised; she'd received commendations for her cold and logical thinking, and her ability to follow orders to the letter. She'd come highly recommended to him by four different department heads, all of them foreign espionage chiefs. To put it mildly, Wendy was his best agent, which is why she'd been picked for direct interaction and deep cover observation.
A small gift box sat on his coffee table as well. Inside it was a sterling silver watch, which he planned to present to Wendy tomorrow. He wanted her to know HE knew her sudden secret.
Beside him was his sidearm, a Desert Eagle pistol, and beside that was a spare clip, this one loaded with silver. The real temptation he had in his mind was to unload his clip into Wendy, into all the women, as well as their daughters.
Blackwood said they weren't at war with the werewolves, but that was only because the government had somehow lost its balls. Sure, they acted like harmless puppies, but Dan knew the truth, hell, he'd seen the truth, back on his first case after his transfer to the division.
He'd been called in to help the Bureau of Indian Affairs, out in New Mexico. Of course, the redskins said "Skinwalkers" and attached some religious bullshit to the whole thing, but what they meant was "werewolf". He'd been led to believe there was only one, but the government had been played for the fool. Every single one of the motherfuckers was a skinwalker on the reservation, and you couldn't trust one of them. Sure, in the end they'd gotten their "rogue"...but not before Dan had lost three agents under his command as well as Melissa. And not one of the sons of bitches had been straight with him. They were all in on it, Dan knew.
Dan plotted and planned silently for years, waiting for the war that never came. He'd filed reports, made recommendations, all to little more than a pat on the back and the occassional pay raise. Dan wanted his war, wanted revenge. And if Uncle Sam wouldn't give it to him, perhaps he could give the whole thing a jump start.