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I don’t believe him, but it doesn’t matter because there is nowhere else I’d rather be.
He says, “I know,” like he can hear my thoughts. Maybe he can. It wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Having someone know me like that.
He
(here here here)
stops. Grimaces. His face contorts. He says, “It hurts, Robbie.”
“No,” I tell him. “It can’t hurt. Not like this. You have to say it isn’t anything bad. That you hope it’s good. That I’ll think it’s good. That’s how it’s supposed to go. That’s how it’s supposed to—”
His back snaps viciously as his face turns toward the sky. His mouth is open, but no sound comes out. The cords in his neck stick out sharply. His eye
s are wide, and he’s gripping my hand so hard, I think the bones will turn to dust.
But I don’t try to pull away.
I can’t.
I won’t.
Not now.
Not ever.
Symbols appear on his throat, dirty things that split his skin and glow with a sick light. His mouth stretches farther than should be humanly possible, and I cry out as the snout of a wolf appears between his teeth, fangs bared.
Something’s wrong.
Because the wolf is sick.
The hair on its snout is patchy, the skin underneath dry and cracked. The tongue is coated with a thick film, and more symbols crawl along it. One fang falls out of its mouth and bounces off Kelly’s chest before hitting the ground.
The wolf is rotting.
Before Kelly swallows it back down, I catch the brief glimpse of orange eyes, dull and lifeless and I—
am alone.
he’s gone.
the stars are gone.
i am alone in the dark.
except.
a white wolf approaches.
there is black on its chest and back.
its eyes are red.
i am afraid.
i am not afraid.
i am both.
