RAY HOOK
Year 2014
(Summer, The U.R.T., Crescent Bar)
Ray blinked hard. The van made a sharp turn and bolted off like mice scampering off with a stolen cheese.
He didn't know who those men were—the shadows hid their faces—but his gut told him that Kate is in trouble, and he needs to follow them. So he ran. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him.
He had absolutely no faith in them. His legs. Not once had they helped him get away from the bullies back home. The mutts were always faster, and as soon as Ray started running, he'd be grabbed by his tunic and dragged back to where he'd started, and the bullying would start all over—as his punishment for trying to escape and not succeeding in it.
Now, he wasn't running away. He was running towards danger. And for the first time in his life, Ray was running with the wind. No, he was running like the wind. Slicing through the air like a needle, effortless and clean. Or perhaps the air parted for him. He took off a few minutes after the van disappeared from the line of sight, and now, he had caught up.
The van charged past the stop lights, and, for some reason, that sent a shiver of fear down Ray's spine. Something is going to happen to Kate, he told himself, and the burning house popped out. Fury swarmed in, and Ray picked up speed.
*****
The van slithered through the opened iron gates.
When he was sure he couldn't be seen, Ray ran through the same gates in a heartbeat and took cover behind a tree, in case the driver checked his rearview mirror. Once enough time had passed, the Alpha moved on after the van, dashing from one tree to the next to stay covered.
The deeper he went, the odder it felt.
He was sure he'd never gone anywhere in the human world except his uncle's house, Crescent Bar and school. Oh, he'd been to many forests, but this wasn't one of them. He had never stepped foot in this place. Yet, something felt strangely familiar.
The van stopped in front of an old, abandoned mansion, and Ray came to a screeching halt.
Kate's home.
This was Kate's home. The bruises and scars from the combustion were clear as day under the moonlight, and Ray drank in silence the full fledge of the abuse that Kate's home had suffered that night. He was also standing exactly where he was bound that night—behind the largest, thickest tree in the garden, to the left of the house.
He accidentally kicked something. Looking down, he saw a rectangular plank that looked like it was once part of a swing and realised that he was also in the spot where Kate spent her evenings with her father. One of the pictures he had found on the internet showed Kate on a swing with her father standing behind, ready for the next push.
The smiles on their faces melted with the empty house that re-entered Ray's view. A shot of click sound had brought him back, and Ray tucked himself nicely behind the tree trunk. He would count to ten and try to take a peep when muffled cries of fear pierced the cool silence.
Kate! Ray flattened himself against the trunk to take a peek and found his angel blindfolded, wrists bound, being half-lifted, half-dragged along the path leading to the front door of the mansion.
Instantly, everything came to light.
The only person who knows this place and would bring Kate here. The reason why Ray was present when the mansion caught flames. All the answers were staring in his face, just like the blackened and ruined mansion.
As Kate disappeared into the house, Ray turned from it, his phone slapped on his ear, the dial tone rang in urgency. Come on, Uncle Ambrose, pick up… please, pick up!
It rang for two minutes, and the piled-up nerves inside Ray cut the call. He stared at the device, realising that he needed help and there was none he could get.
His angel was going to die tonight.
And he must stop it.
Swallowing his fear and worry, Ray pulled out the number that he vowed never to call.
Roxana Hook.
The only one amongst the eleven Hook who loved the human world and all the things in it. The only wolf in the Howling Five fluent with the use of human technology and is in possession of all its products. The only wolf—aside from Ray—who is granted permission to live in the human world.
With a deep inhale, Ray tapped the green button and cautiously placed the phone to his ear, as though it was a bomb ready to explode.
After four rings, a deep, scratchy voice answered. "Well, well, well, if it isn't Ray the flamin—."
"Please, Rox, please," Ray begged, "you've got to help me."
An exasperated sigh punched through. 'Not this again' it said, and then, Rox's bored voice murmured, "Goodbye, Ray."
Ray squeezed the device in panic. "I'll do anything!"
The call didn't end. But Rox said nothing too. Only breathing sounds came through, mimicking the wheels of her pondering mind. Then, in dead calmness, she asked, "Anything?" The amusement in her voice rang like her sniggers.
"Yes!" Ray hissed into the phone as the sound of a vehicle pulling up slid into his ears. He turned and saw another black van parked behind the first one, and his heart ran faster. "Personal slave! I'll be your personal slave! Please, Rox. I need help. Or she will die!"
"She?" Rox picked up the most important keyword, and Ray dived into his explanations.
He was leaving the club when he saw a girl being grabbed into a mysterious black van.
"So you followed her?" Rox asked, the tone of her voice calling Ray stupid for dipping his toes into other people's business. Sure enough, she added, "Did Mum and Dad not give you the protocol? Mind your own business?"
God, he hates it when she starts flexing her great expanse of human vocabulary in his face. But now was not the time to confront that. Ray swallowed his ego and pleaded for help, staying on track of the monumental task ahead.
It was then he saw her.
Teresa Ares.
Her face—Ray had seen it so many times on the computer screen he could recognise every curve, every line. Ray also caught that evil grin right before the giant hood of her cape tipped over to conceal everything from plain sight. It glowed like the flames that engulfed Frank Ares. As she clicked her heels peacefully towards the mansion, raw fear pounded inside Ray's chest.
"Hurry," he blurted into the phone, cutting his sister off at the fourth term of their verbal contract, and cried out in sheer panic. "JUST COME! COME NOW, OR SHE'S GONNA DIE!"
******
KATHY MONTGOMERY
Year 2014
(Summer, The U.R.T., Aresmore Estate)
She had learned that it was better not to ask. Things could get worse and that wouldn't benefit her in any way. The darkness didn't scare her—the needles and pills did. The warm bodies squeezing her at the back of a moving vehicle didn't scare her—the straps and that cold, hard bed did. So she was calm as they transported her away.
She didn't know where they were taking her. That scared her. She had offended no one at the college. That boy—the one with Snowy's blue eyes—didn't look like he was upset with her. On the contrary, he looked like he had found a long lost friend. A friend he missed dearly. So this couldn't have been him.
The hospital. Kate's heart skipped a beat. Fear dropped onto her like a mountain. They found out. They knew she wasn't dead. They knew the doctor had faked it all. And now, they're back for her. They're taking her back to the hospital.
Tears ran down her cheeks. Tears of despondence. It's all over. The freedom that the doctor had meticulously and fiercely fought for her has come to an end. It's alright, she rubbed her laced fingers, and the cable wires stung the flesh of her wrists—a harsh reminder of her impending doom. It's alright, she chanted, saying her goodbye to the doctor, Fang Zhang, and all the others at the monastery.
At least, she has a memory—a happy place—to return to whenever the shocks scared her.
The vehicle stopped. Heat of the chills slapped the back of her neck, spreading across her back like fire. Her heartbeat skyrocketed, her breathing quickened. She couldn't even breathe.
Metal slid across metal, and then the smell of wood and grass and the cool night air swarmed in. "Out," someone said in a deadly low voice.
And Kate was carried out, her feet dragged down the steps until they found a landing. It was then the hint of something familiar filled her nose. She couldn't quite put it. It brought in the sun…the swing…the cheerful pinks and reds in the garden.
She opened her mouth to ask but clamped her lips immediately.
They carried and pushed her along, and the smell grew stronger. A smell from an almost forgotten past. And then, it gripped her. It clenched her heart like a dirty rag that needs to be scrubbed and wringed. It pushed something from the deepest parts of her out—and she gagged.
Her father's death was in the air. Her father's death was in her lungs, filling up and spreading everywhere in her system, freezing her blood.
She's home.