Despite All My Rage - Part I
#1 of Despite All My Rage
04/06/2009 - 1st Draft
04/14/2011 - 2nd Draft
01/19/2016 - 3rd Draft
"The smarter and more creative you are, the wilder and more complex your fantasies become. This goes double for your sexual needs and desires." -- My Sex Education Teacher
Despite All My Rage - Part I
"Mr. Dee, do you understand the nature of these charges?"
"Yes, sheriff, I do."
"You understand we normally don't do this sort of thing around here."
"Yes, sheriff, I know."
"So ... you'll be leaving then?"
"In the morning," Mr. Dee confirmed with a nod. "We'll send movers to bring the rest in a week or so."
"Probably better for everyone that way." The sheriff had already stuffed the envelope into his pocket but that did not mean anything until he agreed to the arrangement. A satisfied expression relaxed his features and he handed Mr. Dee a clipboard with a pen chained to it. "Please sign here, Dee."
Sharp brown eyes peered through spectacles at the form. The format told Mr. Dee what it said but years of courtrooms and back alley deals made him read through it anyway. Once he was certain the sheriff was not planning on arresting him for the bribe or tricking him into signing something damning, the middle-aged lawyer swirled the pen across the line.
It was not really his signature. It did not have to be. All it needed to be was a mark. A mark and a name. Not his real name, but one that allowed him to pass as human for a time. Here too their time was up. Here too, just like every other time, they would have to leave.
The deputy walked Mr. Dee back to a cage where his son sat with his back to the corner and his knees to his chest. The look in his dark brown eyes was haunted and he trembled like a mouse with a cat glaring at the cage. The boy did not look up when the deputy drew back the bars but he flinched as if he expected to be hit.
"Your dad's here, Michael," the deputy said in that even tone of authority that all successful law enforcement professionals learn. The boy hesitated, obviously wondering if he should be more afraid of the prison cell or his father. Eventually he decided it would be worse if he disobeyed and stood to his full height.
Mr. Dee watched the terrified body language as his son left his cage. The lawmen watched the pair of them leave but then turned their backs before they reached the door. Plausible deniability, he thought. Now, they can honestly say they did not see us leave.
*****
"The boy's going to be alright," Mr. Dee finally broke the silence as the van drove through the rain. The anticipation had been maddening but Michael was not sure if talking about it would be any better. "We made sure to slip him the right cure in time. He'll heal and his infection will pass. He won't change."
"That's not true," Michael finally said. "He might stay human, but he'll never be the same."
The -thump- -thump- of the windshield wipers became the primary sound for another full minute before his father spoke again. "Maybe that's not entirely a bad thing. That boy ... what's his name?"
"Ryan," Michael said.
"Yes, Ryan," his father said with a nod. "Well son, he's a bully. He's been giving you grief all year. I can only assume he picks on others as well. Maybe now he'll think a little harder before he pushes another kid around." Michael knew his dad was trying to be helpful, but he still felt rotten about the whole thing. "What made it different?" Michael looked away from the window and clenched his fists. "Why did you lose it this time?"
"Christy," Michael said without looking up.
"Was he pushing her around?" Michael nodded. "Oh, Mikey ... you're eighteen now. You need to be able to control-"
"HE PUNCHED HER!" Michael's outburst startled them both and brought the noise of the road back to them.
"So ... you were protecting her?" Michael nodded. "Good boy."
Michael's eyes burned with tears at his father's words. He had done what he was supposed to do but now he was going to lose her. Christy was different from the other girls. Michael had smelled it when he first arrived. She loved animals and his kind was no exception. The other kids had given her several unpleasant nick-names for her fascination, but she refused to let it make her bitter.
The way she looked at me ... it was almost like she knew. Maybe she didn't know consciously ... but ... maybe ... subconsciously ...
"Dad, I-"
"You did the right thing, son."
Michael let out the breath he had been holding but he could not unclench his fists. "But we're going to have to leave now."
"Yes."
"I ... I can't leave her," he said as he trembled. "The other kids ... the people in this town ... no one understands."
"Is there anyone who would miss her?" Michael's father asked.
"No, sir."
"Then you better find a way to bring her with us tonight."
"Tonight?"
"We leave in the morning. Do you think you can bring her by then?"
Michael closed his eyes and concentrated on what this meant. His task would not be easy. Christy lived in an all-girls orphanage. There would be walls and security and ... he reached into his pocket and took out four pieces of torn paper. Dropping open the glove compartment, he took the scotch tape and began to put the edges together. His father did not say anything as he worked. There was so much seriousness in the boy's face that the task had to be important. Finally he finished.
"Let me out here," Michael said as he took off his shoes.
"Are you sure about this?"
"I've never been more sure of anything," Michael growled as he unfastened his seatbelt, pulled off his shirt, and began to undo his jeans.
The van slowed and they pulled over to the side of the road. The last stiches of Michael's clothing dropped onto the floorboard but he froze when his father touched his arm. "Don't let them catch you, my young one. Your sister and I are all that is left and ... we need you."
The words allowed a furious pride to gather in Michael's chest and he let the glow shine in his eyes. The shadows of the night faded as he turned to look into his father's eyes and they shared a feral smile. "They'll never know I was there." Then Michael opened the door and stepped into the rain in nothing but his skin.
"I love you, son," his father called after him. "Be silent! Be safe!"
*****
Rain poured down onto the grass and trees. Michael was cold but it felt good to have raw nature under his feet once more. His breath misted as the chill of the rain slid down smooth skin. Had he been human, he would have perished in the chill of the storm, but his kind could shed this level of wet and cold with little effort. Rain droplets thinned, as the sun set, and he crouched in the protection of the shadows. Closing his eyes, he listened to the world around him and tilted back his head to scent the air. There were no people within a mile of him. It was safe for him to change.
A light breeze chilled the water on his naked skin, but he ignored the fragile nature of his current form. Bit by bit he shut away the world, turning his focus inward where his beast lived. The pulse in his veins beat harder, hotter, bringing it to a boil as he felt himself grow stronger. Steam rose as blood poured into his muscles and he began to swell. The thin frame rippled, tissue thickened and bulged. Fingers lengthened as nails sharpened into small claws. He dropped to all fours as fur began to grow. A snout and sharp teeth pushed forward as a tail formed at the base of his spine and pushed back.
As the last bits of his body moved into place, Michael opened his eyes. He could see through the night as if it was day and he could smell the girls in their juvenile prison. Now that he was more than a man the wilderness would not hamper him.
The wall around the compound was simple to leap and he bounded across the open courtyard. Claws slid neatly into the cracks of the building's aged stone walls and his new muscles pulled him easily to the roof. Softly he padded to the window that led to the attic. Deftly he slid the glass from its ancient frame and crept into the room.
Replacing the glass, Michael scanned his surroundings. Christy was the weird girl that none of the others wanted as a roommate. After a series of horrible pranks, the caretakers who ran the orphanage moved her up into the attic. This was her place ... and he could smell her.
After shaking the worst of the storm off, like a mangy dog, he moved across the room like a shadow. Christy's bedroll lay unattended and slid his snout into the covers. Her scent was so strong here that he could not help but become long and hard. Crawling the rest of the way into her scent, he rubbed his body all over her linen.
He could almost feel her as he did this. His scent mixed with hers and his throbbing length rubbed the places where she slept. Hot breath panted quickly as pre oozed to the surface and dabbed off in long thin lines. In his mind he was boring into her ... gasps of feminine delight filled his ears as she shifted ... changing into a creature just like him.
The fantasy shattered when he heard footsteps. Bursting out of the covers, Michael tugged them back into place and hid himself behind some boxes. He breathed hard and forced himself back under control. He shook his head and glared hard at the trapdoor in the floor. It opened but it was not Christy. Another girl rose into view, her blond hair was pulled back in a bun and she had a look of savage mischief on her face. In her hands was a box of tacks and she was moving toward the bedroll with them.
"Fluffy little beast-girl sitting in a tree," she chanted cruelly, "squirrel for a boyfriend cumming on her knee." Michael's fur bristled and he let out a chittering sound and then ran his claws rapidly across the wood. "RATS!" the girl squealed. She started, dropped the tacks, and flopped into a few of them as she flung herself down the ladder. Sputtering sounds of pain escaped her lips as she made her way to the bottom but she managed to gain her feet and rush down the hall.
Michael grinned in satisfaction as he closed the trap door and set to the task of clearing the tacks off into a corner where Christy would not step on them. He decided to wait for her here. His musk was now in her bedroll and her response to his pheromones would determine his actions. Acceptance or rejection ... go or stay ... either way, he would have to wait and watch.