Authors: Alexandra Kane
Sitting down at her small, polished oak kitchen table with a bowl of Rice Crispies and the Durham Herald Sun, she let her gaze rake over the newspaper while she ate.
Same ol' same ol'.
The cover story announced yet another murder in the slums of the city. The police had no leads on the young black man's death, but suspected gang activity. She shook her head. The City of Medicine was slowly gaining a new, much less lofty reputation, and she hated it. Having lived in the area all her life she knew the good people of Durham were much better than the few hoodlums destroying the city's image with their violent foolishness.
She finished the cereal, and was rinsing the bowl in the sink when she heard a knock on her front door.
Ralph.
He was a little early but she knew it was him.
“Coming,” she called out. Sure enough, when she opened the door, there he stood, grinning. He was wearing his typical Saturday attire, jeans and a t-shirt. She often picked on him about his corny graphic tees. This one was no exception, bearing the image of cartoon characters from a kid's show, and emblazoned with the words, “Hey, where's Perry?” She was absolutely sure he shopped in the young men's department, a section he'd outgrown once he had kids of his own. But you couldn't tell Ralph he wasn't sharp.
His arms tucked behind his back, he looked her over. “Good morning, sunshine,” he said, his voice tinged with playful sarcasm.
“Good morning yourself.” She punched him in the shoulder. “Get your ass in here before I come to my senses and change my mind about this whole thing.”
He eased his way in, and she shut the door behind him. Once inside, he produced a familiar white, green and red cardboard box with a flourish. “I brought you a little pick-me-up.”
“Krispy Kremes.” She took the box from his hand, peeking inside. “A dozen original glazed.” Despite the fact she'd just had a bowl of cereal, she couldn't deny the appeal of the doughnuts. “Thanks, Ralph. Want some milk?”
He crossed the room and flopped down on her tan leather couch, crushing the blue and white afghan her mom had knitted for her beneath his butt. “Don't mind if I do,” he replied.
She snorted. “Make yourself comfortable, then.” She went into the open kitchen and returned a few moments later with two tall, ice cold glasses of milk. Sitting them down on cork coasters on the coffee table, she perched on the edge of the sofa next to Ralph. Looking into the smiling eyes of her closest friend, she could feel nervousness rising in her chest like never before.
Sensing her trepidation, he touched her shoulder. “Tatiana, it's okay. No matter what you tell me today, you're not going to lose me as a friend.”
She watched him, and his eyes held the truth of the words he'd spoken. She inhaled deeply, pursing her lips as she blew out the breath. “It's pretty damn complicated...I don't really know where to begin.”
He pulled a doughnut from the box. Taking a bite, he chewed, looking thoughtful. “Just tell me whatever you think I need to know, T.”
Getting her own doughnut from the open box, she bit into the sugary deliciousness. The mixture of the sweet, slightly crisp glaze and the soft, fluffy interior were a familiar, welcome distraction. Ralph remained quiet, watching her as she finished the doughnut. After she took a sip of the cold milk in her glass, she cleared her throat. “Well, Ralph, there's something different about me, something I'm not even sure you'll believe.”
He leaned back into the plush cushion behind him, clasped his hands together. “Try me. You'd be surprised at just how open minded I can be.”
“I, well...” the words caught in her throat as she struggled to find the right ones. “Um, have you ever heard of shape-shifters?”
His eyes widened, but only for a second. “You mean like MJ in the Thriller video?”
She nodded, then thinking she should clarify, began shaking her head. “Yes and no. I'm not a yellow eyed werewolf monster, if that's what you're thinking.”
He blew out a breath, and made an exaggerated gesture. “Phew. I'm glad to hear it. I'd hate to have to take out my best buddy with a silver bullet.”
In spite of the complete anxiety gripping her like a vice, she laughed. That was what made him such a great friend. Even though he was a man, he seemed to understand her in a way no one else did, outside of her younger sister Tara. “Ralph, I am a shape-shifter.” The words tumbled out of her mouth in a rushed whisper, before she had a chance to stop or censor them.
Silence fell between them. Suddenly, the ticking of her gold enamel wall clock seemed loud enough to fill the room. She looked at him but found his face unreadable. Then he raised a hand to his chin, rubbing the edge of his clean shaven jaw. “What is it, exactly, that you turn into?”
She swallowed, forcing down her fear once again. “A...tiger.”
He nodded, his expression changing to something that looked like—relief.
Tatiana could feel her own eyes widening. Something passed between them, something unspoken, but very tangible. He looked almost as if...no, it couldn't be. “Ralph?” Her gaze held the questions she now had for him.
He sighed, capturing her left hand in both of his. “Sweetie, I'm glad you finally told me.”
Confusion filled her like water overflowing a vessel. “What are you talking about?”
Ralph smiled. “I already knew.”
CHAPTER 5
She sprang from the sofa, standing over him.
“WHAT!?!” She couldn't help her reaction. If Ralph's head had fallen off his shoulders and rolled across her living room floor, she would have been less surprised.
He chuckled, then held his hands out in front of him as if protecting himself. “Hey, hey, calm down. It's okay.”
Her breath came in such short bursts, she was beginning to feel deprived of oxygen. “What...when...how in the world...” she stammered, not able to string together a sentence. At least not one that would make sense.
He stood, put an arm around her shoulders. “Your memory is really bad, you know that? I was there that night.”
Unable to process what he said through the shock that clouded her mind like a fog hanging over Jordan Lake, she asked, “What night?”
His eyes and his tone turned serious. “The night Tara was hurt.”
Realization swept over her, lifting the fog. She closed her eyes, and the memories of that awful night came back in a rush...
**
-July 4, 2007-
Tatiana stood by her parents' front door, arms crossed, foot tapping rhythmically on the hardwood floor.
Where is Tara? It's not like her to miss a cookout.
The entire Fourth of July holiday had passed, and Tara hadn't shown her face all day. Their father, Burt, always made a point of throwing two big family cookouts a year: July fourth, and Labor Day. His two daughters had never missed one, even when the younger Tara had gone up to Virginia to attend college at Hampton University. Tara's absence was even more noticeable now, because it also meant the absence of Tatiana's beloved niece, Tara's three year old daughter Ava.
Galina Yates, native of Moscow and Tatiana and Tara's mother, glided into the room. Her petite frame was draped in a floor grazing white and pink floral sundress. The cheery pattern of the dress looked out of place next to the worry etching her face. “Have you heard from your sister yet, dear?”
“No, Mama.” She faced her mother. “I'm going over to her house, just to check on her.”
Galina nodded. “That is a good idea. Your father is beside himself that she missed the cookout.” She patted her daughter's shoulder, which was a stretch for her four foot eleven inch height. “The minute you see her, call me.”
“Yes, Mama, I will.” Grabbing her purse and keys from the coffee table, she went out the front door.
On the large porch, Ralph sat with her father, Burt. They were laughing about something, until she strode past them toward her car.
He must have seen the look on her face, because Ralph called out, “T, what's wrong?”
“I'm going to check on Tara,” she answered, without stopping or looking back.
As she placed her hand on the driver side door handle of her car, Ralph sprinted up. “Well, with the look on your face, I'm not letting you go alone. Unlock the doors.”
Not having the time or inclination to argue with him, she complied, and he slid into the passenger seat next to her. Within seconds she backed the car down the driveway. As she drove away, she could see her father's dark eyes focused on her from his seat on the porch.
Night was falling when she parked at the curb in front of her sister's house. The modest brick home was partially obscured from view by the two white crepe myrtle trees blooming in the small front yard. A few lights in the front of the house were burning, but nothing seemed out of place so far. Tara's white sedan was parked under the carport, and only the chirping of crickets and other insect sounds filled the humid air.
Above them, the streetlamp flickered on as she and Ralph got out of the car, casting a yellowish gleam on the parched crunching grass beneath their feet.
Ralph walked ahead of her, and when they got to the stoop, knocked on the red painted oak door. “Tara, it's T and Ralph. Are you there?”
No answer.
He pounded on the door again.
This time, she called out. “Tara? It's me. Open the door!”
No response.
Wishing she had a key to the house, she crossed to the front window that looked into the living room. The light was on, and so was the nineteen inch television. But there was no one in the room, both the red sofa and armchair were unoccupied.
She didn't even want to think of what might have happened. Tara was a stickler about her budget, and never left lights burning in unoccupied rooms, or televisions playing when no one was watching them.
Ralph asked quietly, “Can you see anything?”
She shook her head.
Then she heard it.
Ralph opened his mouth to say something, and she shushed him. “Do you hear that?”
He turned as if listening. “What is it?”
Her heart sank into the rubbery soles of her flip flops. “It's Ava. She's crying.”
“Maybe we should call the police,” he commented.
“No.” The last thing the family needed was any government agency, including the police, questioning them and poking around in their business. “We'll just go in ourselves.” She went back near the door, braced herself.
He folded his arms. “How? Without a key...”
The sound of splintering wood interrupted him as she kicked the door in.
“Damn,” she said, tossing aside her worthless shoe, “I broke my flip flop.” Kicking off its mate, she stepped inside the house.
When she looked back at Ralph, he was standing on the porch, eyes bulging.
“Come on, Ralph,” she said, gesturing.
He walked in, taking slow, cautious steps. When she narrowed her eyes he picked up the pace.
They went to the left, down the short hallway, following the sound of little Ava's wails.
Opening the door to Tara's bedroom, Tatiana gasped.
There was her sister, lying prone on the floor.
Blood splattered the pink carpet, looking much like a child's finger painting.
Tara's right eye bore a light bruise, and angry red welts circled her neck, forming the imprint of two hands. Her tee shirt was torn, one brown breast exposed.
Next to her, clutching a white stuffed animal, sat the sobbing Ava.
“That's it,” Ralph announced, “We have to call the police right now.”
“No,” she insisted, kneeling next to Tara. “They can't be involved. Just see about Ava, will you?” She kissed her poor frightened niece on the cheek, then let Ralph carry her out of the room.
Tara stirred, writhing a bit on the floor. A low, pain filled moan escaped her swollen lips. “Tatiana?”
“I'm here, Tara.” She stroked a hand over her forehead. “What happened? Who did this to you?”
She grimaced, then opened her eyes in a slow fluttering motion. Focusing on the ceiling, she breathed, “Wyatt.”
Tatiana growled, feeling her teeth sharpen in her mouth. She couldn't recall how many times she'd begged Tara to stop seeing Ava's lazy, shiftless, chauvinistic father. “It must have been recent, you haven't healed yet.”
“T, don't start any mess, now.” Tara struggled to sit up, but Tatiana pushed her back down with a gentle hand.
“You need to rest, to speed up the healing.” She growled again, feeling the prickling sensation on the back of her neck.
“Don't kill him, Tatiana. Even though he's an asshole, it will only cause problems for our family.”
Unable to process the bubbling anger boiling inside her, she slammed her fist into the floor. Beneath the carpet, wood shattered beneath the blow. An indentation was left when she moved away.
“I won't kill him. But that's all I can promise.”
She stood, turned around, and found Ralph standing in the doorway. Ava was still in his arms, quiet now as she drank from a sippy cup. “Ralph, stay here with them. I've got some business to handle.”