Chapter 4: Truth and Consequences

My dreams that night were sweat-filled terrors, full of wolves and the bastard vampire that attacked me. Over and over, he threw me into the wall and taunted me. The more I bled, the more he laughed. The wolves circled and snarled, attacking at random. Evan stood over me, solemnly telling me things that made me scream. I was dead. I was a werewolf. I was a vampire. I couldn't ever go back. All my friends, my family were gone forever. And through it all, I was trapped in a maelstrom of pain that consumed me.

I guess my monitors gave me away because the nurse came in and shot me full of something that put me under so deep the nightmares couldn't reach me.

In the morning, Dr. Cummings cut the cast off my arm and I spent damn near an hour in the shower scrubbing my skin and hair until I couldn't smell anything other than soap. The only thing that still hurt was my neck, so I took care washing it. By the end of the shower, I was weak and shaking, but I managed it on my own.

As I dried my hair, I was a little amazed by it. The gray hair I used to have was very coarse, sort of wiry. But this felt just like my normal hair, soft and silky with just enough curl to give it movement. It was very odd to see myself in the bathroom mirror. It was like being trapped in stranger's body. I'd never been this thin before. Everyone in my family carried extra weight and I had always wondered how it would feel to be one of those women that all the men wanted. I didn't know if anyone would want me, but the new body was very different.

(Question: Why didn't I need to shave my legs? Shouldn't I be growing more hair now, not less?)

There weren't clothes anywhere, but a clean gown was waiting on my freshly made bed. I put it on and found a spare blanket to wrap around my shoulders in a make-shift robe. I was tired of being in bed so I opened the blinds and pulled a chair over next to the window. When a nurse came to check on me and bring me some lunch, I asked for a pad of paper and a pen. She raised an eyebrow at me, but gave them to me without questions.

I was bothered by the view outside my window. In any hospital I'd ever been in before, the view out the window was generally very urban. Office buildings, parking lots, maybe some houses; but not here. Here my view was a beautifully manicured lawn with a small garden complete with benches and a fountain. In the distance, I could see a forest. There wasn't another building in sight. The only conclusion that made sense was I in some private hospital, like a treatment facility for addicts and the insane. It didn't really bother me. I couldn't do anything to change it. I just wished I knew where I was.

I started making a list of all the questions I wanted to ask Evan. Things I was too upset to ask last night. Things he told me that didn't make sense. What in the hell was I going to do now that I had to start over again? Was there any way at all I could ever talk to Caleb one last time?

I knew Evan would tell me no, but thinking of never speaking to my best friend again was tearing me apart. It was almost like having him die. Having him ripped out of my life through no choice of my own with no explanations or goodbyes was practically the same thing, wasn't it? At least I knew he was safe and could go on living his life, but it didn't make me hurt any less.

For the past few years, Caleb Nash was the only real family I had. With my parents gone, I really didn't have anyone else. I was an only child with very few cousins. I wasn't close to any of them. My mom had died a few months ago, but she'd moved down South a couple of years before. And though I loved her, our relationship was never easy. One visit a year was my limit and when it was over, I generally vowed never to go back.

So Caleb was it for me. He was my family. He lived about ten hours away by car, but we talked every day on the phone. We managed to see each other every two or three months for a long weekend where we didn't really do anything but watch a lot of movies and enjoy hanging out together. Even though we were just friends, he was still the most important person in my life. I couldn't think about losing Caleb and I didn't think I could bear to hear Evan tell me I'd never see or talk to him again, so I crossed that question off my list.

Dr. Cummings found me there, making my list of questions and pondering the view from my window. He pulled up a chair next to me and propped his feet up on the deep windowsill.

I gave him a small, wry smile and gestured to the gardens, "Nice view."

He grinned, leaned his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes. "We try."

And then to prove that he'd heard my unspoken question, "We're not a normal hospital. It's more a special clinic that helps people like yourself with special needs."

This time I did laugh, "Special needs? Like growing fur and snarling at you when you're trying to sew me up?"

He chuckled too, "Yeah, like that. You were very well behaved, all things considered. You didn't actually bite anyone. You just let us know you were in pain and unhappy about us inflicting more, even if we were just trying to help."

"So do you get a lot of special needs cases? This building doesn't look terribly big."

"No, not too many. We've got about twenty rooms on this level. There are usually patients in a quarter of them at any one time. The treatment and testing rooms are all below us, underground. When you've got someone growling and threatening to rip your throat out, you can't take a chance of them going through a window and getting out."

That gave me a small pause. My room was on the ground floor and it appeared to be a single story building. My window was sealed shut with no visible way to open it and the glass was much thicker than normal. Energy efficient, or was it more than that?

"I can understand the safety precautions, but it makes me wonder; am I a patient or a prisoner?"

He sighed, "Let's just say you're a guest for now. You can't really leave right this minute, but you're not a prisoner either. It's more that. You need a little more time to heal, even at the rapid pace you're improving. You also need to learn more about who you are now and what to expect from life in general when you leave here. And finally, because you're essentially starting over in that life as a brand new person, there's going to be paperwork and matters to be worked out with the government."

"The government? They know about... ," I hesitated. I wasn't sure I could say the word, because saying it was admitting what I'd become and I still wasn't sure I believed it.

He opened his eyes and looked at me, "Oh, yes. They know pretty much everything. Point in fact, it is because of the government and the aid they provide to people like you that werewolves are able to live in peace and secrecy. How do you think the general public would react if they knew werewolves and vampires weren't just fairy tales? Do you really think you would be able to have a normal life? No. You'd probably spend your life in a cell like a caged animal for public safety. That is, if you weren't killed outright by some hysterical mob once your secret became public.

"Lauren, I know it's hard giving up everyone you've ever known and starting over. You're going to grieve and hurt for a while. But it's really for your own safety and to keep your loved ones safe that we do this. An angry mob wouldn't stop with just you. They'd look at the people standing with you and tear them apart, too. Then they would start hunting for others like you and every werewolf would be in danger. It's not just your secret, Lauren. You hold all of our lives in your hands right now. Don't let us down, okay?"

Dr. Cummings reached over to gently squeeze my hand. When he touched me, time seemed to freeze and my world melted away. I was standing in my hospital gown, but somewhere I had never seen before. It was someone's kitchen. The cabinets were old fashioned, maybe aluminum, and glossy white. The countertops were Formica and done in a pattern I associated with a 1950's style diner. The tiled floor was grayish linoleum and the appliances, a small refrigerator and a four-burner gas stove, were sparkling white antiques. There wasn't a dishwasher or upper cabinets, just rows of pretty shelves stacked high with dishes, bowls, glasses, and assorted crockery.