CH 3: OLD BONES — BROWN

Brown paced around in his sparsely furnished cabin; a bar at one end, two chairs and several empty bottles lying about. He wrapped his hand around the neck of a bottle of whisky.

It was already past midnight yet he felt neither drowsy nor tired. Everything was going south.

He took another generous swig of his whisky, grateful as it heated its way down his throat.

Since he couldn’t get drunk, he had to settle for the temporary relief the bottle offered.

He hadn’t expected to meet Jeff at Norton.

The last he had heard of Jeff, he had been somewhere in New York, being a complete corporate dickhead as usual. That’s the reason he had chosen to come down to Clydentown instead; that and his uncle Gordon.

For two people who claimed to hate themselves so much, they were so similar – Jeff and father. Loose. Impulsive. Wild. Angry. So many adjectives yet he felt they all didn’t do justice to the expression he desired.

He remembered the way father would beat Jeff when they had been little. How father would tie him up to a tree and flog him mercilessly. Jeff would heal eventually, but the worst kind of pain is the one that doesn’t break the skin. Those take ages to heal, and they leave scars greater than a man could bear.

A man.

Brown took another swig of the whiskey, downing the entire content.

“A man, father!” he screamed and flung the bottle on the floor. “That’s all I wanted to be!”

Not this rage driven, wild animal he had become. He stepped over the broken pieces of the bottle to the cane chair close to it, ignoring the blood that dripped on the floor. It won’t last anyway. His werewolf genes would ensure they healed straight away.

There was a knock on his door. That was strange. Nobody visited him here, and not this late.

He stood but didn’t walk to the door.

His werewolf senses were already alert. Whoever it was that knocked was no longer there. Someone fast, and quiet. Someone with a very rich choice of perfumes.

Brown knew who it was already.

“Hello, Jeff” he said without turning his head just yet.

“Jeff? What happened to ‘hello brother’?”

“You’re not my brother”

“Ouch, you hurt me there, Brown. Real ungentlemanly of you”

Brown stood up and turned back to face Jeff standing by the bar at the other end of the cabin. He was still as he was at Norton; white shirt, blue blazers, and gold rimmed glasses.

“Hurt you? That’ll be a surprise. I never knew you had any feelings at all”

“1950?” Jeff raised a bottle of scotch at Brown, ignoring Brown’s retort.

“45. Don’t touch it.”

Jeff took a quick swig, as he brought the bottle to his lips. “Oops”

“Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? What exactly brings you here?” Brown crossed his arms.

“I should be asking you, Fishburne. What brings you to Clydentown?”

“Choice?” Brown said as he sank into the chair again.

“Wrong answer.”

“What do you want, Jeff?”

“I’d ask again, Brown. After which I wouldn’t be so nice anymore. What brings you to Clydentown?”

“I chose to come here. I totally had no idea you were here.”

“And of all the companies in Clydentown, you waltzed right into mine?”

Brown shrugged. “It’s an accident. I promise you.”

Jeff chuckled mischievously. “Let’s try one last time, shall we? I want something that begins with a ‘T’ and ends with another ‘T’?

Brown laughed.

“I’m pretty sure truth ends with letter H”

Jeff immediately threw the bottle of scotch at Brown. Brown ducked to avoid it. He wasn’t fast enough to dodge the attack that followed. Jeff had swung over and pinned him to the ground, grabbing his neck with both hands. Brown struggled to push him off, but failed.

“How about throat?”

Brown tapped against Jeff’s hands until he eased up a bit.

“It’s a coincidence, Jeff. I had no idea you were in Clydentown”

“I don’t believe in coincidences, brother.”

“Your problem, not mine.”

Brown’s eyes suddenly turned yellow. Thick black hair filled his face and his neck.

“Stray dog.” Jeff said with a laugh still pinning Brown down.

His eyes turned red and he bared his teeth at Brown. All at once, Brown’s eyes turned blue again. The hair that had grown on his face and neck disappeared as suddenly as they had appeared.

“You’re an Alpha now?” he asked in shock.

Jeff laughed. “And you’re still a stray.”

“Call me a stray one more time and I swear, Jeff, I would rip you in half.”

Jeff laughed, an annoying steady laugh that angered Brown so much.

“Father called me a stray dog all the time and you did nothing, Brown. Now, you hate the word?”

He finally stood up, leaving Brown on the floor, seething in anger.

“Instead of standing up for me, you would rather join him and roam the forests of England. You’ve always been a prick Brown. A bloody stray dog.”

Brown charged at once towards Jeff, teeth bared and claws outstretched. Jeff parried, choking him, and slamming him against the floor.

“You’ve always been father’s loyal little puppet. The fitting fool for every fucking job,” Jeff said.

“And you have been what? A hero?”

“Why be a hero, when I could be the villain, and be fucking good at it?”

“Get out of my house, Jeff.”

“Again, wrong.”

“You see, I’m god around here. I decide who goes and who stays. You should be leaving my house.”

“Out.” Brown repeated.

“No, you leave my house.” Jeff was now in front of Brown now. “I give you five days, Brown, if your werewolf ass is still in my town by then, I’d treat you exactly how I treat strays that cross my path.”

He walked to the door, whistling an off-key tune.

“There is only room for one wolf in Clydentown,” he said, slamming the door.

Brown fell to the floor and screamed.

The very reasons for which he had run away from England were slowly rearing up their heads again. Arya always said it was the Fishburne curse to know no happiness.

Maybe she was right.

Five days. Jeff had given him five days to leave, but he didn’t plan on it.

He was tired of being pushed around. Not Father, and not Jeff. The only real problem now was quitting his job. He would have to, at least. For a few moments today he felt all his werewolf rage disappear. All the pain and resentment he had felt towards his father and himself had disappeared into nothingness.

From the very moment he met that girl today at the coffee shop, he had felt something warm rush over him. Something stronger than the warmth he had felt when Arya tended him when he had been sick.

He knew he made her uncomfortable. He wouldn’t blame her. He knew he was bad news. But if being around her was the cure to his anger, he wasn’t going anywhere.

Not yet.

Brown stood up and walked towards his bedroom, leaving everything the same way it was in the living room. He spied the picture on the table. She had no idea he had stolen, err taken it. Whatever it was, it did look important. He had gathered that her father was late.

The man in the picture shared the same playful wide smile that creased her face. He should be her father, he thought.

He sat at the table and picked up his knife and resumed carving. It was going to be a long night. He needed to be ready for work the next day.

He needed to see Rebekah.