1
The snow had piled up quickly, blanketing the house and bending the boughs of the lodge pines until the needles came close to brushing the frozen ground. Clyde and Terry lay in front of the fireplace, lethargic in the heat and unwilling to face the work of digging out their trucks.
They had come back to Terry’s house after his dramatic return from the netherworld, and hadn’t emerged for the last two days. There was a hesitancy in their movements, a tension making them awkward and ill at ease. Clyde went to the kitchen to find a beer and Terry heard the sound of glass shattering on the tiled floor.
“Shit, I dropped a bottle,” Clyde yelled. “Where do you keep the mop?”
Terry rose reluctantly and joined his lover in the kitchen. Ignoring the suds pooling under the fridge, he brushed his fingers lightly across the back of Clyde’s neck and watched him shiver in response.
“We need to talk,” said Terry. “We can’t keep pretending nothing happened. I know you have a million questions.”
Clyde turned and gave Terry a long look. “If you’re ready to talk, then I’m ready to listen,” he replied. “Why don’t you start by telling me what you remember?”
“Not much I’m afraid,” began Terry after they’d settled once again before the cozy hearth. “I was searching through the woods that afternoon, just like we’d planned. I remember catching the imprint of the two missing werewolves from Mike’s rod and Drake’s car. When I got to the clearing they were just standing there, like they were waiting for me. After that, I don’t remember a thing until I came to in the other world.”
“You don’t remember what you did to them?” asked Clyde, more harshly than he had intended.
Terry looked hurt but understood Clyde’s skepticism. He had tortured both werewolves and left them to die, even though he couldn’t remember anything from that horrible night.
“Honestly, I’ve tried to fill in the missing pieces,” insisted Terry, “but I just can’t. I woke up in the land between darkness and light, where the dead await judgment in the unseen world.”
Clyde gave a shudder and, despite his mixed feelings, reached out to squeeze Terry’s shoulder. All the night creatures knew of this place, where souls were held in suspension, neither living nor irrevocably dead. Those who were immortal would occasionally pass through if they had received a deathly injury, only to be soundly ejected and returned to the world from whence they came.
“The worst part is I knew I’d been there before,” continued Terry. “It was like I hadn’t been thinking clearly up to that point and suddenly everything was sharp again. You know how I told you I’d been raised on the Bayou?”
“Yes,” replied Clyde cautiously.
“Well I wasn’t. I’m from right here in Wyoming. Beatrice filled my head with someone else’s story and when I woke up, some of my real memories came back. There are still huge pieces missing, but now at least I know what’s in my head is actually mine.”
“Are you saying you remember being dead before?” asked Clyde incredulously.
“I think so,” said Terry uncertainly. “It was all so familiar, the souls in limbo and the feeling of hanging in suspension, with nothing firm under your feet and this vast expanse of nothingness above.” He hesitated and then added, “I think that’s where Beatrice must have found me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think she came to the land between darkness and light to find a soul she could steal to put in motion her plan to destroy the pack.”
“So how did you die? Where did you live?” Clyde rubbed his hands over his face, thoroughly confused. “Who are you?”
“That’s the thing,” said Terry sadly. “I just don’t know. I’m a warlock, from a coven somewhere around here, but I can’t remember where. I don’t remember who my people were or any of the details from my past life. I just know for certain that the memories I had when I was under Beatrice’s control were false. I need to discover the truth.”
Clyde was silent as he absentmindedly rubbed Terry’s back. It was all so convenient, this selective amnesia that allowed him to forget the massacre in the clearing. Clyde wanted desperately to believe the strange tale Terry was telling, but what if it really was only a story? He flashed to Mike’s face as the light left the werewolf’s dying eyes, pleading for help that Clyde was powerless to give.
“Hey,” cried Terry, “that hurts!” Clyde’s impromptu backrub had turned into a pounding and Terry moved quickly away.
“Sorry,” grunted Clyde, “I wasn’t paying attention.”
“What are you thinking?” asked Terry softly. “Tell me.”
“I’m thinking you’re going to have to come up with a better story than that when you’re summoned to the gathering,” replied Clyde. “The pack is going to have a lot of questions, and it doesn’t sound like you have many answers.”
“What do you want me to say?” asked Terry, his eyes flashing with anger. “I have questions too, and walking around with no memory of my own past is freaking me out. What if there’s a coven out there looking for me?”
“What if they killed you?” asked Clyde. “Did you think of that?”
The anger drained from Terry’s face and he seemed to crumple, making Clyde regret his thoughtless words. He hated himself for doubting the warlock and wanted nothing more than for things to be easy between them again. Terry had returned, against all odds, to be with him. Why couldn’t he just move on and put his trust in this loving and tender resurrection?
As if reading his thoughts, Terry said softly, “It’s going to take time Clyde, so don’t beat yourself up. I love you, and we’ll find the answers we’re both looking for. The pack will heal, and so will we.”
Terry lifted the werewolf’s face to bring it level with his own and tenderly kissed the mouth he had moved heaven and earth to caress once more. After a moment Clyde responded, and they were again simply lovers with nothing on their minds but each other’s touch.