Chapter Three - A Long-Overdue Conversation
Harrod
I sat outside on the stairs of the main entrance, waiting for dad to come home. Gabe, the butler, had retired to his quarters. I was alone in the whole house, as I usually was, but since the sleep terrors the house felt small. I longed to be outside, to be free, although I didn’t know what freedom meant for people like us. The guys in the black suits had been there since I opened my eyes, and I doubted they would leave before I closed them forever. They were one of the perks of having the Director of Central Intelligence Agency for a dad, and a billionaire oil tycoon for a grandfather.
I watched the sky change color as the sun set behind my back. Blue at first, then motley hues of orange, pink, red, purple and finally black. I gazed at the void above me until tiny specks of starlight appeared. I wondered what our house looked like from up there, decked out in red and white lights that cost a fortune to keep on, and would be enjoyed by no one except the people living under this roof. I wanted to ask dad so many questions, and not just those relating to my ‘condition’. I just wanted, for once, to be able to have some sort of normalcy in my life.
I knew my dad was coming when I saw ten headlights heading this way from afar. The road was long and winding, but it only headed one way — to my home. There was a security check post at the far end of the road, and the next one was at the gates. As he arrived, the other cars headed toward the parking lot while his car crawled slowly to the front of the stairs.
He was talking on the phone when he stepped out of his car, but clicked his phone shut as soon as he saw me.
“Harrod,” he said, arms opening wide.
“Dad,” I said, getting up reluctantly.
He hugged me. We hadn’t seen each other for five days.
“I heard about your visit to the therapist. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s nothing,” I said.
“Sleep terrors and panic attacks are not nothing. Anyway, I am your father, Harrod,” he said, in that bossy tone of his. “When something like this happens, you should talk to me first.”
“Who told you that? That was confidential!”
He gave me a look, a look I knew all too well. It spoke of things that shouldn’t be spoken of. It told me that I know better than to ask. I did know better, but I’d like some privacy.
“Come with me,” he said. “I want to hear all about it.”
It wasn’t like him to be so interested in mental health problems all of a sudden. He was very dismissive usually, apathetic about my life and problems, always giving me the same look. Hell, he never even asked me to go hunting with him, although he went every month on the farmlands my grandfather lived on. After retiring, my grandfather had taken up residence in the lands that had been in our family for generations. I remembered asking my dad to take me with him when I was young, but he had refused. I knew better than to ask again.
I followed him into his study, a room where he usually spent his time alone. He poured himself a drink, set up the chess table, opened the window and told me to take a seat. A small brightly decorated Christmas tree stood there as well. It was different than the one in our main lobby. This one had been designed by some French designer.
“Always better with fresh air, no?” he mused to himself, before turning to me. “So, about this visit. Why did you lie to the doctor?”
“Isn’t that what you told me to do?”
“I did. Good, that’s private stuff. But I think it’s finally happening.”
“What is?”
“We’ll get to that. First, tell me about the dreams.”
“They are nothing, really,” I began. “I see these mountains full of snow, tall trees, giant feral dogs…it's stupid stuff. They started with the mountains. The next dream zoomed in a bit, and then there were trees, then dogs, then the moon.”
“They weren’t dogs, they were wolves,” he corrected me, almost offended. “What does the moon do, does it change or anything?”
“No,” I said. “It’s a full moon, and it’s always full. But I think I am trapped in the body of a dog in the dreams, looking at the moon, barking or crying with the other dogs. Sometimes I see eggs hatching, wombs, veins…something trying to break free.”
“Go on,” he said. Honestly, I was surprised he was even listening to me talk about my dreams, but his eyes were fixed on me intently.
“That’s about it,” I told him. “You’ve read the rest, or heard it, or whatever.”
“Harrod, what I am about to tell you won’t be easy to digest, but I need you to man up and listen to me. You will have questions, but I need you to understand. Take your time to process everything.”
I just nodded. My dad has been possessed.
“Remember what your mother said?”
“Yeah, all those delusions she had,” I said.
“They weren’t delusions. She was telling the truth.”
My jaw dropped and stayed that way. I forgot how to speak at first, because I thought my dad has followed my mother’s lead and gone nuts.
“You lied!” I finally managed to say. Whether it was a question or statement, I didn’t know. “You mean Harris is alive?” I had always been told that Harris, my brother, had drowned in the pool one day when my mother wasn’t paying attention, and that CPS would take me away if I told anyone the truth.
He nodded. “He’s with Grandpa. I see him every month when I go hunting.”
“But I don’t understand. Why?”
There was a sudden surge of emotions, feelings I didn’t understand. I had been wronged, I felt. My heart expanded and contracted heavily in my chest, ready to explode.
“Why did you put my mother through all that?” The words weren’t even mine. “Why, if she was telling the truth?”
He looked at me again. It was the same look, but now it had a different meaning. There was power in his eyes, something that made me want to curl up under the bed.
“Your mother wasn’t quite there after what she saw. She wasn’t prepared for any of that. It was a lack of foresight on my part, but I did what had to be done. It was for the best.”
“According to who? Who decides what’s best?” I shouted at him.
“Harrod, do you remember what your mother’s delusions were?”
“No, I don’t.” It was so long ago that I couldn’t actually remember anything.
“This is going to be really hard to explain, then. You are a werewolf, Harrod!” He said it in the same way that Hagrid told Harry that he was a wizard, except that Harry was a child and I was a twenty-five-year-old man. “We all are,” he continued. “Except your mother.” He got up and paced around the room. “I should have told her, prepared her somehow, but I didn’t. I thought she would never find out.”
“Are you fucking with me?”
“Language, Harrod,” he chided.
“You think you can tell me I’m a werewolf all of a sudden and I’ll believe you?”
“That’s what I’d like, yes.”
“Do you know how crazy this sounds? Do you want to send me to the loony bin too? Is that what this is about? Why are you telling me all this now?”
“When we live in cities, these are the sorts of problems we face. I was waiting for your inner wolf to come out. Werewolves who live in packs don’t have to wait so long. They can shift at a very young age. Your brother could shift easily when he turned nine. With you…I have been waiting for this to happen.”
“I don’t want to be a werewolf. I want a normal life. I don’t want to be a freak,” I spat. “What’s next, you gonna tell me that grandpa is a werewolf too?”
“Everyone in our family is a werewolf, except for your mother and her side of the family. In time you will learn to appreciate and respect who you are,” he said, keeping his voice gentle.
“Fuck this,” I said. “I want to go see Harrison right now!”
“Leave,” he said. I could see anger rise suddenly in him. “We’ll talk tomorrow,” he barked through gritted teeth, and closed the door as I left.