He had been renamed Test Subject 1013 ever since she’d known him, destined to be put in the WereGames when he was deemed prepared by the facility. It was no fair fight to the other werebeings caught and forced into the games, but that was the whole point of it: to see which of these genetically enhanced werebeings would come out as alpha. He was one of those werebeings, plucked from obscurity and poverty as a child with a recessive mutation that had to be let out.
He was known as Caliban sometimes. A129 called him Caliban, rather than 1013, when the adults weren’t around. He had always been a serious child, one who had sparse interactions with Alexia, but they spoke when they could. It was part of the tests, from interaction to side-by-side open surgeries.
Caliban had seen her first as a tiny girl with dark hair and deep grey eyes flecked with blue. He had once thought there were diamonds inside her eyes. The moment he saw her, he knew he was going to have some sort of refuge in her, no matter how miniscule it seemed at the time. She suffered in silence the first time he had been put beside her for experiments. It awed him that she could stay put through all the torture they inflicted on her.
At first, they were made to eat meals together in one big room, unknowingly studied by the doctors in those moments that they could interact. There were many of them, he recalled, but he could distinctly remember Alexia, no matter the tests and torture. He had learned to slip into another world every time they battered him till he became unconscious, and many times, Alexia’s face was in that world.
Once he made it out of the facility, he would rise to the rank of general and take her out of that place. Maybe he would marry her, too -- if she wanted to have him.
‘Who would have wanted to have him?’ he once thought. He had arrived as a scrawny kid with no manners and illiterate to boot. Caliban had worked in a scrap yard before he had been whisked away to the laboratory. He was a sad and angry child; he remembered Alexia telling him that. He bit anyone who tried to approach him, growling in all his childish fury.
The recessive genes were traced in a day, and after that, they didn’t stop until he shifted into his true form. Alexia had an inkling of what he was the moment she began to talk to him.
“You’re a weretiger,” she whispered to him, not knowing there were many listening devices placed in the room where the kids were put.
He scoffed at her at first. Was this how she made friends? Or was it some warning of who he truly was? That he wasn’t just some kid working his life away in a scrap heap?
“Go away,” he told her, wanting to wring her throat. There was a rage in him that couldn’t be quelled. He had imagined hurting other people before, like his own boss in the scrapyard. She slowly reached out to touch his hand, and he recoiled, shocked to hear her voice without her opening her mouth.
She had told him she was just like him, one who couldn’t remember her past. This was the only life she had ever known, and it was a life he would grow accustomed to soon. Alexia had seen him kill his first human after months of testing. That killing surfaced after he shifted for the first time, a shift that was in his truest form. It hurt so much, he needed to hurt someone else, too.
How old had he been? He had barely turned ten. Alexia had wished him a ‘happy birthday’ just two nights ago, and she had been the only person to do so.
He remembered how good it felt to kill, although a voice at the back of his mind told him it was wrong. He knew he just had to. Trapped in solitary confinement for the next month, he missed Alexia terribly; the moment he saw her again, he wanted to run to her to embrace her, only he froze in place. She bit her lower lip, as if trying to tell him everything was going to be okay.
Looking back, he knew she was trying to help him come to terms with his werebeing nature. Alexia had that rare quality of making people feel loved and respected even if they didn’t know they deserved it. There was a part of him that fractured, knowing she was now wanted by the regime. He still felt rage run through him at the thought of that Ryker bastard taking her away when she had been alive and well in that facility under Dr. Wallace’s excellent care.
Caliban closed his eyes as he lay down on his bunker, remembering every moment he had with Alexia before he had been taken away for military training. He had passed the program, he had survived the tests that took a toll on every werebeing child, emotionally, physically, and mentally. He was proud he hadn’t been put down for being an undesirable test subject.
The exchange for his success was never seeing Alexia again. He had almost seen her. He had caught her scent. It frustrated him that he hadn’t been able to save her sooner. He should have known about it. Then, he would have defied orders from his superiors. He would have defied the president’s son.
Too late now, he thought morosely. His hunter’s instinct had grown since getting a whiff of X014’s scent, as well. He wanted Ryker dead. Ryker Locklear, an adopted son, the boy who killed his parents by default. All because they adopted him, all because they had the pitiful idea of loving a werebeing. That was the problem in mingling with humans who had no special DNA. He found them disgusting, even if all of them were his superiors. There were moments that he imagined killing them, taking over their positions, just to show them who the true alpha was.
Then, he would feel that soldier’s guilt. He had been trained to follow, and follow he would. But how could he with Alexia’s life at stake? He loved Alexia; he realized this early on. He loved everything about her; he loved the way she soothed his hurts, loved the way she taught him how to read and write patiently. It was a love that never died, and he hoped it wouldn’t with her impending death.
*
Four days later
“Lydia,” the old man called to his wife as she made breakfast in the kitchen.
She looked up to see her husband of forty years with an excited yet anxious look on his face. “What is it?” she asked John.
“There are young’uns sleeping in the barn,” he told her in a near whisper.
“Like children?”
“More like teenagers,” he said.
“Are they armed?” Lydia asked, eyeing the shotgun hanging above the door.
“Doesn’t look like it. Seemed like they had a rough couple of days, though,” John replied. Lydia quickly put on a winter coat and walked out with her husband. He carried a rifle, just in case. They slowly crept in the back entrance of the barn.
The teenagers were fast asleep, probably too tired from the trek they had made. The elderly couple observed the two who were asleep on a mound of hay. The horses were restless, snorting and moving about. Lydia walked closer, seeing a young woman nestled close to the young man’s chest. She was a pretty thing, and if her daughter were still alive, she would be around the same age as her.
Suddenly, Ryker snapped awake, pulling Alexia close to him, ready to shift. How could he have slept so deeply? He should have felt people arriving at least a hundred feet away. His heart pounded, and he felt saliva pool in his mouth. He was starting to see red now, but then he bit onto his lower lip for control. There was a shocked, old couple in front of them. The old man had hidden his rifle behind them, so as not to startle them too much. The horses began to stomp on the ground, and a few whinnied.
“We have an extra bedroom upstairs if you two are in need of sleep,” Lydia began in a warm voice. She took a step forward, wanting to get a closer look at them. The boy was probably no more than nineteen years old, and he had ice cold blue eyes that sent shivers down her spine. He didn’t have a friendly face, as opposed to the young lady beside him.
“No, thank you,” Ryker found himself saying. He let go of Alexia, and he stood up, helping her up as well.
“Oh, you’re bleeding,” Lydia gasped, looking at Alexia.
Alexia had become so immune to the feeling of nosebleeds, she didn’t notice it was happening now. She quickly wiped it away, using her dirty sleeve.
“Come, it looks like rest isn’t the only thing you two need,” John told them. He had sized them up the moment he saw them and figured they weren’t killers or anything, but it seemed like they were escaping from something. Some forbidden love, perhaps?
“We won’t hurt you,” Lydia coaxed. The girl was more trusting when she held out her hand. She held onto the girl’s hand, and it was ice cold. “Oh gosh, come inside; we’ll stoke a fire and give you a warm bath.”
Wordlessly, they followed the old couple into the house, side by side. The house was no mansion, just an ordinary farmer’s house, painted with a red roof and white-washed wooden walls. It was a comforting house, and the moment Alexia entered it, she was confused if she wanted a warm bath first or a warm bed or warm food.
“You’ll need to eat first,” Lydia told them as they entered the kitchen. There were homey touches everywhere in the house, from the personal watercolor paintings to the pottery displayed in the cabinets.
Ryker felt his mouth water as he smelled the bacon and eggs on a skillet. Bread popped out from a toaster suddenly, startling Ryker.
“You okay there, kid?” John asked.
Ryker nodded.
“I’m John Jameson, and this here is my wife, Lydia. Now, what’s your story?” he asked the guests.
“Story?” Ryker repeated, suddenly feeling dumb. It was time to put their fabricated one into good use. He looked at Alexia.
“We ran away from our town,” Alexia suddenly spoke up.
Ryker shot her a look, but he said nothing.
“What for? You two done something wrong?” Lydia asked with her back turned. She was busy transferring the breakfast onto plates.
“Nothing wrong to us,” Alexia replied. “My guardians didn’t want him as my fiancé.”
John nodded. So, he had guessed correctly. It was a sort of forbidden love. “And what about your parents, son?”
Son. The last time anyone called him son was Philip. This couple exuded the same warmth as his parents. It filled him with a sense of foreboding. They had to leave immediately. “Same,” he replied, trying to sound as natural as possible. He hadn’t expected Alexia to be so good at it.
“Alright, stories later, food first,” Lydia announced.
Alexia ate slowly, afraid she would get an upset stomach. Ryker didn’t care. He ate a lot; he ate so much that Lydia stood up in the middle of their meal to cook a second batch of eggs and toast. John smiled at Lydia. It was a funny thing to see. Why, the boy was so skinny, but he ate like a horse.
“Would you like some coffee?” John asked Alexia.
Alexia looked at it warily. Coffee smelled nice, but it looked weird. Brown water that smelled nice… she nodded, unable to decline the offer. She saw Mr. Jameson pour them each a cup filled with coffee. She stared at it at first, not knowing what to do with it next. She saw Ryker reaching for a cube of sugar, placing one in his drink. She followed suit, down to the whole stirring of the coffee.
Lydia looked at her quizzically. It was as if the girl didn’t know what coffee was and how it should be prepared. Still, she didn’t say anything. She enjoyed looking at the two eat, though. It was clear they were starving. She was paler than he was and smaller. The young man had a few shiny scars on his body, and she wondered if it was part of their escape. They looked like they hadn’t bathed in a while and hadn’t changed clothes, either.
As soon as they finished their meals, John stood up and announced that he would try to find some clothes to fit the tall boy. Lydia asked them if they wanted more coffee. Alexia didn’t like the taste of it, but she thanked the kind woman all the same, saying one cup of it was fine for her.
“Where are you from?” Lydia asked, trying to engage in chit-chat.
“We’d prefer not to say. But it’s far away from here,” Ryker replied, eyeing for means of escape later on.
“We’re not going to snitch on you,” Lydia said calmly. “And like we said, we’re not going to hurt you. I don’t know what you two have been through, but let us at least offer you a good night’s rest here with food and a change of clothes.”
Alexia looked at Ryker’s face, and she could see he was torn between leaving and staying. Ryker sighed, and Lydia heard this.
“You two are afraid of something,” Lydia said.
So much for acting like a genuine couple, Ryker thought. “We are. We’re afraid of them. They’ll keep us apart.” At least that was true. They had to stick together. They had to get to Washington.
“Ah, young love,” Lydia said wistfully, looking at the two of them. They were certainly a good-looking couple, even in their state of appearance. “What’s your name?” she asked Alexia.
“Juliet,” she quickly replied, wondering why she blurted out that name, out of all the names she could have chosen.
Juliet. Lydia looked at the young woman thoughtfully. Juliet had been one of her favorite characters to play back when she did a bit of theatre. It was a play that ended sadly, and she suddenly hoped that the young man’s name wasn’t Romeo. “And you, young man?”
“Sam,” he replied, knowing full well she was thinking of Romeo and Juliet. He had read that in the public library a year ago and immensely disliked how the play progressed.
Lydia smiled. “Such lovely names.”
John came back, carrying a change of clothes. “Let’s see if you fit into these. I’m a bit round in the middle, so I’m hoping it won’t be too loose on you. Now, young man, you can take your shower down the hallway to your left.”
“His name’s Sam,” Lydia interrupted.
“Right, Sam. Down the hall, to your left. No bathtub there, though. Just a warm shower.”
“Thank you,” Ryker said stiffly, standing up and taking the clothes. He looked at Alexia, who frowned a little, worried that someone might attack them anytime soon.
“This way, Juliet,” Lydia said, leading her out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Alexia followed her wordlessly, walking up the wooden stairs, holding onto the bannister lightly. There were two bedrooms that were wide open. Lydia turned on the water in the bathroom adjacent to the two bedrooms, and steam rose from it.
“I hope my daughter’s clothes will fit on you,” Lydia told her as she rummaged through a closet. The clothes were old, but they seemed to be in good condition.
“Where’s your daughter?” Alexia found herself asking.
Lydia looked out the window. “She died a few years ago. Some bad accident on the highway. She was coming back from her first semester in college, thinking a road trip would be fun.”
“I’m sorry,” Alexia quickly said, meaning it. Death was never any easy thing, even if she had seen it nearly every day.
Lydia quickly smiled at her. “I’ve got a few here for you. Just call me if you need anything. Oh, and there’s a spare toothbrush in the cupboard.”
Spare or not, Alexia wasn’t in the position to be picky. She would have gladly used an old toothbrush, just as long as she could clean the insides of her mouth properly. Lydia left the room, and Alexia took a deep breath, looking around.
It was a small room with just enough space for a queen-sized bed, a study table and a cabinet. It seemed like the room had been untouched since Lydia’s daughter had died. She approached the study table and saw frames lined up.
In one photo, there was a freckled young woman with a wide grin, looking much like a younger Lydia. There was another that showed she was wearing a school uniform, but the skirt looked too short… and she had fluffy things in her hands, things that looked like paper bunched together. She wondered what it was. Alexia sighed and headed for the bathroom, seeing warm water fill the tub halfway. The heat in the air felt wonderful against her skin. She slipped out of her filthy clothes and into the tub, the hairs on her skin prickling from the sudden change in temperature.
She couldn’t help but sigh. This was a luxury she wanted to be in every day, in warm and clean water. She felt her muscles relax, and her eyes began to sink deeply into their sockets.
She thought she deserved a long bath after being asleep for more than a day. Had the experiment been that brutal? She was reminded time and time again that she was special, because she had a bathtub all to herself. That bathtub had seen her bleed; that bathtub had seen her dumped with buckets of ice, just to test how far her body could g, and if her blood was still viable for transfusions after.
Now, now there was just silence. She had only just begun to drift off to sleep when the door to her bathroom slid open. Her eyes widened, seeing people. She felt scandalized at first, then she realized that they didn’t care whether she was naked or not; they just wanted to take her.
They forcibly held her under her arms, yanking her out of the tub, and she gasped, struggling and hating what they were doing to her.
“Let me go; I’ve only just woken up!” she cried.
They said nothing as she flailed helplessly against them, fully naked. They didn’t even bother to cover her. There was a stretcher waiting outside, and they flung her onto it, covering her with a blanket so that only her face, neck and collarbones showed. “Please,” she cried. “Please just let me stay there, only for a little while-"
They strapped her down and injected something into her that made her want to vomit…
Alexia’s eyes snapped open, suddenly fearful of anyone who could storm into this private moment. Would they come? She had wanted this pleasant feeling to last longer…she took a breath and realized she was safe, hearing Ryker’s muffled voice below, talking to the elderly couple.
She forced herself out of the bathtub, knowing she had to join them again. They had rehearsed a bit of their love story as they hiked and hitchhiked across miles and miles of terrain. She thought she could add bits into it to make it more believable, and she hadn’t expected she would be the first to tell their hosts about why they were traveling in such poor conditions together. She had seen Ryker flustered about the story he wanted to tell to anyone who would be curious about them.
When she had first heard of his plan, she shook her head in confusion and wanted to scrap the idea altogether, but the more she thought about it, the more she began to see that it was a safe plan. No one would expect them to be that close. They had been awkward together ever since. She was a bad liar, in Ryker’s words, and if anyone was observant enough, they would see that they weren’t on excellent terms with each other.
She wrapped herself in a thick towel, quickly walking for the bedroom with its door ajar. She didn’t lock it, knowing they could come any time… There were colorful clothes laid out carefully on the bed, distracting her from her previous thoughts.
She ran her fingers on the hems and edges of the clothes. These were beautiful, owned by the Jameson’s daughter who was long dead. Did she have the right to wear these? She stole clothes, but now that she was given something to wear, she balked. There was underwear, clean and obviously washed even if no one had worn it. It felt weird, but she needed those, too. She gingerly put the underwear on, surprised that it fit her in all its light blue lace glory. It felt nice, although strange. She had always had those pristine, over-bleached panties, and she’d never worn a bra. The doctors saw she didn’t need to, as she was experimented on almost daily.
Now, there was the difficult decision -- to choose something to wear. She picked the basic jeans and a large sweater, and then she carefully folded the rest of the clothes away inside a cabinet. She was barefoot, but the floor was warm. Alexia made her way down, hearing them talk in the living room area. They had their television on, an old curved LED set, but it served its purpose.
She stopped at the doorway leading to the living room, looking at the weather forecast. Snowstorms were expected in the next two days. Ryker looked up, knowing she was standing there. Alexia saw the look in his eyes. They were stuck here, weren’t they?
But Alexia felt a sense of relief that they could stay in a proper house with welcoming hosts, a warm bed and even warmer water running through the pipes; and best of all, there was proper food. John clicked on the remote, lowering the volume, just as Lydia came in.
“Oh, look at you,” Lydia breathed out happily. “Dani’s clothes fit you well.”
John looked up and gave a smile that seemed all too sad. “It looks nice on you, my dear.” He gave a deep sigh. “I best get a move on with the cows,” he told his wife.
“I’ll help you,” Ryker quickly said, standing up. He cleared his throat. “It’s the least I can do for your kindness.”
“Come on then,” John said with a smile, “and grab a jacket.”
Ryker knew he would sweat a bit under the winter coat, but he said nothing and followed the old man out. They traversed towards a field devoid of crops. A few hundred feet away, he saw cows grazing. There weren’t many, and he had attacked cows before…
“You ever tried your hand at farming?” John asked him, clanging a bell. The cows slowly lumbered for him, knowing their old man had food for them.
Ryker shook his head. “I’m more of a city person,” he replied.
“Well, these cows are smart. I only have ten, but it’s enough to keep the funds coming in when it isn’t wheat season.”
“You own the whole place?”
John nodded with a grin. “Yup. All forty acres of it. We have people to help around during harvesting season, but it’s mostly just me and my Lydia.”
“You don’t have other kids?”
“Wish I had, but we only had Danica.”
“I’m sorry,” he said stiffly.
“You’re an awkward kid, aren’t you?”
“I haven’t had the opportunity to have kind adults around me,” he replied, immediately regretting it. It would open the floodgates of never-ending queries.
“You look like you’re no kid, but your personality says you are,” John said, seeing the cows approach them. “Give me a hand here; let’s bring these cows to the barn.”
Ryker held onto three of the cows, whose eyes looked at him warily. He hoped he didn’t give off that predatory scent, lest he want a mini stampede to crush his kind host in the process. Thankfully, the cows allowed themselves to be led into the shed. The smell of manure and the individual scents of the animals nearly overpowered him.
“I can see you aren’t used to the stench,” John chuckled. “You really are city kids, aren’t you?”
Ryker didn’t say anything. His bear senses were annoyed.
“Say, kid, how strong are you?”
“Normal, I guess?”
“Can you help me transfer those hay bales to that corner?” John asked. “My forklift broke a few weeks ago. I haven’t been able to repair it because of my back. Hurts too much when I bend down, and I’m too cheap to have it repaired professionally.”
Was the old man testing him? Did John know that he was a werebeing? He nodded all the same, pretending that he wasn’t all that strong, even if he stood at six feet and two inches. He gave a few convincing grunts as he pushed the bales of hay to the far corner of the barn while John stood with his hands on his hips.
“That’s right, put that bed away,” John joked.
Ryker found himself smiling. He pushed the last bale away, happy that the winter coat worked up a sweat to make him look convincing. “Anything else?”
“I’d say chop up some firewood, unless you’re tired already,” John chimed in, his thumb jerking to a pile of wood behind him. “Nothing like a good old fire tonight with some beer. Do you drink?”
Ryker shook his head. “I’m still far off from legal drinking age.”
“But you’re old enough to know about love and running away because of it?” John asked, his brows raising up.
“It, it hasn’t been easy,” Ryker replied, walking for the pile of wood. He saw an axe hanging on the wall, and he took it.
“Was there no reasoning to it?”
The old man was getting curious, and Ryker was afraid it was his turn to become a bad liar. “No. They just didn’t want us together.”
“Well, if you got hitched--”
Ryker shook his head. “Not yet. I’d want to give her the wedding of her dreams.” Ryker wanted to kick himself for saying that. Did he sound too hollow? Those were pathetic words that rolled out of his tongue.
“No sympathizers to your cause?”
Ryker shook his head again. I wish.
“Then, why don’t you get married here? We can help,” John told him enthusiastically.
Ryker forced a smile. “I-It’s not in our options yet. We just want to get as far away as possible. Her guardians are quite controlling. Besides, we’re far from legal marrying age.”
“You college kids or something?”
“Once,” Ryker said. “Maybe we can attend classes again once all of this is over…” There was some truth to what he said; he did want to have a degree if it still meant something to the world. What did he want to get? He wanted to study business or politics…or become a doctor-if only he had that healing touch.
“Maybe you can get out of this country and get married somewhere else,” John chuckled.
“Maybe.”
Ryker began to chop up wood, swinging the axe in full force; his frustrations had gone beyond what he could currently handle.