Consequences (2 page)

“After I feed the kids, how about we go for a
walk and see if we can find those bear cubs again today?”

I feel the shock on my neck that always
precedes Ellie’s voice, “You need to check in with Michael. He has
really stuck his neck out to protect you, and to help you with Lune
and Ursa. If it wasn’t for him, your secret existence here wouldn’t
be so secret. I'm still trying to figure out why he's been so good
to us, especially after he figured out you were only nineteen, and
bought this cabin with cash.”

“Ellie, don’t nag … I know what I owe him.
But don’t forget he gets something from me, too -- I help him with
his cases.”

“Do you really think the best way to stay
under the radar is to use your talents to force the truth out of
criminals? What if they told somebody what you could do? Don’t you
think red flags would fly up all over Nevada, if a story came out
about a man who could not only read your mind, but force you to
tell the truth?”

“Come on, Ellie, you know I can wipe their
memories after-the-fact. Besides, Michael and I have a routine now
… no one ever knows I’ve even been around.”

“Just because you’ve become strong enough to
break people’s minds, doesn’t give you license to do so; even if
they are criminals … especially considering that most of those
people aren’t.”

She always cuts me with that one, bringing
back memories of when I first found out about the ethereal world …
holding both my greatest love and my most horrid nightmares. I
can't fight the memories that take me to the images of my own
sanity being crushed, simply because someone felt the need to break
my mind. Of course that someone was James; he was an insane
psychopath long before his death, long before he became an ethereal
creature like Ellie. He wanted me, hunted me for my potential … to
be used as a weapon. When Ellie left me in June, before my mind
found her again, James and his powerful mentor V almost won … I
almost broke.

The memory of my only true friend in Las
Vegas waves in through the shadows of my thoughts, Ann. Her face
distorted in pain as I pushed my power into her mind; controlled
her thoughts, violated her secrets and crushed her precious
memories. V’s voice echoing in my ears, I couldn’t find relief from
my own anger without pushing it out into Ann’s mind. In one last
feeble attempt to survive, Ann pushed back with everything she had
in her own talents. She projected her own voice into my head, not
in a scream, not even pleading, just in a tone of absolute
compassion and love “Seeing you like this … would destroy
Ellie.”

With my head hung over the sink, tears fall,
circling the drain, and I’m pulled back to the present, to the
sound of the teakettle whistling from the kitchen.

At the memory of that day with Ann, my last
day as ‘Christopher the Destroyer of Minds’, the recollection makes
the scars on my jaw and neck tingle. Shuffling back out to the
kitchen my senses are sharp, I can smell the cedar paneling that
covers every inch of the walls throughout the cabin. Ursa is
waiting for me in front of her food bowl, pleading with her eyes;
she is telling me that the pups inside her are hungry. I nod to her
as I fill the French press with coffee and hot water.

Then walking over to the refrigerator, I find
the rabbit carcass from yesterday, wrapped in plastic. Lune likes
his normal kibble, but he has turned into quite the hunter bringing
back all sorts of animals to feed his growing family. I quickly
pull the plastic from the rabbit, and drop it into Ursa's bowl. She
goes for the nutritious underbelly and organs first. I used to be
nauseated by the idea of giving her the whole animal, my instinct
was to gut and skin it first. But I soon learned that she needed to
remain wild, knowing exactly what was essential to keep her body
healthy.

When she looks up, her muzzle stained dark
red, she shows me a picture of what she wants to do today … where
she wants to go.

“Michael will want to see you today, maybe
after I talk to him we can set aside time to visit the pack. We can
never let Michael know we are in contact with them; you know how it
irritates him. He already thinks it's too dangerous for Lune and me
to care for you … knowing about the pack would outright piss him
off.”

She cocks her head understanding my thoughts
instinctively. I know, I don’t need to speak out loud to Ursa; but
if it weren’t for talking to my furry roommates, I wouldn’t hear my
own voice for weeks on end. The irony of talking to animals and an
imaginary girlfriend, who keep me sane, even though I know I look
like a raving lunatic, isn't lost on me. They help me keep a hold
on my fine thread of sanity; like a spider’s silk, it looks
fragile, but is actually incredibly strong. I just have to keep
reminding myself that as breakable as sanity is, my mind is
stronger than I will ever understand.

I watch in wonder as Ursa pulls back the
flesh and digs into the rabbit's strong leg muscles. Biting the
bones with a loud cracking noise, she chews the flashes of white
into pulp, extracting the precious marrow inside. Her coat is thick
and shiny; probably the healthiest she has been in her lifetime. I
know she will go back to the pack eventually, which is why I give
her these rare visits.

The pups will have to stay with me of course.
She made sure I knew that Lune and I were to raise them after the
birth … she doesn't belong in my world, and Lune’s pups don't
belong in hers.

I always assumed that wild animals’ minds
were too primitive for me to read … Lune proved me wrong in Vegas;
again, thinking of that time makes the scars on my jaw itch. The
marks, that I will carry forever, were made to remind me that I can
never again regress into a monster. The scars will forever remind
me of my connection to Lune, looking into his memories; the images
through Lune’s eyes, images of Ellie in the intricate details that
only an animal’s mind can understand. Burned into my memory, is my
beautiful Ellie, her hair whipped around her face, surrounded by
bright green light; she is encompassed in the color of life, and as
glorious as any goddess.

“Christopher, you need to send a message to
Michael, and find out when he will be visiting today.” The shock of
her touch vibrates through my nerves, and I hear a soft growl
coming from my throat in answer to her statement.

Pressing the plunger down on the coffee
press, I can smell the rich scent as it pulls me from my thoughts
of Ellie. With my mug in hand, I move to sit down in front of the
computer, and type a quick message to Michael.

Then pulling up my bookmarks, I continued
with my on-line research from yesterday. Michael has given me a lot
to think about … he considers himself an amateur folklore
historian. His particular area of interest is wolves. Many of the
stories he has shared with me are tales of their steadfast ability
to exist unseen. Dream world guides and protectors, cunning and
intelligent, their highest priority is family, and their fierceness
is undeniable. They are hunters of opportunity; only two members of
a pack can actually take down a full grown bull elk. The wolves
have been seen by the native people here, as a fellow tribe,
brethren of the wild … not to be messed with, only respected. I
questioned him if he thought members of those tribes had abilities
like mine. I wonder if they were able to see how wise and dangerous
these creatures could be.

On that note, Ursa sits down next to me and
cocks her head. Looking at the computer screen with great
curiosity, her eyes studies the picture I’ve pulled up … it looks
just like her. The intelligence in her attitude is unmistakable,
only to be contradicted by the savage stains of the dark black
organ blood that she is licking off her nose.

The pictures that flash up in her mind’s eye
are ones of family. The pack waiting in their meeting place, a
beautiful meadow nestled deep in the trees, far from human
observers.

They don’t worry about other predators;
together they are the top of the food chain … except for the all
too clever, two-legged predators that leave out poison and set
traps. Humans don’t mind the hierarchy; they don’t understand the
primeval code that dictates honesty in nature. Brutal … there is no
room for kindness in the natural world, but sneaky manipulation is
an entirely human trait.

The pack has memories that are shared,
passing down mental pictures, filling their minds like reoccurring
dreams. Visions, which are always accessible to their fellow
wolves, remind them of their all-important history. Records of
times past, shared, momentous such as how to hunt as one, never
leave one of the pack behind, and never forget the significance in
the order of things … in nature or in the pack. Ursa shares these
insights with me, a lowly human; and the philosophy I am learning
from her is making me stronger by understanding my true
insignificant place in the world.

“Okay Ursa, I know you miss them. Are they
close?” Living vicariously through Ursa’s familial obsessions has
saved me from my loneliness. I have never felt such a connection to
anyone -- except for Ellie. Ursa has given me the endowment of
belonging to something more substantial than simple human
companionship. I’m afraid that after she leaves, and the connection
is broken, I won’t be human enough to ever return to normal
life.

Inside the image projected by her thoughts, I
can tell the pack is only about a ten-minute hike away. “Michael
probably won’t answer me back for an hour at least … I guess we
could go for a short visit.”

Just as if they were reading my thoughts,
Lune and Ursa sit waiting at the front door. I pull on a
long-sleeved tee and a hoody, finally slip into my Carhartt jacket,
and slide my Sorrels back on. We are out the door before anything
can interrupt us from our mission to visit the pack.

“Coffee, I need coffee … Michael, who in the
hell are you talking to?” Groggy, I shake the cobwebs from my
slushy brain. I’m starting to sound like that damn kid … talking to
myself all the time. I need to stop falling asleep in that chair;
you’d think I’d have learned after the first twenty or so kinks in
my neck … that is not a bed.

The taste of whiskey is still burning the
back of my throat as I try to brush my teeth. I think my tongue has
grown a coat that the coldest wind couldn’t blow through, much less
the bristles of my toothbrush. Grabbing hold of the doorframe, I
start pulling myself up, releasing and then up again. I'm hoping
that doing pull-ups until my arms feel like Jell-o will sweat out
the last dredges of anxiety, and subsequent alcohol, that was
brought on by my dreams of Lilly. The thoughts that have plagued me
for the past six years are still edgy, dulling a bit, but still
edgy … then Christopher had to come along and sharpen the
blade.

Ever since that kid showed up, everything has
become prickly, with clarified images. Once upon a time, I had
daydreams, just simple fantasies about enchanted things, but now
everything has an answer, everything is grounded … real, with
serrated edges that have cut my beliefs into shreds. I thought I
had only one belief … trust empirical evidence. Only in the minds
of men, do you actually find fantasy searching for form. I loved
the mythology of the local tribes, even doing research as far north
as the Inuit … it wasn’t real, just folklore… a fantastic story to
follow. I was letting my mind drift along like watching TV,
thinking 'what if', but nothing more.

Then Christopher appeared, cold and withdrawn
for the first month. I kept checking on him, something didn’t feel
right about someone so young, buying that cabin. When I did some
digging and found that he paid cash for the property; I knew
something was out of the ordinary. My instincts told me he was a
good person, lost and troubled, but ultimately good and he needed
help. I wish I had ignored my instincts and left the kid alone.

Through the strain of my last few pull-ups, I
can’t help but reprimand myself for always having to ask “why” and
cockily stating “prove it”. In law enforcement classes, we learn
that we aren’t supposed to care why a guy beat his wife, just prove
that he did it and get on with life. Leave the 'whys' to the court
system. Here, as a game warden, I can get away with searching for
answers to 'why'. In Montana there are so many extenuating
circumstances that sometimes I have to understand the details, and
use discretion in order to build foundations of respect. We have to
form productive relationships with the hunters and local community;
it’s the difference between one man watching over hundreds of
miles, or hundreds of conscientious people banded together, taking
care of each other and our resources.

About five weeks after Christopher moved into
the cabin, I tracked yet another blood trail on to his property. I
knew that I had a poacher in the area, and I had to catch him. This
particular hunter wasn’t after trophies though, he was after meat.
I knew ahead of time that I wasn’t looking for a sportsman, just a
guy trying to survive. But I have a job to do, and that means that
I can’t allow hunting without the proper tags, and absolutely not
during the off season. When I caught him in the act outside
Christopher's cabin, he came out to see what the problem was … then
the strangest thing happened.

Christopher cocked his head and stared into
the hunter’s eyes, and then started talking to no one, “Did you
know he has a family? They haven’t been able to afford groceries
for about three months now. His kids have all lost weight; he’s
afraid they’re wasting away. The cow elk he killed last month … he
kept some of the meat, but traded the rest for produce and propane.
He’s afraid that they’ll run out again during the next big storm,
and die in their home … alone, cold and hungry.”