Dawn Awakening

All he had to do to get the Old Man fired up was mention that picture of Robbie and he naked in the tub. Too bad, they'd been three at the time it was taken. The snapshot was one of those special ones that doting mothers took because they thought it was cute and then pulled out years later to embarrass the hell out of you. Not so cute.

He already missed Danielle so bad it hurt. Her subtle ways, her shy smile, and the way she'd size him up when she thought he wasn't looking. When so many saw him as less than what he was. To them, he was just plain old John Mark. She looked beyond it all to the man he would someday turn out to be. For her, because of the pride he saw in her eyes, he'd always done his damnedest, would always do everything he could, to believe, and to be the man she thought he could be.

After the dancing, the moon shone brightly above the assembly and the great hunt began. John Mark raced through the dark. His footfalls sure and precise, stalked the prey. Cries from the others pierced the silence as prey fell at the hands of his brothers. He had taken care to find his catch, wanting it to be his own personal memorial to the couple as close, maybe closer to him than his own mom and dad.

Crouched on all fours, he waited until the timing was perfect. The buck was splendid, a powerful animal, proud and dignified, his footfalls sure on the loamy floor of the forest. Releasing his coiled muscles, John Mark pounced. Digging his fingers in deep his teeth finding purchase, bringing the kill down in one swift move.

The kill drained, its life force flowed through John Mark's body, renewing every cell of his being. Filled with emotions of loss and hope for the future, he offered prayers of thanksgiving to the spirits of the hunt and to the animal for giving him its life.

His thoughts drifted to Robbie again. He hoped that if he ever had to reveal his true nature that she would care for him enough to accept their differences. Love her parents enough to understand why they'd kept their secret from her. In time, maybe, find her place in his world and embrace it.

The group assembled in a loose semi circle around the dying remnants of the bonfire. Excitement from the thrill of the hunt crackled in the air around them. The Great Father motioned for John Mark to approach. In his hand he held the headband and feather assembly of their fallen brother. The speckled hawk feather floated on the night breeze. Sweat stained leather, braided around shiny bits of bead and rock, drooped limply over his fingers.

In his long life, the Great Father had seen enough of life and death to know how the balance teetered on a razor's edge. He would die...someday. Whether at the hands of an enemy or in old age, death would find him and demand it's due. The living had the task of moving forward, to keep on living no matter how hard it got. Not always an easy thing to do. Neither side lost and neither side won. Each prized claimed at a cost. For the dead, it was leaving loved ones behind. And for the living it was being left behind.

These ceremonies were hard on the brothers. The mortal ones died so soon compared to them. So quickly in the blink of an eye, their lives were over. The gift was every mortal member's due. But, few chose it. The gift was not without risk. For reasons nobody knew, sometimes, it gave life and sometimes, it killed. Not even his brother, Kokumthena's prophet, could speculate as to why, only that it was what it was.

Every mortal decided their own path and Robert and Danielle had chosen theirs. They chose for their daughter's sake to live as mortals and refuse the gift. Perhaps, it was guilt on the brothers' part that they would go on, be forced to live on, and on, and on. When Robert and Danielle passed too quickly from this world to the next.

For the Great Father, this was not his first funeral pyre. Nor would it be the last. That was the way of life and its eventual end, death. For everyone, brothers included, death would come. But, for all his two hundred and some odd years on this planet, saying the last, the final goodbye, never got any easier.

With a nod from his brother, the Prophet, the Great Father somberly stretched out his hand, clutching the weathered headband in his fingers. Honor and duty required one of the brothers to step up and protect the legacy left behind. Honor the blood of the fallen. The duty of protecting the family left in the brother's tender care. "Do you uphold the honor of our fallen brothers? Will you act as protector to his remaining family?"

John Mark dropped to his knees, bowing his head low and replied earnestly with deepest sincerity, vowing the promise he knew someday he would make. "I will honor the blood. I will guard each life as if it were my own. I do this willingly and with bravery worthy of the Sons."

Would he die for Robbie? Would he give his life for her? Yes, he would. John Mark's heart pounded at the Great Father's approving nod. The Great Father's fingers worked the leather over his head. The band was heavier than he expected. Or maybe, it wasn't the band that was heavy, but the weight of the vow he'd taken. For the rest of his days, Robbie, Robert and Danielle's only living relative, would be his to protect.

Robert, Danielle, and he had never discussed the BIG "what if". John Mark didn't know if they hadn't had that conversation because Robert and Danielle didn't expect to die so suddenly or if, when the time came, they could count on him without having to talk over a thing. Robert's last thought echoed in his mind. He would take care of Robbie.

Even if he didn't already love her, even if he had never met her and they were strangers, he would have protected her anyway, to honor Robert's last request. Robert, for all the pain he had to have been in, all the suffering he endured in those last few seconds of his life, he'd hung on long enough to ask.

Even if Robbie never reciprocated his feelings and didn't love him back, his love was bigger than that, deeper than that. Like the ashes of the bonfire scattered to the winds to fall to the ground in some remote place: rivers that flowed into the ocean, mountains covered with snow, plowed under into the earth: that was how far, how endless, and how big his love was.

The word "no" never entered his mind. Robert asked. And he'd answered the only way he could have, with a resolute "yes". He owed Robert and Danielle so much of what he was. Growing up, his parents fought, a lot. Spent more time arguing than they did raising their kid. There was never enough money for the family. Never enough time for them to get around to parenting him the way they should have. His parents worked, ate, slept, and repeated the cycle day after day until finally he grew up right under their noses.

They'd missed everything. Little league games. School plays. Parent-teacher conferences. All the important stuff to him wasn't important enough for them to show up for. His parents had always been the empty seats in the middle of the auditorium, the blank space on the bleachers. Robert and Danielle had always been there, cheering him on, applauding him no matter how badly he performed.

Danielle picked him up from school the day he came down with chicken pox in third grade and fed him gallons of chicken noodle soup. Robert had been the one to teach him to swing a bat for the first time. If not for them, he wouldn't know a thing about what "normal" really was. And, he wouldn't be who he was today. A Son. A Warrior. A man.

John Mark loved his parents. Always had. It was just that he had wanted things from them that they couldn't give. Love. Time. Affection. They did the basics. Kept him clothed, fed, housed. And they loved him as best as they could. But, for a little boy who felt so alone in the world, it wasn't enough. Robert and Danielle, luckily, had been there to fill in all the blanks. He loved them for it. He loved them for...them. And he mourned them every bit as deeply as Robbie did.

Robert, who knew him better than his own father, had given him a reason to hold his head up. Given him a purpose beyond sucking it up and living simply because he was supposed to go on living. He'd trusted him in those final moments with the one thing he valued above all else in the world. Robbie.

The voices of the brothers whispered in unison. "So it shall be." His oath was sealed. His duty defined. He was a protector of the bloodline, a guardian of flesh and bone, warrior of sword and fang, sworn to honor and protect for as long as he lived. John Mark blinked away the stinging bite of tears and wood smoke, rising to his feet. Ready to live, ready to die, all for the vow, and all for his love of a girl named Robbie.

Chapter 8

In the wee hours of the morning, the ceremony ended. John Mark wandered throughout the streets of the town deep in thought, rolling the beads of the headband through his fingers. He fought against the waves of melancholy that buffeted the edges of his mind. Robert and Danielle were gone. This headband and the ceremony made it real. Final.

Mourning the dead was not the practice of The Sons. They honored their dead and told stories of their dead. But, they didn't curl up in a ball of depression, like he wanted to do, over the dead. They held their heads up and kept right on going. Death was supposed to be a celebration of life. Too bad, he wasn't in a party kind of mood. These dark thoughts wouldn't get him anywhere anytime soon. Like quicksand, they'd suck him under, if he let them. Robbie didn't have a shoulder left for him to cry on. He had to be strong for her. Be her shoulder to cry on.

He had his mental connection to the brothers to keep him company. Damned if they weren't monitoring his mental frequency pretty regularly these days. They were giving him space, which was a good thing. But, all that poking around in his head, like the whole lot of them thought they thought they were freaking Sigmund Freud or something, was really getting on his nerves. When he started dreaming of phalluses or lusting after his mother, he'd be sure to let them know.

Focusing on his new duty, he wound his way through town to Robbie's neighborhood. The windows of the house were dark, reminding him of closed eyelids. Through the front door, John Mark listened intently to Robbie's rhythmic breathing. He sifted on the edge of her consciousness, doing a little head shrinkage himself. Although she was sleeping soundly, her mind was a tangled snare of worries and troubled dreams.

Silently, he slipped in through the front door. Palming the key, he felt just a little guilty that he hadn't turned the set over to her earlier that night. But, he was on a mission to keep her safe. The last thing he needed was Mack breathing down his neck over a little late night B&E. He could confess later. For now, the key would stay with him.

Robbie's arm was hanging off the couch and her neck was cocked at a horribly uncomfortable angle. A throw lay in a crumpled heap on the floor between the couch and the coffee table. For all her restless dreams, she slept like a rock oblivious that she had company. John Mark bent low whispering softly as he carefully slid an arm around her shoulders and another under her knees, scooping her up. She stirred for a moment and then nestled her head in the crook of his neck, snug as a bug in a rug in his arms.

Afraid that the trip up the stairs might jar Robbie awake, he opted for her parent's bedroom adjacent to the living room. He eased her down slowly onto the bed and pulled up the blanket, neatly folded in Danielle's painstaking way across the foot, up around her shoulders. "Don't go," Robbie moaned. Dreaming, she frowned and tossed restlessly on the bed. "Don't go yet."

John Mark stood absolutely still under the cover of the dark, scarcely breathing as Robbie stirred on the verge of waking. Finally, she settled and fell back into a restless sleep. Gently, he gathered up the blankets she'd thrown off of her shoulders in her thrashing and tucked them tightly under her chin. He crouched by the head of the bed and ran his fingertips across her cheek, easing away her frown with gentle strokes. "I'm not going anywhere." He promised. And he meant it. Every last word.

The hardwood floor was a bitch on his knees. For hours, he'd watched Robbie sleep. Her face was a storm of emotions. Sometimes calm and placid as a clear blue sky and other times, pinched and strained, like a thunderhead brewing on the horizon. He stayed by her side, whispering, gently stroking the frowns away, reapplying the blankets when she'd toss them to the side, watching over her till dawn lightened the eastern sky and first light shone through the lacy sheers of the bedroom window.

He couldn't stay any longer without risking Robbie waking up to find him crouched at her bedside. John Mark wasn't sure he could explain his presence without sounding thoroughly creepy. Gee Robbie, I was just watching you sleep. Gee, Robbie, I was just protecting you from the bad guys that you don't even know exist. Gee, Robbie, I'm helplessly in love with you, but I have a fully and utterly legitimate reason to be ogling you in your sleep. NOT.

Fully aware of her habit of waking with the first beam of sunlight through the curtains, he slipped out. Never far away, just in case she needed him.

Robbie woke in a panic. Apparently, on top of all the other stress in her life, she had something new to worry about. Sleep walking. She would have to deal with that issue later. Right now, she had to get her butt in gear if she was going keep her appointment at Reyburn's Funeral Home to go over arrangements.

Even over the phone the mortician gave her the creeps. He spoke in a soft, unhurried, and totally commercial, sympathetic manner that made her want to shout into the mouthpiece in fury. The way he'd said "arrangements" in that hushed, absolutely politically correct manner of his, had her stomach in knots. They weren't talking "arrangements". They were talking about her parent's funeral.

This wasn't some goddamned party they were planning. There wasn't going to be colorful streamers and a clown handing out balloons. There was no blonde stripper popping out of a cake. There was no happy surprise waiting at the end of this. This was a funeral. A fucking funeral.

Nervously, she bit her lip, hands trembling as she twisted the wayward strands of her unruly hair into a clip at the base of her scalp. She smoothed down the sensible skirt her mother insisted be always at the ready, just because one never knew when there'd be a funeral or something that required such a reasonable outfit. Adjusting the functional white blouse on her shoulders, toying at the pearl buttons and picking at imaginary stray pieces of lint, she stalled for time.

Sliding her stocking feet into the utilitarian black pumps, also bought at her mother's insistence, she rolled her eyes. Sick of grief and fed up with sadness, she resorted to sarcasm. She guessed the joke was on her mom. For all her planning and motherly prodding, Robbie didn't think her mom intended the "at the ready" funeral attire to be worn for this particular funeral. Taking a deep, shaky, breath, she gathered her keys and headed out the door.

Robbie was thankful for her mother's sense of planning for all those little "you just never know" moments in life. Mr. Reyburn had been happy to report that the funeral had been pre-arranged. All she had to do was sit back and let him take care of business. Fine by her, one less thing to deal with. Mr. Reyburn with his watery smile and weak, papery, dry, squeamish handshake that totally grossed her out to the point of puking all over his polished wingtips, could have at it.

But still, with nothing to do but...wait...she felt so lost and alone. As if the sunlight, shining gleefully down on her shoulders, weighed a million pounds and squished the life right out of her. And each footstep to her car sank down into wet concrete, grounding her and holding her firmly in place. "A little fish in a big pond," Robbie whispered to herself. And she felt like she was drowning, gasping with her thin fish lips, flapping her gills, struggling for breath in that little, bitty pond.

Robbie climbed the porch steps, trying to find some comfort in the midday warmth. Identify one cheerful thing about the day. At least the sun was shining. Who cared? It was a beautiful day. So what? The birds were singing and children were playing. WHO GAVE A DAMN? Her life sucked right now. And that was the end of any "Miss Merry Sunshine" self-talk she might have managed to come up with.

Robbie changed out of her "funeral" clothes and into a pair of old cutoffs and tee shirt she found in her dresser upstairs. Glass of iced tea in hand, scowling at the world as it passed her by, she sat on the stoop. Watching the occasional car meander through neighborhood with casual disinterest. Woe to the salesman who dared to come up her front walk today. She was itching, simply itching for an outlet for all this pent up rage at the unfairness of her life. She'd shove whatever they were peddling straight up their ass and do it with a smile.

Robbie was pulled out of her revere by the masculine sound of a throat clearing and a massive shadow hovering over her. Looking up, way the hell up, she saw John Mark looming over her. "Hi," she croaked out, stuffing all that rage back down her throat till she choked on it and trying, for the sake of civility, to sound cheerful.

"Hey there," John Mark answered back. He returned her half-hearted, forced smile with a genuine one, inviting himself to sit beside her on the stoop. Gently, he nudged her shoulder with his shoulder, leaning his weight lightly into her. "What are ya' doing?"

He stifled a snicker at her eye roll to his question. Robbie so obviously did not want company. Although, she needed it, she didn't want it. Too bad. Her mind was a pressure cooker of agitation and anger and the steam valve was stuck on closed. She was gonna blow. Better she take it out on him than some unwitting, well-meaning, casserole bearing member of the local Ladies Auxiliary.

Robbie wasn't really in the mood for company. At all. "Nothing much," she answered curtly, intending for him to take the hint and make like a tree and leave. John Mark was not dense as most of the town believed. Surely, he got it. Concentrating on her toenails, just in case he didn't get the hint. She wiggled them, watching the pink polish gleam in the afternoon sun. He sat there, leaning against her as if she were an old fence post on the back forty.

She would not be mean to John Mark. SHE WOULD NOT BE MEAN TO HIM. Over and over she repeated the mantra. Clamping her lips shut against the words bubbling in her throat. John Mark was her friend. Her only friend and he wasn't bearing a casserole or condolences, he wasn't peddling glass cleaner, carpet shampoos, Kirby sweepers, or Girl Scout cookies. He just showed up... because he was her friend. He did not deserve her wrath. Before he could ask, she blurted out, "Funeral is the day after tomorrow."

"Oh," John Mark replied, tensing a little. After a brief silence, as if here were trying to think of something to say, he took a breath. He had shit to say really. Nothing he could say would sound right. The girl was grieving. He was grieving. And he would not, WOULD NOT, cry on her shoulder. He would cry with her. Hold her while she cried. But, her shoulders for his personal use for crying were off limits. He forced back his own sadness and put on that dopey, cheerful, innocuously cute face she was used to seeing him wearing. "I was on my way down to The One Shot to play some pool and grab a drink. You wanna come?"

Robbie shrugged indifferently. She'd never been to the One Shot. Before the age of twenty-one, if someone would have asked her if she wanted to go to the One Shot, she would have been all over it. At twenty-two and well, well over the mystery of dark, smoke filled bars and pickup joints, she had no interest. "Nah." If she went, she'd probably drink herself silly. Do and say things she meant, but shouldn't do or say. Alone was better. Nobody got hurt that way. And she didn't end up in an orange designer suit in the luxurious accommodations of one of Mack's drunk tanks to sober up. Wasn't like she had anyone to bail her out anyway.