Touched by the Moon Pt. 01

01.

The Reunion

Sam never said a word from the minute she stepped on the plane in California to when she got out of the door of the little four-door coupe that drove her from the Atlanta Airport. Headphones helped--half the time she wasn't even listening to anything, but it made people uncomfortable to talk to someone who wouldn't talk back.

It wasn't that Sam couldn't talk. She just had nothing to say.

She had two backpacks--one stuffed with clothes, the other with more important items--and she shrugged one onto either shoulder as she looked up at the house in front of her after the car pulled away. It was a one-story ranch style house, isolated from the main road and nearly swallowed up by pine trees, with a sod front lawn and a lawn gnome that sat in a front flower bed with no flowers. Sam thought he looked lonely with his green hat, white beard and dirty face. Sam could definitely identify with being lonely.

It was too warm, even in December, for the heavy coat she was wearing, but she didn't take it off yet; it practically swallowed up her short, waifish figure. She stared at the house for a long time, debating between contacting the gig driver to come pick her up again, or ringing the doorbell. It took her a long time to make that choice.

She rang the bell.

Bing. Bong.

Shifting the pair of weights on her back, Sam waited. A full minute passed. She hesitated again before pressing the doorbell a second time.

Bing. Bong.

Now she heard movement--footsteps, muffled behind the heavy door. There was a grinding of the deadbolt sliding back and then the door opened, revealing a man in a pair of jeans, no shirt or shoes, squinting in the morning sunlight. Sam craned her neck to look up at him; he smelled like fabric cleaner and sugar water--soda, she guessed.

He blinked his eyes, then looked at her. "Can I help you?" He had a faint accent but it was still there, more subtle than the cliche twang that Southerners were supposed to have. He was pale, well built but with a faint softness in his belly; his hair was black, thinning, and only half-made like he'd been sleeping, which matched the tired, puffy eyes.

Sam realized she was staring. She licked her lips, swallowed past a sore throat. Her mouth was so dry it hurt to speak. "Are you Phil Johnson?"

"That's me," he said with a quick, familiar manner that said he was used to saying it a lot.

"I..." Sam fumbled with her backpacks and fished her phone out of her pocket. A few flicks of her thumb later and she held it up for him to see a photograph of a photograph; she had the physical copy in her backpack as insurance.

The colors of the photo were washed out, and a bright beam of sunlight had thrown a nimbus across the lens, sending most of the view out of focus, but it was clear enough to see a man and woman together: he sat on a large rock and she was kneeling behind him, her arms over his shoulders; her long black hair was swept up by a strong wind, obscuring some of their features. Their faces were pressed together, and they smiled at the camera while a mountain vista behind them opened into a valley full of dark, tall trees. It was a picture of Esther, her mother, and--

"This is you, right?" she said, extending the phone towards him.

He blinked again, but confusion had overwhelmed his exhaustion. He looked at the phone for a moment, and she saw awareness come over him. "Oh, God." He looked back up at her. "Yes, that's me. And that's... You're her, aren't you? You're--"

"Samantha," she said, nodding. "That was you. With my mom."

He rubbed his mouth, staring at the picture for a moment. "I haven't seen that picture in a long time." He handed her the phone back, patting his pockets as though looking for something. "Do you want to come in?"

"Can I?" She didn't expect him to invite her inside. Her heart started pounding. "Is it... Is that okay?"

"Of course! Please." He stepped to the side and opened the door wider for her, smiling in spite of her unexpected arrival.

Sam threw one look back at the road and then stepped inside, trying to keep her breathing calm even while she was panicking inside. The front living room was a wide space, with several couches that were either new or didn't get a lot of use. A TV was hanging on the wall. The living space connected to a dining area with a table and chairs that seemed to be in the same state as the living room furniture--barely used--given the thin layer of dust on the table. Several rooms and a kitchen completed the layout, but several doors were closed so that she couldn't see into them.

"Nice place," she said. It was functional, serviceable--kind of boring, really.

Philip stepped into what looked like a master bedroom and then into a closet space. He had a big bed, and it was mostly made except for the rumpled sheets and the comforter that was thrown back. "I, ah, didn't expect you to be here quite this early," he said, his voice muffled.

"It's almost 11 o'clock in the morning," she answered. The walls were mostly bare of decor, painted white; the carpet was plush and thick, a drab brown that was functional and unimaginative. The curtains were drawn, which left the space caught between evening and morning light.

He reappeared, now wearing a t-shirt with a motorcycle, a brand name she didn't recognize and a British flag. "Good point. I was up late last night, is all. Do you want to sit down?" He gestured to one of the couches. "And would you like me to take--"

Sam ignored his offer, hefting both packs and setting them down next to her. It was a nice couch: comfortable, plush, plenty of give in the cushions. She leaned back with a sigh, watching him take a seat on a smaller loveseat. "You got my email, right?"

"I did," he said, nodding. "I was surprised to hear from you."

"Yeah. Not everyday you find out you've got a kid, huh?" She forced a smile, but only a small one.

"Yeah. That...that came as a bit of a shock." He coughed. To call the moment awkward was an understatement. "You know, your mom...after she left, she never contacted me. I tried to find her--believe me, I tried."

"It's okay. Mom wasn't really big on asking for help from anybody." Sam folded her hands in her lap. "Look. I know you weren't planning on this, but if I need to find somewhere else to stay--"

"No." Philip put his hands. "No, I want you to feel welcome here. I don't get a lot of visitors, I don't have much to offer, but you... Damnit." He licked his lips, rubbing his stubbled chin with one hand. "I wasn't sure what to think when you contacted me, and you don't know me from a hole in the ground, hell, I know that. But...you're family."

"So you believe me," she said. "About the photo."

"I don't think anybody else ever knew that photo even existed," he said. "So yeah, I believe you. I wouldn't have sent you the money for a ticket if I didn't believe you, didn't want you to come visit. There's some things you just can't do over a phone."

Sam let out a breath that, she had to admit, was in a bit of relief. "Thank...thank you." She sighed. "I don't have to stay long if that's not your thing..." She squinted at him. "You're not married, are you?"

"Nope, not married. No girlfriend. Just me." He spread his hands.

"Boyfriend?"

"What? Pssh, naw. That's definitely not my thing. I just don't do relationships very well. Especially after your mom...well." He coughed, rubbing his hands together. "It's not much, but I fixed up my spare room for you--wanna see?"

Sam blinked. She'd been expecting to sleep on a couch, assuming she got to stay at all--a small part of her hadn't even expected him to let her inside. "...Yes, I would."

"C'mon." He clapped his knees as he stood up, then beckoned her to follow. She picked up her bags in both hands and followed him across the room to one of the closed doors.

The room was small, enough space for a single bed and a table with a chair. The blankets were simple but looked clean, dyed a deep forest green. The floor wasn't dirty and she didn't see any cockroaches, so that was an improvement over her last place.

"The, ah, closet is full at the moment--got some old things I need to throw out. The bathroom's next door." He knocked on the second door right next to the bedroom opening. "Spare toothbrush and paste; there's a bar of soap in the shower. I didn't have none of those frilly shampoos or anything some ladies seem to like, sorry."

"I don't want to impose--"

He sniffed. "Ain't no imposition, Samantha, not to me. It's actually a good thing you came along when you did; I've got an appointment to get to, so I needed to get out of bed anyway. Do you want to...y'know, 'tag along?'" He nodded his head in the direction of the door.

"Actually, if it's okay to stay here..."

To her surprise, he nodded. "Of course--you just got off a plane and all that. Sorry. I'll check back in with you before I take off, if that's okay."

"You sure?" She set her bags on the table. "I mean, I just got here. I don't want you to think I'd take anything while you're gone."

He had an easy smile. "Fact that you'd say so means I'm not worried. Besides, the only thing valuable I've got in the place are the electronics, anyway, and if you can find anybody to hoc the TV to in just a couple of hours, you're even smoother than you look." He winked, then turned and headed back to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

Sam waited until he was gone, then shut the door and took a seat on the edge of the bed. She finally shrugged out of her coat, setting it down next to her as she fished out her phone, thumbs moving with practiced ease.

She opened up the photo again, the one of her Mom and Philip on some nameless mountain somewhere. They looked young and happy. Sam had imagined a thousand different things happening after the shutter snapped--how they might have gone on a hike together, or sat down for a meal, or just how they might have sat and laughed together, talking in quiet, hushed voices as they took in Nature's beauty.

"Damn it, Mom," Sam said, under her breath. She sighed, then swiped the photo away--she'd obsess about it again on another day. Sam plugged the phone in to charge and then looked around the little space. The only decoration was a small painting or print of a wolf's head, framed by a full moon.

"Because that's not out of place or anything," she muttered to herself. She was curious about the full closet, but decided against poking through things--it wasn't her place, and he was still home.

Her dad. Sam had lived her entire life without one, wanting one, wishing for one, and now, here he was. He did look good, and she meant that in every sense of the word--after an entire childhood and the worst kind of shove into having to grow up, now she could see him, hear him. She could touch him, know he was real, that he existed.

She pulled some of her things out of her bag and set them on the table, more to force herself to unpack: it was an exercise she was trying, mentally forcing herself to not be ready to grab her bag and go at any moment. Some of the places and people she'd been frequenting lately had made her want to keep her bags full and very, very close.

But Philip didn't do that. He seemed nice. Maybe he did something like dissect people in his garage, but something in her didn't think so. So far, he seemed nice. She hoped he'd stay that way.

There was a knock on her door--the sound was so unexpected she jumped and rushed to the door. When she opened it, he gave a little jump himself and raised his hands. "Whoa there, where's the fire?"

Sam stared. "Huh?"

"You just opened your door so fast, and I...never mind." He was wearing the same shirt, a pair of hiking shoes and a thin blue fleece jacket. His hair was combed and he'd shaved his face. Now she smelled like cologne--it wasn't too strong, and not unpleasant. "Are you sure you're okay? Stuck in a strange house and all? I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

She shook her head. "You don't. It's okay."

"Fair enough. Then, anything you want in the kitchen or fridge is yours." He paused a beat. "You old enough to drink yet?"

"Define 'old enough.'"

He snorted a laugh. "Fine. But no wild parties until I get home to join in the fun. I wouldn't leave at all, but I can't miss this meeting."

"It's okay, I understand."

He smiled again. "I appreciate it. Maybe when I get back, we can...talk? Feels like we've got a lot of catching up to do."

She nodded. "Eighteen years' worth, I think."

"...yeah." Something painful flashed on his face, there and instantly gone again, like she'd ripped off an old bandaid he wasn't ready to part with. But then he forced a smile and pulled a phone out of his pocket. "If you're okay with it, why don't you give me your number and I'll call you so you can reach me if something happens."

After they'd swapped numbers, he slipped his phone back into place and stepped back. "Well: 'welcome home,' I guess."

"Thank you." Sam smiled a little smile. "You didn't have to let me stay. I didn't think you would let me stay. I appreciate it. A lot."

"Hell, girl, what am I supposed to do? Ask you to sleep in the woods?" He shook his head. "Anyway, you've got my number. Stay out of trouble." He waved goodbye, then walked through the kitchen; she heard a heavy door shut and the hum of a garage door start to open.

Curious, she stepped over to one of the windows near the front door and watched. At first she didn't see or hear anything, but then there was the sound of an engine firing and rumbling to life. A moment later, he slowly rolled out on a green-and-gold motorcycle, wearing a full-face helmet--Sam didn't know anything about motorcycles, but the one he rode on was long and narrow, not like the super-fast bikes she saw people ride back home. The bike made more noise as he rolled down the driveway, onto the road and out of sight.

Sam did a little poking around to satisfy her curiosity--kitchen cabinets, his entertainment center, peeking into his bedroom and such. His spare room was used as an office space and had stuff strewn everywhere, but she knew it was safest to leave things alone. He might be nice, but no reason to piss him off.

She waited ten whole minutes until she was sure he was gone, or long enough where he wasn't likely to come back. Then she locked the front door and confirmed the garage was shut. The back door opened onto a small yard covered with more sod, but the trees stretched out as far as her eyes could see.

Sam took a breath and began to undress--it was now or never. As she took her clothes off, she laid them out on her bed with her lingerie closest to the door, the easier for her to retrieve in a hurry if she had to. She had several tattoos--a small heart with wings on her left shoulder, and a wolf's head with a crescent moon on her right wrist. She'd also had her nipples and navel pierced a year ago--they hurt like a bitch going in, but she liked the way the steel barbells looked against her hazelnut skin.

It felt a little strange to walk naked through a stranger's house, whether he was her dad or not. The plush carpet felt soft and nice between her bare toes. Sam had an urge to go roll around in his bed to memorize his scent, but that seemed to be asking for trouble, so she resisted the temptation.

Once she made it outside and pulled the door shut, Sam walked out into the grass. As she suspected, the trees sheltered her from any unwanted onlookers, not that there were any of those for a mile or more in any direction. Philip seemed to like his privacy, which suited her just fine.

She bent down to her hands and knees, feeling the grass in her fingers. It was mostly dry on account of the winter, but the air was still comfortable enough for her bare skin. Sam bent her head, taking in a deep breath of the vegetation and the earth below--it was tangy, different from the type of dirt she was used to. She wrinkled her nose, not liking it very much.

When her body began to change, it felt like she was melting into her own flesh. The process was quick and painless, but she'd only been doing it for a couple of years now--Sam was a late bloomer and only hit puberty when she turned sixteen.

In moments, her fur coat was complete, dark black with gold streaks; her sense of smell was even finer; her limbs had shrunk but she felt stronger, faster, like she could start running and never have to stop again. The human Sam was gone, and a she-wolf was in its place. Sam licked her lips, cocked her ears and sniffed the air. Certain that the smell of gasoline was faint and getting fainter, she jogged into the trees and started running.

The night she'd changed into a wolf for the first time had been during a camp out with her only friend, a girl named Alyse--they were both the loner type, so they'd bonded over similar things: boys, Korean pop music, stuff like that. Sam woke up transformed, terrified both at the physical changes she'd undergone while asleep, and at the prospect of her friend waking up and seeing her.

Sam ran the whole way home through the dark and found a place to hide until the moon set and her body changed back on its own. She was naked and hyperventilating, forced to break into her own bedroom window to get into her house; she screamed and told her mother someone had tried to break in. Alyse was so angry at Sam leaving that they never talked again.

The wooded hills around her father's house were an interesting place--plenty of other animals, as well as places to explore when she had more time. She also smelled more wolf scents: they were mostly faint, so old they were nearly gone, but Sam knew them when she found them.

Georgia didn't have much of a wolf population; the ones native to the state had been nearly wiped out decades before she was born. So she was sure who the smells belonged to by the time she heard an engine rumbling from far off in the distance. She doubled back and made for the house at a full-on sprint. Sam had several years to learn how differently she had to move on four legs, so she made it back to the house without tripping on anything.

The scent of a male sent her haunches to burning; her heart started pounding in her chest. Since she was unable to sweat, Sam started panting; she felt like a thousand ticks were stuck into her flesh, gnawing away at her. It was all on account of the moon: it ruled Sam's life, and every twenty-eight days she turned into a wild, raving sex maniac. Another full moon was coming soon, only days away. It was almost impossible for Sam to control herself and her sex drive when the moon was starting to wax, and when the full moon finally arrived...well, she'd figure that out when the time came. Maybe she could lock herself in her new room and go porn-crazy for a night.

Sam walked onto the grass and felt her fur coat recede--she called it "sliding," like slipping out of one skin and into the other. She stood up and gave herself a full shake, feeling the hairs bristle on her nude skin. It made her think of Philip again, of how different his European paleness was compared to her darker, Chinese mother. He was fit, or fit enough, and even though his hair was thinning out, he might look good bald--plenty of men did.

Sam smirked and shook her head, grabbed the back door, pushed it open and stepped inside...just as she heard the hum of the garage door closing and the door into the kitchen start to open. In one, fluid motion she came in at a full run, threw the door shut behind her, slid into her bedroom and shut that door next. Her heart was pounding and she was panting like she'd just finished another full-on sprint through the woods.