Touched by the Moon Pt. 10

It was over. Sam stared down at the body of Tennessee Watkins and tried to feel something. She could certainly feel Eleni Marcus--the woman seemed angry at Sam for rejecting her attempt to help. The three other wolves were a raucous mix of disbelief, jubilation, relief and a half-dozen other emotions, all boiling together and ready to blow.

Sam turned and looked at Wren, both aware of her own nakedness and somehow detached from it. "You found me."

He nodded. "You should'a woke me up," he said; his voice was quiet, given the smell of death in the air. "You alright?"

"Nope." Sam spat out more blood and swiped an arm across her face, which just smeared it everywhere and made her feel ridiculous. "But I'll live...unlike him." The knowledge that Sam had committed deliberate, planned murder was like a black pit in the center of her stomach. She felt foul, forever tainted. She'd done something evil in the hopes of preventing even more evil from taking place, and could only hope it was the right choice

Something caught Sam in the midst of such dark thoughts: she smelled someone, a cool scent and a hint of cigarette smoke amidst the overpowering smells of blood, offal and worse.

Rhett the Reaper was walking through the trees, hands tucked in the pockets of his bomber jacket, mirrored aviators in place, a lit cigarette in his mouth. He was unarmed, having stowed or hidden his gun away somewhere. The man stopped, crouched down next to Jefferson's body and tilted his head to one side as though admiring the handiwork, then stood and approached. "Warren, Samantha, everybody." He nodded to each in turn.

Sam knew she should feel awkward, but somehow...she didn't. Nakedness was just part of being a wolf. "You could've put a bullet in Tennessee, too... Saved me the effort." It sounded like a poor attempt at humor, but Sam wasn't smiling.

Rhett pursed his lips. "Yes ma'am, I could'a done that, but that weren't part-a the deal."

She tipped her head. "What deal?"

"Ya'll said ya were gonna kill Tennessee--I just laid the framework fer that ta happen. Killin' 'im myself weren't part-a the bargain, ya understand."

The way he said it made Sam go cold, proving she wasn't completely in a state of shock. "Do I...owe you anything?"

Rhett put on his most charming smile. "Reckon we'll just call it a favor fer now, darlin'. We can worry about the particulars of payment another time."

"I'm not sure I'd call that reassuring."

"Well, it's a free country, ain't it?"

Sam stared into those mirrored sunglasses for a long moment, not answering. "Why did he call you 'son of Nemesis?'"

Rhett pulled off his glasses, carefully folded them and stuck them in a coat pocket. "Ya remember what we talked about on the ride over here yesterday?"

Sam nodded.

The old killer smiled. "There ya go. Incidentally, I also took care-a yer other problem. Tell yer Daddy I said not ta worry 'bout it. It's on me."

"What 'other problem?'"

"Like I said, honey, don't worry 'bout it." He smiled again and walked by. As he did, Sam caught a curious shimmer in the man's eyes, a shine that she nearly missed; when she blinked, it was gone. "I'm headed back. Ya'll take care now." Nobody moved or said a word as the Reaper left, but stayed quiet even until he was out of sight amongst the trees.

"Wren?"

"Yeah, Sam?"

"Your dad scares the fuck out of me."

"Yeah. Me too."

--

It took the better part of a half-hour to walk through the woods and get back to the old restaurant. It was explained that Eleni Marcus was there because she'd come with Bubba and Susie, and all three of them were there to deliver a message to Samantha.

Phil was finally awake.

After another quick shower to wash herself as clean as Sam could hope to get, they all piled into Susie's pink convertible and began the short drive back to Sanctuary. There was no sign of Rhett's pickup in the parking lot. It was a tight squeeze in the back of the car between the oversized Bubba and Wren, but Sam was too anxious about her dad to care.

Sanctuary still looked derelict and rundown, but now Sam guessed that was the point: a clinic meant to serve supernatural patients needed to blend into its environment and not attract unwanted attention. The five of them went in the back, but by the time she was inside Sam was already running down the corridor, passing the other examination rooms and old equipment towards the open door at the end. "Phil?" she called, running even faster. "Dad? Dad!"

Sam came around the corner and slid to a stop. Phil was sitting up in bed. The heart monitor was still beeping, but he was awake and alert--he turned and saw her, a look of surprise and pleasure on his face. "Sam!" He picked up a TV remote on his bed, shutting off whatever he'd been watching. "I wasn't sure when you'd be here."

"You... You knew I was coming?" Sam felt a little sheepish or even embarrassed as she stepped into the room.

"Well, no, but I was hoping." His smile looked a little sheepish, as well. He held up his hands and arms, which were covered in long, red scars and bandages. "You're probably wondering what happened--"

Knowing it was childish and not really caring, Sam walked over to his bedside and curled her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. Phil felt warm; he stank of antiseptic and fresh linens and some kind of soap. He felt puzzled, surprised, but also relieved at her arrival. It was the same scent or color of emotion as Tennessee and Rebecca had--a sign of being a Dominant, she guessed.

"I'm sorry I made you worry," he said.

Sam shook her head. "It... It's not that." She took a long, shuddering breath. "I'm just... There's a lot to tell you about."

"I expected there would be." He stroked her hair in a stilted, awkward sort of way; Sam realized he'd never had to comfort her before. "Maybe you could take a seat and tell me all about it?"

Sam looked up, blinking away the bit of moisture in her eyes. She smiled. "Thanks." Grabbing the chair beside the bed, Sam sat down, took a deep breath. "It was after I went on my run the other morning..."

--

Philip Johnson took another two days to recover, and by the end of the second day he was irritable and eager to be off. His daughter Samantha was by his side almost constantly, keeping him company. They shared stories of his childhood and hers, how growing up in the South differed so drastically from the West Coast experience. They spoke of pack matters, of life was like before Tennessee Watkins' coming and what life might be like after his death. Mostly, they enjoyed one another's company and a real chance to bond together--the first time in eighteen years.

When Eleni Marcus gave Phil the all-clear to go, both father and daughter thanked her and departed. It was late in the afternoon by that time, so once they were gone a sense of solitude and peace descended on Sanctuary again. There weren't many patients at the clinic at that time, so the doctor excused Susie from her evening watch and soon she was all alone again, as was customary.

But that solitude didn't last for long.

Eleni was seated at the central nurse's station, eating a chocolate-coconut candy bar--a favorite of hers--and browsing through a years-old Vogue magazine. She was reading an article advising her on 63 Ways to Keep Your Man Satisfied when she knew she wasn't alone any longer. Eleni didn't look up from her reading; she didn't have to. "You can't sneak up on me, you know that."

A thin line m of grey smoke blew through the air. A familiar face behind a pair of bright, shiny aviator glasses looked at her from around the corner. "Evenin' Aceso. How's yer Daddy'n them?"

"I don't answer to that name anymore," Eleni said, still not looking up while turning the page of her periodical. "You know that, too."

"Well, some names don't ever truly go outta style," he answered with a shrug as he stuck his cigarette back into his mouth. "Call yerself whatever ya want, darlin'."

"Mm." Eleni finally looked up at him, taking another bite of her confectionary. "That was rather nice, the way you fixed up Philip Johnson's house for him and Samantha. Very unlike you." She added the rest with a narrowing of her eyes.

"Can't a man look after the well-bein' of a friend these days?"

"He can, though I'd prefer that it kept you as far away from my clinic as possible. You aren't welcome here." She tossed the magazine onto the counter. "I trust you've got a better reason to come by than to gloat at your handiwork, I trust?"

The Reaper shook his head. "Ain't a damn thing wrong with gloatin'. The local wolves needed help puttin' down a rabid dog, and I was happy ta play my part in it."

"Yes, and now the local pack leader and her father both owe you a favor." Eleni spat the word like some profane thing. "What could you possibly want from a bunch of backwater Lycaonites?"

"Trade secret, honey." Rhett lifted his sunglasses, his eyes shining in the light as he gave her a wink.

Eleni rolled her eyes. "You've gone positively native, Antaeus. It's ridiculous."

He shrugged. "A man has to find entertainment where he can find it." For that moment, and only that one, he lost his accent and any hint of its redneck, yokel, rural bumpkin-esque quality. Then he grinned around his cigarette, let his sunglasses fall back onto his nose, and like pulling on a mask, the accent returned: "Ya did good work with Philly, by the way; I'm sure Sam appreciates it, an' my boy besides. I'll see ya around. Tell yer Pa an' the rest I said hello." Dipping his head and tipping a cap he wasn't even wearing, Rhett stepped back out of sight and vanished, with only the stink of old tobacco smoke to remember him by.

Eleni didn't bother looking after him. She grumbled under her breath, stuffed the whole rest of the chocolate bar into her mouth and chewed slowly, savoring it, mulling over the texture and flavor while silently seething. Tennessee's death was unfortunate, a twist she hadn't expected or anticipated, but now there was nothing else to be done about it. Eleni would simply have to adapt and find a way to adjust her plans.

It wasn't that she or the Reaper or anyone else cared about the fate of a few local-yokel shapeshifters--it was what those people had in their possession that mattered, something far more precious than their worthless little hovel of a dining house. Tennessee Watkins didn't seem to care about anything more than using his unfortunate subjects to feed his physical appetites. Since he had failed to perform the duty Eleni had in mind for him, she would have to find someone more suitable for the job.

So she seethed, and chewed, and weighed her options. With time, she'd come with a solution, and time was something Eleni Marcus had in abundance.

FIN