Consequences

Consequences

By

Elyse Draper

Smashwords Edition

Consequences

Copyright © 2012 by Elyse Draper

Cover Art By

Elyse Draper

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This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. The author is grateful for your appreciation of their work; although if you would like to gift or share this eBook, please do so by purchasing an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

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Acknowledgments

Many thanks to W. Freedreamer Tinkanesh, Jennifer Reece, and Lori Smith who helped me edit and revise this story, not to mention, patiently allowing me to use them as literary Guinea Pigs.

I am blessed by having amazing family and friends, all of whom give support freely with abundance of love -- in particular: my husband, Rob, my daughter, Cassie, and my parents Polly and Chuck. Thank you!

As I use music to help me capture the different personality traits of my characters, I want to thank, 30 Seconds to Mars, Breaking Benjamin, and Incubus for their beautiful contributions to inspiration.

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Dedication

The Freewill Trilogy is dedicated to those precious souls we have lost over the years. Those beautiful hearts, gone much too soon, who have, due to their absence, left the world a little less complete.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Part One: Christopher

Chapter 1: Dreams

Chapter 2: Michael

Chapter 3: Truth

Chapter 4: Choices

Chapter 5: Influences

Chapter 6: Artemis

Chapter 7: Monsters

Chapter 8: Growing Pains

Chapter 9: Revelations

Part Two: Ellie

Chapter 10: Mentor

Chapter 11: Ho Thanatos

Chapter 12: Cassandra

Chapter 13: Dreaming Answers

Chapter 14: Mortos

Chapter 15: Symboulio

Part Three: Fear

Chapter 16: Madness

Chapter 17: Comprehension

Chapter 18: Reawakening the Monster

Chapter 19: Obsession

Part Four: Homecoming

Chapter 20: Bittersweet

Chapter 21: Disbelief

Chapter 22: Binding

About the Author

Sneak Peek: Vindication

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Consequences

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Part One

Christopher

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Chapter 1

Dreams

*Christopher*

As the mist parts I see her standing by the stream looking like she did, when we were finally able to be together, last spring. Her eyes light up when she turns and finds me staring at her. I can smell her from twenty feet away … ozone, electric and clean; like a Rocky Mountain thunderstorm. I’ve learned to take my time, no matter how painful; I have to take my time. I have to cherish this dream world … where she is mine. Walking at an even pace, I savor every one of my senses as they play over her form. I can taste what it was like to kiss her. Her flavor was magic, like catching snowflakes on my tongue.

My heart always pounds right about, now … right when the wind catches her hair and exposes her neck. I watch her pulse through her skin, and remember when she was once mine to hold. She was solid; she lived just for me, but only for twenty-four hours. No one will ever give me such an exquisite, gut-wrenching gift as she did that day, brief hours of unrestrained bliss. I can hear her thoughts now, repeating what I heard then…. repeating over and over again, driving me insane.

Every human has the capacity for darkness, and Christopher, you could excel at cruelty. I can hear truth in the statement, words expressing something she would never say out loud … this talent to hear people’s thoughts, not just thoughts, but the truth … her honest fear makes me hate myself. Outwardly though, her expression only reveals love and intrigue. Knowing her talent as well, knowing she is empathic and able to feel my thoughts, my heart … I imagine what she’s sensing, what my emotions must be telling her. I’m sure she knows that I’m ultimately going to let her down, that I’ve already signed my name in blood on a damned contract, selling my soul to demons.

Every night this happens … once again, I am gratefully torturing myself so that I can watch the dread in her eyes and hear her soft tone echoing in my head. This would break me, if I weren’t already so broken by her absence.

My God, Christopher… you’re beautiful! You’re a creature created to lure a person in with beauty, stun them with charm … then get them to reveal all their secrets and hidden fears.

No matter how hard I try to stop them, the tears always form, and my stomach clenches painfully. Please, Ellie; please, don’t fear me … please.

Some part of my subconscious cringes at my pitiful display; but after all, this time I have no pride left … no self-respect after letting her go.

I fall to my knees. Every time I’m here I fall to my knees, and look at her bare feet caressed by the dark, rich soil and soft pine needles. As she steps forward, I see the impression her weight leaves in the dirt. Focusing on Ellie’s footprints reminds me again that she was touchable, for me, once. When she kneels down in front of me and wiggles her way in close to my chest … her voice, Oh never forget that voice, fills my head and my ears.

Finally hearing that sweet tone allows me a reprieve from listening to her thoughts, Nothing will ever hurt us again, because we are one and the same; like pouring red water into a glass of blue water … we have become something new; merged and inseparable.

Inside my dreaming mind, another occupant's angry voice, now small, crushed by insane longing, screams, LIAR. I have become very good at ignoring the monster that resides in my head, but in my dreams that part of me he represents, still screeches from somewhere hidden behind my mirage. Even though I can hear him, I turn my back on his presence and focus on my fantasy, my Ellie.

Born out of the serenity brought on by hearing her voice, the pain of my memories begins … I have the electricity of her touch, but I can’t return her embrace. Our time together, when we first met, when we fell in love … was bittersweet, the most exhilarating and frustrating time of my life. Now, I’m left yearning to make contact, to lift her chin and raise her eyes to mine. I can only touch her like I would touch a breeze: fleetingly, blowing through my fingers never meant to be held. She consumes my whole world; my inadequacies in holding her make me feel as if my hands are cuffed painfully behind my back. I hate how dreams can turn so quickly into nightmares. I feel trapped by this shadow, this illusion of Ellie.

When the real Ellie used to enter my dreams, I could hold her. The only place I could hold her was inside my sleeping mind, because in the waking world, she existed in another dimension, where I cannot touch her at all.

Back then, I had accepted our connection as one-sided; I couldn't initiate contact with her, only Ellie had the power to bring about our physical bond. She alone had the power to set my skin on fire, and leave my mind desperate for more. That was, until that one glorious day, when she gave up everything, just to give me one brief opportunity to initiate our connection and touch her body, her soul. Our spirits have always been entwined; I should have realized sooner … that was enough.

She can sense my feelings and read my heart just as easily as I can hear her honesty and read the truth in her mind. Resting her forehead on mine, looking into my eyes, pressing our minds and spirits together, she whispers, We can never forget this happiness, this fulfillment … every day we have to choose contentment … if we hope to survive.

Then as sleep starts to fall away, she gives me one last gift … I have to endure so I can ask her what it means. She shows me butterflies; flying, dancing, and twisting in intricate knots, taking me to the doorway that leads to the waking world and forces me to open my eyes.

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The cabin is frigid, and both Lune and Ursa are curled up on top of me. I watch as my best friend resituates himself, pressing closer to his mate. The only real clues to their differences are: Ursa’s paws are twice the size of his, and her eyes are golden, almost yellow, where his are multicolored, blue and brown. Everyday her gaunt, sleek frame shows signs of the pups she carries inside. Michael says she could have them any day now; he wants me to e-mail him, so he can come down from the ranger station when it's time. He’s worried that her run in with the logging truck, last fall, may have paved the way for a difficult delivery.

She’s wild, and really should return to her pack; but Lune and I were adamant about wanting her to stay until she was healthy enough to survive the harsh winter. That was two and a half months ago, and now we are waiting for the arrival of our Husky/Wolf hybrid puppies.

Dragging my feet out from under the covers and placing them on the wooden floor, I can feel the cold bite my toes. My daily routine always starts with me hopping to put on my sorrel boots, and trudging outside to start up the generator. Upon returning to the cabin, I stoke the wood burning stove and start the teakettle in the kitchen. The cabin is pretty self-sufficient, everything electrical runs through rechargeable batteries and the generator. The stove, refrigerator, and hot water are propane, plus the cabin is heated primarily by the wood burning stove, and our water comes from a well out back. The only real luxury I’ve allowed, in my self-proclaimed solitary confinement, is a satellite connection to the Internet. With no phone lines or electricity poles, therefore no phone or public service bills, I’ve managed to take myself off the grid. Communication has been broken down to aliases talking to aliases by e-mail and word of mouth. Those that cared about me before this life know to expect a one-word-acknowledgement once a month. If they don’t hear from me, they should expect the worst, and know that nobody will ever find my body.

As I look in the mirror over my sink, I barely recognize the man gazing back. I look as if I’ve aged fifteen years since I left Colorado last June. My beard only barely covers the scars running along my jaw line. I inspect the stubble down to my neck where two scarred puncture marks are still white and fresh-looking, pulsing on top of my jugular. Both the scars, that look like a mountain lion has mauled me, and the facial hair, hide my nineteen years of age…but it’s my eyes that make me look like an old man. My cheekbones, cut sharp from my Native American heritage, match my darker skin tone only to be betrayed by my blond hair and blue eyes. My time in Las Vegas bleached out my hair to almost silver, which only makes me look older ... giving me the illusion of graying before my years. I strip off my shirt to splash water on my face; the flash of black on my chest draws my eye to the thick-lined tattoo of one of Ellie’s butterflies. It reminds me why I need to keep fighting, and why I hide; but mostly it reminds me that I have to survive … for her.

Behind me, I see movement through the mirror and smile as the flow of mahogany hair brushes my lower back. I dreamt of you again last night … I miss the feel of your touch when I’m lost in sleep. Even though I can’t touch you … at least we have moments like this, when you grant me the pleasure of your contact. I live to feel your electricity against my skin. Out of my peripheral vision, I see her beautiful catlike eyes smiling in response to my voice.

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.

Chapter 2

Michael

*Michael*

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