way he wasn’t leaving her behind.
A brief jog down the long hallways and then out through the cafeteria brought him out on the opposite wing of the sanctuary. Once outside, he’d seen the reflecting pond and benches, and the terraces overlooking the front lawn, and beyond them all, up on a hill, a humble looking shed.
He’d headed down the terrace and up the hill, desperately hoping no one would notice him and follow. Luckily, the afternoon sun was nearly blinding, so hardly anyone was outside.
At last he’d made it to the shed and slipped around behind it.
Oh.
About a hundred yards of emerald grass ended on a cliff face like the one outside windows of his room. Across from that stood another cliff, and beyond that he could see a silvery ribbon which must be a sliver of the ocean still in view even from this distance.
He’d sat down on the ground under the overhang of the shed roof, set little Ruby close beside him, and slowly peeled his banana.
That was when the first bird had dipped into the horizon and mesmerized him.
He’d been out here every day since. As a matter of fact, in the five days since he’d checked in, he’d spent most of his time right here.
There was a distant squeal and then a splash on the other side of the main building as the other patients or guests or inmates or whatever frolicked at the pool. Once in a while Johnny would hear them carrying on.
But here, it was peaceful.
He stared up at the cloudless sky, and watched a lone hawk circle, looking for prey.
Johnny could be up there too, riding the currents, and soaring above the world, peaceful, free.
The hawk dove suddenly, snatching up a smaller bird in mid-flight.
And that was the problem.
No matter how serene its appearance, that hawk couldn’t stop being a hawk. Every beast, big or small, must follow its nature.
And if Johnny ever let the animal part of himself come out again, he wouldn’t just enjoy the flight. His animal would follow its nature as well.
Destruction and chaos.
That was why he couldn’t go home.
If he shared his plan, then Mom and the others would get all touchy-feely about him denying his animal side.
He didn’t blame them. It was easy for them to see the benefits of shifting. When his siblings shifted, they were part of the natural world.
When Johnny did it, he was a storybook monster.
If Derek turned into a bear, people might be a little freaked out, but people knew how to handle a bear. People saw bears all the time. In most of the childhood stories, bears just bumbled around, looking for honey or picnic baskets or some shit.
How would they react if Johnny shifted? How would they feel when he was towering over them, raining down hellfire and death?
Everything he’d ever experienced told him it wouldn’t end well.
He closed his eyes against it, but the memory came up like vomit and he couldn’t escape.
9
T he sound of his mother weeping softly drifted from the crack under her door. He had tapped lightly, and then banged when she didn’t call for him to come in.
At last he opened the door the little sliver it had to open to admit his tiny body. He couldn’t see her up in the big bed, but he pulled himself up and crawled over to her.
She was half under blankets, but she opened her arms and he crawled into the blanket cave with her.
He was distraught that she was sad, but his little body was never happier than when he was enveloped in her embrace. She was so warm and gentle, and she smelled like flower shampoo and a dryer, more bitter scent that he wouldn’t recognize as pot until he was much older.
“Oh, Johnny,” she whispered into his hair.
“Mom, what’s wrong?” he asked. Even at that age, he’d already gotten used to playing the grown-up in their relationship.
“It’s Carlo,” she whispered, and then pressed her lips against the top of his head, like she was trying to stop herself from crying.
“What about Carlo?” he asked.
Mom had brought home one or two other
A brief jog down the long hallways and then out through the cafeteria brought him out on the opposite wing of the sanctuary. Once outside, he’d seen the reflecting pond and benches, and the terraces overlooking the front lawn, and beyond them all, up on a hill, a humble looking shed.
He’d headed down the terrace and up the hill, desperately hoping no one would notice him and follow. Luckily, the afternoon sun was nearly blinding, so hardly anyone was outside.
At last he’d made it to the shed and slipped around behind it.
Oh.
About a hundred yards of emerald grass ended on a cliff face like the one outside windows of his room. Across from that stood another cliff, and beyond that he could see a silvery ribbon which must be a sliver of the ocean still in view even from this distance.
He’d sat down on the ground under the overhang of the shed roof, set little Ruby close beside him, and slowly peeled his banana.
That was when the first bird had dipped into the horizon and mesmerized him.
He’d been out here every day since. As a matter of fact, in the five days since he’d checked in, he’d spent most of his time right here.
There was a distant squeal and then a splash on the other side of the main building as the other patients or guests or inmates or whatever frolicked at the pool. Once in a while Johnny would hear them carrying on.
But here, it was peaceful.
He stared up at the cloudless sky, and watched a lone hawk circle, looking for prey.
Johnny could be up there too, riding the currents, and soaring above the world, peaceful, free.
The hawk dove suddenly, snatching up a smaller bird in mid-flight.
And that was the problem.
No matter how serene its appearance, that hawk couldn’t stop being a hawk. Every beast, big or small, must follow its nature.
And if Johnny ever let the animal part of himself come out again, he wouldn’t just enjoy the flight. His animal would follow its nature as well.
Destruction and chaos.
That was why he couldn’t go home.
If he shared his plan, then Mom and the others would get all touchy-feely about him denying his animal side.
He didn’t blame them. It was easy for them to see the benefits of shifting. When his siblings shifted, they were part of the natural world.
When Johnny did it, he was a storybook monster.
If Derek turned into a bear, people might be a little freaked out, but people knew how to handle a bear. People saw bears all the time. In most of the childhood stories, bears just bumbled around, looking for honey or picnic baskets or some shit.
How would they react if Johnny shifted? How would they feel when he was towering over them, raining down hellfire and death?
Everything he’d ever experienced told him it wouldn’t end well.
He closed his eyes against it, but the memory came up like vomit and he couldn’t escape.
9
T he sound of his mother weeping softly drifted from the crack under her door. He had tapped lightly, and then banged when she didn’t call for him to come in.
At last he opened the door the little sliver it had to open to admit his tiny body. He couldn’t see her up in the big bed, but he pulled himself up and crawled over to her.
She was half under blankets, but she opened her arms and he crawled into the blanket cave with her.
He was distraught that she was sad, but his little body was never happier than when he was enveloped in her embrace. She was so warm and gentle, and she smelled like flower shampoo and a dryer, more bitter scent that he wouldn’t recognize as pot until he was much older.
“Oh, Johnny,” she whispered into his hair.
“Mom, what’s wrong?” he asked. Even at that age, he’d already gotten used to playing the grown-up in their relationship.
“It’s Carlo,” she whispered, and then pressed her lips against the top of his head, like she was trying to stop herself from crying.
“What about Carlo?” he asked.
Mom had brought home one or two other
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