Something Odd

These people, for whatever reason, had no idea what they were doing. It was inconceivable the way they were trying to force the boy into bad choices. It showed just how far they were willing to go to make a dollar.

He sat there, watching as they tried to force the boy out of his cage, and into another. He couldn’t really figure out why there was any difficulty to this. In all his years- force was never a hard weapon to use. Yet these men were wielding it like a caveman wields fire for the first time. He sighed. Humans were idiots, and these men were no exception.

"Perhaps you could try reaching in and grabbing him? How is this difficult men? Just reach in and yank the kid out." he called from his table.

The men glanced up, and looked at the stranger. There were four of them, and him. They were hot and irritated by these this child, while he sat in the shade and criticized them. Who was he to voice that their efforts were wrong? And if he was so smart, why were they doing this, and not him?

"Sir… it is more complicated than merely reaching in and grabbing him, because the boy is fighting back and we do not want to continue getting hurt. He has managed to acquire a weapon, and is proceeding to stab us with it. Plus, he is valuable if and only if he is in good condition. Beating him into submission will gain us nothing." One of the men replied in a gruff manner. He stared back into the cage.

With a roll of his eyes, he stood up and sauntered over to the men. Shooing them back, he bent to look into the cage himself. The cage was covered, and only small rivers of light filtered into it from cracks; a poorly built cage.

A tiny child stared back at him from where he sat in the far corner. He gripped the small rock fiercely; his eyes daring the man to reach in just once. The child was teeny, hardly three, and the men acted as if he was a powerful foe. He chuckled before reaching in and yanking the little boy out by his arm.

The men gasped as the boy tumbled from the cage; wailing and holding his left arm to his chest. They had all heard the snap as the child had been drawn from the prison. They groaned as one bent to examine the child’s arm. The man forced the child’s arm from his chest, Dismayed to see it already swelling. When they found the arm already beginning to swell. Fear and disgust rose from the pit of their stomach, their hopes broke as they rounded on the man.

"Did you hear that? Do you see what you have done? He’s worthless! Damaged goods! His arm is without a doubt broken!" they screamed upon the man’s ears, ready to tear into him like vultures.

"You wanted him out of the cage, I managed when you failed! What else do you want?" he screamed back. The child still wailed howled from pain.

"He’s yours! You might as well take him, he’s worthless to us!" they turned, and walked away. Determined not to cause anything- even though each and every one of the men wanted to strike the man.

He stared down at the boy, and then walked away. The child started to follow, but he stopped him. The boy clutched his arm, looking bewildered. The man grunted in disgust.

"What’s so special about you? You have a broken arm, and you’re all of what 2? No one in their right mind would buy you. I sure as hell don’t want you. So be gone. Shoo. Get out of here."

When the child didn’t move, he raised his hand and smacked the child across his cheek. The boy stood there, his eyes brimming with tears. The man raised his hand again, and the child fled. He clutched his arm and darted away from the area. The man shook his head.

"Worthless." He turned and sat back down at his table; watching, waiting in case the child came back.

The sun had begun to set when the child looked around. He’d been traveling for hours in no particular direction. His arm throbbed with pain, and he was beginning to feel the long present pangs of hunger.

There was a town up ahead, and he could see cars pass him. He didn’t know how long he’d been running, or how far away he had been. He was out of breath, and his lungs hurt from the chilly air. He was cold, and sweaty. Cautiously he walked into the town, pausing to study the signs above the little stores. He couldn’t read, but he had a general idea of what he was looking for. Something that would fix his arm, and take the pain away. And food, he really needed food.

He pushed open a large wooden door, with great difficulty. He wasn’t strong enough to open it but a mere crack, and he slipped through quickly. He hadn’t made it through the door quick enough, and it hit his arm. He closed his eyes and tried not to cry from the agony that shot through his arm. He made his way to a small two person table. He could feel people’s eyes on him as he crossed the room.

He’d barely sat there for a moment, before a large- heavy set man toddled over to him. The man had small buttons for eyes that hid behind mounds of soft tissue and cheek bone. He held a tiny slip of paper and a pen in his hands, which too were also nearly lost among his flesh.

He looked up at the man, teary eyed and felt a twinge of fear. Something was wrong, maybe he’d made a mistake in coming here? He looked down at the table; noticing a deep gash etched into the wooden surface. Violence, should he leave?

"Can I help you today… kid?" even the man’s voice was weighty. It thudded into his ears, and chilled his body to the bone.

"I’m hungry…" he replied. His own voice echoed how small he was.

"Got money?" the man’s voice was confident in how pointless the question was. He didn’t, and it was obvious.

"No…." he whispered, voice tinier than before.

"No money, no service." the words bit into his ears, twisted his stomach to knots.

He sat back, watching as the man shuffled away. His stomach growled, and he laid his head on the table. What to do now? If you needed money for food, then you’d need money for a place to sleep too. Where could he get money though? He tried not to think of the pain in his arm, or the hunger in his stomach. He couldn’t do anything for either of them.

The man walked back to the counter, and grinned sadistically to a patron that sat there. The patron gulped scotch as the man picked up a rag and swiped at the filthy counter. The room was dimly lit, and smelled of stale cigars. Grim and dirt edged the walls, the floor and anything bolted down. The glasses had finger prints on them, even though they were washed every night. The place could easily be described as a hole in a forgotten wall.

"What’s the deal with tiny over there?" the scotch drinker asked. His voice was slurred from too much whiskey. He nodded to the child, then grabbed for the counter as he almost fell.

"Rug rat thinks he can eat free." the bartender huffed. He was out of breath from walking; cleaning the counter had been too much for his bad heart.

"And?" the man inquired further.

"He can’t."

They laughed at this, the bar tender clutched his heart after a moment. The scotch drinker laughed at that, and sputtered as he began to choke on the mouthful of drink. A young man sat at the end of the bar. He was hidden in the shadows of the smoky corner. His hands were wrapped around a glass of dr. perky. He glanced over at the two men, and shook his head in pity. This is the reason that humanity has fallen to the monsters. This was why humans were so dreadfully outnumbered, and why the unnatural did such vicious killing of.

Gone were the past days, when humans ruled and everyone else cowered in fear and hiding. When wars weren’t fought because it was too one sided. He remembered the day the world metaphorically ended. It had started as any ordinary election: candidates were nominated. Some won, some lost. A human election like any other. No one was concerned when the president won. So arrogant, all so arrogant. They blindly trusted him, though no one knew exactly where he came from. No one had heard of him; but it didn’t matter because he was human.

It had been all over the news when the president’s favorite hooker was taken to the nearest animal clinic. In that day and age being sent to an animal clinic was your death sentence. It meant that you were one of them. One of those creatures that kidnaps, rapes and murders innocent humans. Turns out the president’s lover was no longer human. She was taken to the clinic, and pronounced to be incurable. Of course the president begged for her to be made an exception. After all fairies weren’t dangerous. When the humans refused, he made it the law.

As you imagine, he became very popular with the nonhumans. The humans were now being hunted, and our dear president did nothing to stop his dying nation. And why did he just sit back and let millions upon millions suffer? He wasn’t human either. He, if you can imagine it, was a grim. A particularly nice one, but still a grim. He didn’t suck the blood of humans, and he didn’t shape shift at inappropriate moments. No, a grim was a creature similar to a demon. A creature that seemed to leave despair and death in his wake. He didn’t kill like the grim reaper, but still death followed him. He also had a tiny problem with changing people. He’d made his lover a fairy, and now no human was allowed within a hands distance to him.

If only they had listened to the warnings. But no, some ill begotten devil preaching woman had interfered. She had convinced the world that anything that wasn’t black and white human- was evil. They had believed her over the protests. All because of the stupid book she quotes. He shook his head in annoyance. Humans had no sense of honor, no common sense. Why believe the words of a person whose own origins are widely shaky, over the testimony of living breathing people? Because that’s what we are, people. It says in the constitution that you shall not judge by age, sex, religion or any other standard. Humans seem to have forgotten that. They also seem to have forgotten the man’s own words, "let ye without sin, cast the first stone." but I suppose that would defeat her message that we are evil? And how shall they protect the righteous from the wicked if the righteous may not cast their judgment?

He stood, leaving his drink on the counter. He’d heard enough of those men’s laugh. Disgusting how even now, humans go to such lengths to ignore the kindness of a helping hand. He made his way to the child. He was a bit curious as to why the child was still here. After all, the bar keep had made it abundantly clear that he would receive no aid. He stopped a breath length from the table, his eyes staring at the boy.

His breath was heavier; his mind was having such trouble focusing on his thoughts. All he could think of was how badly his arm hurt. How disappointed he was at the man’s attitude. And where he could try to steal food, since he had no money. He was tired, but to close his eyes now would be suicide. He was a child among giants, and not particularly nice giants at that. He kept his head upon the table, regardless of the fact that he could indeed sense the person standing in front of him. He was in no mood for more ridicule, and that was what he’d received in regards to his plea for help.

The man pulled the companion chair out from under the table and sat down across from the boy. He hadn’t said a word, and the child was beginning to get a bit curious. He looked up, his eyebrows furrowed at the sight of the man. His cheeks were stained from tears, and he looked back down miserably.

"What do you want?" he asked, staring down at the table. His voice barely audible. The man didn’t seem surprised at such a disheartened welcome.

"I was watching you from the bar. I’d like to help you." the man replied.

"You’re wasting your time. No one wants to help Me." the boy said with antipathy.

"I do. I have a place where you can sleep. And food. Are you interested?" he whispered to the child. Hoping perhaps to tempt the youngster into being sociable.

The lad looked up, his eyes filled with hope, and distrust. He nodded cautiously. The man rose to his feet and watched the child slide to the floor. There was something about the way he held himself, the way he managed to look tall- yet invisible at the same time. The man cocked his head, trying to put his finger on it. What is it about you that call to others in this land?

The child clasped his arm to his chest in a tender fashion. The man didn’t notice the arm, his eyes studied the bar a moment. He locked eyes with the bartender, and he flicked two fingers at him in salute. The bar tender looked around in disgruntled shock. The man smirked at the bartender’s expression.

Up the stairs and to the right. Second room down on the left. The door was as weathered as the table at which the child had sat. He stepped up to the door and pulled the unsettling skeleton key from his pocket. The boy eyed him as the door swung open, and hesitated before entering. He gave a large friendly grin to the young lad. The boy walked into the room, and blinked as light swarmed the room. He turned, and found the man still at the door; his hand on a small switch.

"Just turned the lights on. Everything’s fine." The man replied.

The boy ignored him and silently took in the room. A bed lay against the farthest wall, dressed down with a comforter and two pillows. The wall behind it was an off- white. The carpet was trying to be the same off white as the wall, but too much usage had turned it to dull beige. A night stand stood pressed against the same wall, and a lamp hung forlornly from the middle of the room. It was a depressing little room, and he’d walked the entire length of it before the man shut the door.

He stood in the center, watching the man with the same distrustful eyes. The man sighed. He narrowed his eyes as he noticed the delicate way the boy held his arm to his chest. He looked to the ceiling and prayed for whatever was to come. He moved closer to the boy, and tried not to smile as the boy back up- leaving the same space between them as before. He tried again, and again, until the boy ran out of room and his back touched the wall. He gazed up at the man, his eyes holding remorse. The man reached for him, and grunted as the child bit him, then kicked him in his shin. He didn’t go down, and the remorseful eyes turned to fear. He reached for the child quickly and pulled the child to him. The boy struggled, trying in vain to free his lithe body from the man’s grip. The man’s grip tightened, then words spoke into his ear.

"Stop. Don’t struggle. I’m trying to help you. I just want to look at your arm. I won’t touch it, and I’ll let you go if you please don’t run from me."

The child stilled at the man’s words. Slowly he released the child from his grip. The boy turned slowly to look at him. He sat there still and waited. The boy held his arm out and looked at him. The man released the breath that he’d been holding. He moved to touch the out stretched arm, but stopped. He left his hands in the air, and looked at the swollen arm. He couldn’t tell for sure, but he thought it was broken. He touched the child’s arm with his fingers, lightly, but the child screamed in pain. He winced.

"Sorry, sorry. It’s okay. I’m sorry. It’s broken. Really broken." He whispered, watching as the child backed away from him in fear. "You’re going to have to go to the doctor. I can’t heal this."

The child shook his head quickly. "No, I’m fine. No doctors."

"You need a doctor. Look, I know that doctors are scary, but they’ll fix your arm. I swear." He took a step closer. The boy’s eyes darted around.

"Why are you helping me? What do you get out of this?" the child accused him quickly.
"I’m not getting anything; I just want to help you." He replied.

"I’ll go… promise you won’t leave me?" The child whispered, staring down at his arm.

The man nodded and quietly led the boy back out of the room. Down the stairs, past the bartender and to the door. The child kept his eyes on the door ahead. He didn’t want to see the people in the building. The man caught sight of the bartender again, and the bartender smiled when he saw the child leaving. He didn’t stop to think of what the bartender’s smile meant, he merely pushed the door open and walked outside to the winter cold. The child shivered, and he had the distinctive feeling that it wasn’t all from the cold.

Quickly he opened the door to a Chevy S10 Tahoe. The boy slid in the seat next to him, and he smiled. He closed the door for the boy, and then started the car quickly. The engine hummed to live and he tore out of the parking lot. He concentrated on the road, his eyes darting to the boy occasionally. He reached over and flicked the heat on when the boy began to shiver. He turned the air vents to point at the child’s tiny form. The boy smiled appreciatively to him. He’d have liked to say that they were bonding, and he was getting the kid to trust him, but deep inside- he knew he wasn’t. The child could walk away and not look back. He didn’t want that.

The ride there was grave dead. He didn’t bother to make conversation, and he knew if he had; the child wouldn’t have bothered to answer. He turned right down onto Dehalia Street. The hospital’s outside was dingy, and the door hung off its hinge. He wished again that the town of Tremale wouldn’t look like so deserted. It was a hopeless wish, for the people of this ill found town didn’t care one way or another on the appearance of their establishment. He parked the car in front of the building. He looked around as he came to open the door for the child. He could see faces watching him from across the street. Face’s pressed against the windows. Noisy people wondering about the only new people in town. He herded the boy into the hospital’s waiting room.

A tired young lady sat behind the receptionist desk. She was a frail thing, and wore too much makeup. Her hair was bleached blonde, with dark brown roots. Her clothes draped on her loosely. She was removing the chipped maroon nail polish when he walked over to her. She glanced up at him and waited impatiently.

"I need to see doctor Colegeman." He spoke to her, as he looked back at the child. He didn’t want the boy to run. Not now.

She snapped the gum she was chewing before replying. "Colegeman is gone for the day. Thorntyne is the only one here."

"That’s fine. Can you hurry? I need to see him." He watched as the boy cuddled the arm closer and looked around the room. He appeared to be searching for something, and he didn’t really want to know what.

"Sir- it will take as long as it takes. Just unbunch your panties and the doctor will be with you. God." She turned her attention to her nails again and rolled her eyes in a huff. He sighed and sat down in the waiting room. The room was empty and he watched the child suspiciously. The kid was up to something.

The doctor appeared in the doorway, and smiled at them. A pleasant looking man, well built- but not fat. The doctor was muscled and in good shape. His hair was turning white, but he didn’t look old. He looked at the doctor and stood. He glanced at the boy and grinned.

"Come on kid. The doctor’s ready for us." He followed the boy, and the doctor caught step with him.

"Well, well. What have we here?" Thorntyne asked softly. The boy weaved down the hallways, and the men watched him.

"I don’t know where he came from, but he’s got a broken arm. He doesn’t talk much either." He replied as they walked into an examining room. Thorntyne lifted the boy up onto the table, and he sat in a chair.

"Hi. My name is Thorntyne; I’ll be your doctor for today. May I ask your name?" He looked down at the child kindly. He didn’t seem at all fazed when the boy refused to answer. "Okay, your father has informed me that your arm is broken, is that true?"

"He’s not my father." The boy glared at the men hatefully.

Thorntyne chuckled. "You seem to have made a friend at any rate. Is your arm broken or not?"

The child looked down at his arm, seeming to brood upon his answer. He sighed and looked up at Thorntyne. He could see the boy was distrustful, and he wondered if the boy would pose a problem to the doctor. He also wondered how much this man would charge for his services, and if he had the money to pay the man.

"It… snapped. And it hurts." The child replied, his eyes downcast and following a line of tile on the floor. He didn’t want to look at them, didn’t want to know what they would do to him. He’d made a mistake; he should never have agreed to come to this place with a stranger. He should have continued traveling and never stepped foot in the hope-forgotten town.

"It hurts… let me have a look at it. Sounds broken, but I don’t want to do an x-ray if I can help it."

"Why not?" The man asked suspiciously. His hesitance made the boy feel better about him; at least someone else was paying attention.

Thorntyne looked over at him. His expression was that of an aging, kindly man.
Unobtrusive, and gentle. His eyes softened at the sight of fear on the boy’s face. There was tension in the air, and he wondered how the two had come together and found each other.

"X-rays are expensive, and in a town as dead as this- the prices are outrageous. Besides, I don’t think I’ll need an x-ray to prove his arm is broken- seems fairly clear now." Thorntyne looked at the man quietly.

When the man didn’t move, or protest to his words, Thorntyne stood in front of the boy. He held his hand out for the child. He waited, oh so patiently, for the boy to make up his mind. He grew weary of the games. This cat and mouse thing. Quietly the boy extended his arm. Thorntyne touched it briefly, and watched as the boy gasped from the pain. The arm was swollen, and he nodded.

"Broken. I do need the x-ray after all. I don’t know how badly his arm has been tortured. Or where it has been broken." Thorntyne looked back at the man. The man gave no response, and he turned to the child. So quiet. The child hopped obliquely down from the table, and followed Thorntyne from the room. The man followed, but the child ignored him. Thorntyne frowned. So strange, neither looked like they wanted to depend on the other. Yet they appeared to have already found a special bond of some sort.

The x-ray room was dingy, but every other surface was white. The machines made a humming noise and the child looked around. He wondered briefly what would happen to him here. He stood in the room and waited nervously. Thorntyne came to him and positioned him in front of a large machine. A click and the child jumped. Thorntyne smiled.

"Done. We’ll see in a moment." Thorntyne waited patiently for the image to appear. He held it up to the florescent lights and frowned. The man’s eyes squinted to see something in the black and white film. He saw nothing but clouds. Thorntyne turned back to them and smiled encouragingly.

"I have good news and bad news. Isn’t that what they say in the movies?" He asked the child. The boy shrugged and he sighed. So much for the friendly doctor act. He shook his head slightly. Something was dearly upsetting between these two. It was downright border line hostile. "Right, well anyway… You’ll be happy to know that your arm isn’t broken, but- it will hurt for a while. It’s been sprained, so you’ll have to be very careful. And I’ll need you to come back in about a month. Okay?"

The child stared at him. A non- descriptively blank stare. He momentarily wondered where the child had come from, and if he had a problem with doctors. Yet, he’d shown the same attention to the man he came with. Where were the boy’s parents? Perhaps… was the boy here of his own free will? Or had the man forced him? Was the boy supposed to be traveling with this man at all?

"Err, no. That’s not okay at all. I don’t plan to come back to this town. Is there another doctor that I could see?" The man spoke up quickly. The boy turned his large grey eyes to the man.

Thorntyne scowled. He was still in front of the machine. From where he stood the man couldn’t see him all that clearly. Thorntyne pushed the red security button by the machine and waited. He didn’t believe that the man was related to the child. And his unwillingness to come back to this town seemed to prove his guilt.

He felt something was wrong when Thorntyne didn’t answer him. He growled in frustration when the uniformed men came through the door. They smelled of musk and forest greens. Wolves or more precisely, werewolves. He almost laughed in the lunacy. For a town that hugged its humanity so close, he was surprised that it employed were- wolves.

The men were huge and… fearsome. They came through the door like walls of muscle. They pinned the man to the nearest wall and yanked his arms behind him. Silver handcuffs and a heart beat later, and he sat crossed legged on the floor of a brand new office. Thorntyne held the child in place by his shoulder. He looked over at the child’s large alarmed eyes. He flashed a tiny grin to the child. Hoping to show that everything was okay. Or, would be okay. The boy didn’t acknowledge him, and his smile faded from his face.

A wolf stood at the door, and the other stood in front of him. He could see the boy and Thorntyne behind the wolf. Behind them were floor length windows. If he could break the cuffs, he could get him and the kid out the windows. Thorntyne wouldn’t stand a chance of catching them. The wolves might though.

"Did you steal him?" Thorntyne demanded. His hand tightened on the child- as if he could sense what the man was thinking.

"No." He replied.

"How did you come to be in possession of the boy?" Thorntyne inquired.

"I am not in ‘possession’ of the boy. He is free to leave my company any time he chooses. I found him in the bar down the road- and I thought I could…" He trailed off.

"Could what? Take care of the child so you could be free to abuse him? He doesn’t need your type of care!" Thorntyne raged at the man, and the wolves stepped forward.

"No! He needed help. Needed food, sleep, and a bath. He needed shelter and medical care! And no one else in this wretch of a town was going to help him! How dare you accuse me of sick thoughts when it is your own town that turns their backs on a stranger in need. Your town that holds humanity so close- but it blinds you to real humanity."

The wolf hit him with a closed fist against the side of his head. His eyes smarted, and he closed his mouth tightly. The wolf snarled at him, and the child’s grey eyes turned greyer. He looked down at the floor.

"How did his arm get sprained?" Thorntyne snapped.

"I don’t know! Ask him!"

Thorntyne looked down at the boy quietly. The child was staring at the blood on the man’s face. The spot was already bruising. He looked up with obvious fear.

"How did your arm get sprained?" Thorntyne asked gently. The man rolled his eyes. Of course, how much sense that made. The child got kindness because he was a kid. I tell the truth and a werewolf punches me; Logical.

"He… grabbed me. And he twisted the arm. He was mean. And he taunted them. They got mad at him. Said I was useless now."

Thorntyne rounded on the man, and he flinched as the wolf hit him again. Same spot. Couldn’t he have picked a different spot to torture? He looked up at Thorntyne and frowned. The good doctor’s face was mangled with red. He was furious. And he couldn’t understand what the doctor was so pissy about. He hadn’t touched the little kid. He’d done his best for him, yet they acted like he was a criminal. Why?

He endured the beatings for the sake of the little boy. He didn’t want anything to happen to the child, and if these men had a target- then the kid would be safe. He lay on the floor, curled inside himself. The wolves had blood upon their hands, and the red essence stained the beautiful white rug. Thorntyne’s face loomed perilously close to his. He resisted the urge to spit upon the man. For he blamed Thorntyne for everything that had happened. He’d known that they should have left this town. Nothing had seemed right. He looked around and realized that the child wasn’t in the room. He stumbled up and struggled to focus on the room. Thorntyne stared at him.

"Where’s the boy? What have you done to him?" He screamed; looking around feverishly.

Thorntyne watched him quietly, his fingertips resting under his chin. He sat behind the desk while the man paced the room. He should be dead by now, should be lying on the floor screaming for mercy. Yet he was up and moving as if his body hadn’t just become a bloody artwork. Perhaps he’d under estimated this man. He seemed ecstatic about the kid. Perhaps he did have some prior claim to him.

"He’s safe. For the time." Thorntyne replied. The man turned to look at him. His eyes seemed desperate.

"Give him back." He growled. He wondered where the wolves had gone, and if they were planning on coming back. Thorntyne didn’t move.

"Sit down; I want a word with you." Thorntyne nodded to the chair in front of the desk.
He sat, as he was told. His face hurt in places he couldn’t see. His shirt and jeans were soaked with blood. He was in bad shape, but better than any human would be. He stared at Thorntyne and wanted desperately to hit him. He worried about the child, and what was happening to him at the moment. He sat sullenly waiting for Thorntyne to continue his display of machoness.