BLOOD DREAM (Ongoing)

9.2: Hunt Scavengers

Downstairs, Theron's exercise equipment sat untouched for over a week. It agitated him that his usual habits were unsustainable now. He couldn't work out. He couldn't tend his wilting garden or tidy the yard. He couldn't even go to work. He stood behind Kitra, claustrophobic in the basement, watching her sift through a box of their mother's old things. Knickknacks, textbooks, the slide box. A shoebox full of photographs. Kitra took a handful of photos and scanned.

"What are we looking for?" Theron asked, taking his own handful.

"Shiny and grey, I'm assuming," replied Kitra.

"Shiny and grey what?"

She shrugged.

Theron knelt with Kitra and looked through the photos. In his hands were a scattering of scenes: Imogen Daveau twenty years younger, scrubbing a child in a bathtub; Theron and Kitra as toddlers playing in a plastic toy car; Theron and Kitra a few years older, only Theron was a fluffy black wolf pup and Kitra was hugging his neck. Then a set of photos taken on a family hike: his father, tall and strong with dark-eyes and facial hair, leading the way. Theron and Kitra decked out in oversized backpacks behind him. Green and brown forestry surrounding the path, and a sign describing some of the natural flora. Granite slabs that were fissured and sparkling. His mother took most of these; he wondered what she was thinking in those moments.

Kitra sat up on her knees. "What do you think of this?" she asked, handing Theron a photo.

It was a shiny grey skyscraper from a family trip they had taken to Calgary. "I don't see anything," Theron reported.

They ended up collecting a pile of photos with anything shiny and grey in them. Then they laid out the photos, examining them together. Theron's anxiety rose the longer he was down here trying to solve this mystery. Finally, a photo of an old grey lock box caught his eye. "This is dad's, but it's at the pack house," said Theron.

Kitra voraciously scanned the photo. "Do you know the combo?"

"Yeah. Me and Frank have it, assuming he didn't change it."

"I can go there," said Kitra. "I can find it and see if there's something inside."

"Are you sure there isn't something else?" If he left without answers now, who knew when he would get them, and what might change between then and now?

Kitra smiled confidently. "This is the only solution that makes sense. It's the best lead we have, so why not? You take the rest of the photos just in case," she suggested.

"Take them?" There was only the one box, he could put them in a bag or something, but... "Where?"

She paused. "Where have you been staying?"

"Nowhere."

"You're just roaming?" Kitra's smile ebbed into worry. "Out in the wild?"

Theron suddenly felt tired. Discussing the reality of his situation drained him. "I have nowhere else."

And Kitra had nowhere to offer him, either. He couldn't even live out of his car, or Kitra would have to explain where it went. Then again, they'd probably know soon enough that Theron had been here. He rubbed his face, frustrated.

"Let's make you a little travel bag then," she said, standing. "We'll fill it with clothes and toiletries and other necessities so you have everything you need until this is cleared up. I'm not letting you go back to those hunters," declared Kitra.

Theron looked hopelessly up at her. "Really?"

"You're my brother," Kitra said firmly. "I need you and I love you. I can't lose you to the Agency."

Did she mean it as deeply as he hoped? Or was this just something she felt she needed to do, some obligation to him, some belief of Dire honor? He loved her too. He needed her now more than ever. Theron nodded. "I don't know how to prove I wasn't involved with Patrick," he murmured.

"I don't know if you can. I think what we need to do is find Sadie first," said Kitra.

Just weeks ago they were telling him the opposite. He dreaded seeing her if only because he knew his lonely broken heart would sip the sugars of Sadie's presence and choke on it. "If I find her, her goons might kill me," said Theron.

Kitra sighed. "Okay, what if the hunters find her first? Maybe they'll bring her to us, and the pack can question her and she'll say you weren't involved."

"Maybe." If she didn't know his life depended on it, maybe. But if she had any idea how much value her word had, she'd probably condemn him to death without second thought.

"You should just lay low then," said Kitra. "I don't think there's much else you can do. Let me try to handle this."

He needed to trust her, like she'd been asking him to this whole time. But Theron had no choice anymore. He got to his feet and looked down at the mess of photos—memories of their family scattered like scraps on the floor. "Fucking bullshit," he said under his breath.

Kitra's eyes softened with sympathy. "I know. But we can overcome this," she said. "I'll change their minds."

They made up their minds years ago. Theron could feel it ever since. The resentment, the spite, the disdain that he could never redeem himself from. Theron didn't say anything because whatever he would have said wouldn't have sounded sincere. He caught Kitra's bright blue eyes one more time and deflected her hopeful smile with a miserable sigh.

Upstairs, Kitra urged him to fill a bag. He picked his old gym bag, since his backpack and duffle were both at the hunters' house. Theron packed it with pants and t-shirts and underwear and socks, a sweater too, a razor, deodorant, soap. Kitra put handfuls of photos into a grocery bag, wrapped them up, and put them in his bag too. Then she gave him the crinkled receipt. "I took a photo, so I have it too. But this is what mom said. There's some things I couldn't figure out, but everything means something, I'm sure of it. Maybe you can decipher it."

Theron read the receipt. Kitra's handwriting had scrawled urgent half-words in sloping sentences, some circled. He tucked it into the bag. "I don't have my phone or any way to contact you," he said.

Kitra chewed her cheek thoughtfully. "What about an old phone? You just need Wi-Fi and we can message that way."

"Yeah. That works." He had one of his old smart phones in his desk drawer. Theron scrounged it up and tucked it away too.

They stood at the front door. Theron gripped the bag in his hand, unsure of where he was going to go after this. But knowing that he was unable to stay in the respite of his home, unwelcome in the place he previously called his, it stabbed him. He looked at Kitra and wished he could just...

Take her with him?

No. Possessive thoughts like that were starting to scare Theron. He cleared his throat. "Kit, when this is done, I think..." This used to be above him. "I think I need to see a therapist," Theron admitted, looking away.

Kitra's eyes glimmered. "Really? You'd do that?"

He was so tired of his reputation ruling him. "It's worth a shot." Would it be enough to convince everybody he was capable of change? Besides, maybe a therapist would help him process everything clogging up his head. Like his fucked-up feelings for Liam. Or his unresolved feelings for Sadie. Or his troubling feelings for Kitra.

She smiled again. "I think that's great. I'm behind you one hundred percent," Kitra promised.

"Don't tell anybody, okay? Let's just get the hunters off my back first," added Theron.

"Okay. I'll message you when I find that lock box," she said. Then Kitra moved in for a hug and Theron stepped away, aware of his scent on her, aware that her touch wasn't one he should be seeking refuge in. Kitra half-laughed and just waved.

Time to go. Theron struggled to tear himself apart from her, but when he did, it left a hole gaping in his chest. "Bye," he said before closing the front door.

Now it was just Theron in the late summer evening, alone and on the run, his only ally held behind enemy lines.