Ghost Towns

Four

As it turned out, breakfast was very awkward when two people were simultaneously brimming with questions but also unwilling to relinquish any answers of their own.

Rye peered at Jax over her oatmeal, eyes narrowed slightly. Neither of them was willing to say the first word beyond brief greetings and thanks. This felt like a duel. Or walking around glass.

In the end, it was Jax who lost the competition he didn't know he was participating in.

"Why were you so deep in the woods?" He asked, and while he tried not to let it show, Rye could very well hear the suspicion in his words.  

That was a very difficult question to answer. Rye herself barely knew or remembered what happened. And she was not in the business of telling people things simply to satisfy their curiosity.

She shook her head, and he sighed. "Fine," he relented, "you go first, then."

"I'm disappointed you caved so quickly," she said, but Rye was grinning.

He blinked, slowly, evidently fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

"How did you know I was there?" She asked.

"You were screaming," he said. But his lips were pressed tight together, and he looked down at his food absently.

He was not lying, but Rye knew it wasn't the truth. She had been mostly unconscious, but there were lucid moments too. If she thought back hard enough, she could remember glimpses of trees and the stars and a stream.

She shook her head, and glared at him. He was skirting around her questions, again. "I was brought here. I remember it. This place is not nearby to where I was attacked."

And she did remember bits of it. The gentle sway of being carried and the relief of finally knowing that she was safe enough to give up fighting. They had travelled to get to this cabin - if that was even what this was - and so Rye knew that there was no way he heard her screaming this far away.

He ran a hand through his dark hair, messing it up even further. For the first time, Rye saw the circles under his eyes. She wondered where he had been all night, and if he had even slept at all.

"How about we start with easy questions," he suggested, realizing he was being cornered a little to close to a truth he did not want to tell.

"Like?" There were so many burning questions that could not wait. But they had to start somewhere, find some semblance of trust.

"You haven't told me your name," he said, and Rye laughed awkwardly.

She had forgotten completely. "Rye," she said.

"Rye," he nodded, testing the sound of it. Jax smiled then, a kind of smile that made him look boyish and a bit awkward, "it's different. The good kind," he hurried to add when she narrowed her eyes at him. "You're turn," 

"Is this your house?" She asked, barely waiting for him to finish. Sure, she was eager to get this over with, and she saw no point in hiding it.

He tried to cover up an amused smile, "yes." His mood was much more easygoing now, and Rye decidedly liked it much more this way, as opposed to the reserved front he had been putting up all this time.

"Why do you live so far out in the woods?"

He held up a hand to stop her, "it was my turn," he said, grinning.

She actually did roll her eyes, "go ahead, then,"

"How are you feeling?"

For a moment, Rye thought that he might be mocking her. She searched his face, ready to scowl at him, but there was nothing there except genuine concern.

"Well," she tried to be honest in the place of feeling guilty for doubting him, "I am a lot better than I was before,"

Slowly, he nodded, but Rye could tell he was uneasy. He looked to the window, almost nervously...but it may have just been a coincidental thing.

"You said something about Onyx Wolves," she said hesitantly, afraid that he'd close up and refuse to answer her properly, "what are they?"

Jax dragged his gaze from the window, picking at a loose thread in his sleeve, "do you believe in the supernatural?" his voice was taut in a way it hadn't been their whole conversation.

"I-" Did she?

He didn't wait for her to say no. "Werewolves," he interjected, jumping in instead.

"Oh." Rye said. What else was there to say?

It was like hearing that rain was running red. The people of her village were indeed superstitious, even to the point of foolishness. They barred their doors and windows at night, and built their hearths high as if to ward away the dark. On full moon nights, no one would sleep, instead opting to crowd around fires and lanterns and anything else that felt warm and safe.

This was different though. This was confirmation. And it shook Rye's world to know that there was a possibility that behind every dead body on the outskirts of town, there might have been something sentient behind it. All this time, the fear had been of wildness and beastly instinct, but now the cards had changed. Senseless killing meant ruthlessness and deliberate murder instead, when it came from a being who could understand what it was doing. 

Jax watched her closely, curiously even. To gage her reaction, deciding whether it had been too much for him to say.

Rye thought of those wolves as they attacked her, the strange way they seemed to communicate and understand each other. They were vicious, but not in the way that any animal was. That bloodlust was something else. More intended, more targeted. 

And most clearly, she remembered the eyes of the great silver wolf, and how she knew even then that the beast was something more than just a beast. She had thought the eyes were strange, and now she knew why.

"I believe you," she choked out, though it hadn't settled in right yet. It might take a long time for that, for the thought of werewolves to become comfortable.

Jax sighed in what she thought might be relief.

But now knowing that those were werewolves, it brought up more questions than it answered. "Why did they want to kill me?" Rye asked quietly, the fight in her deflated now. What she really wanted to ask was why are there bodies found in the village, dirty and defiled by claw marks? That was almost her future, she was sure of it. To become another corpse for the townspeople to find in the morning. Her parents.

Neatly, Jax folded a napkin - one he didn't even use - and stood to take his plate back to the kitchen sink. She watched him, knowing he heard, sensing that he was having trouble answering.

"Please tell me," she nearly whispered. Her pride would suffer and she might never forgive herself for the embarrassment, but she wasn't above begging to know this. It was not just about her anymore.

He sighed, running his free hand over his face. He seemed so weary then, standing in front of the kitchen window, a stopped silhouette dark against the fluttering birch leaves.

"Do you feel well enough for some fresh air?"

"Jax," Rye all but pleaded.

"It's a long story," he sighed, "and this room is becoming suffocating,"

Very, very slowly, Rye stood to her feet, leaning on the back of one of those wooden chairs for balance. Her shoulder throbbed, but it was bearable if she didn't lift that arm. And even if it weren't bearable, she was feeling quite determined.

"Let's go then," she said, already taking a step towards the door, even as he rushed to steady her as she swayed.