Saving Grace

Chapter 4

Trace had long since stormed out of the cave, throwing insults over his shoulder as he left. Leaving Blake with a desperate feeling of despair. If Trace didn't come back, Blake didn't know what he would do.

He had followed his friend out to the mouth of the cave and watched him transform and sprint away, like a contagious disease was spreading throughout this area of the forest.

Blake had then pulled on a tee shirt, seeing as he had yet to put one on, and ran a comb through his bed head. Now, he was trekking down a path that wasn't really a path. Tree branches blocked the trail, roots rose from the ground like tiny monsters reaching out to trip him, bramble pushed and pulled at his skin, scratching their mark into him; yeah, definitely wasn't a path. But it worked for him.

He liked the way the woods made him feel. Natural and calm. Pure and unique. Maybe it was his wolf inside. Or maybe he was just a woodsy kind of guy.

But soon enough, the trees ended and he was graced with the sound of cars speeding down the road, eager to get to wherever they were going. Stepping onto the sidewalk, he followed the cement to the only place he really cared to visit in the blasted city.

A red brick house plastered in between two other old-style Victorian homes. The house was a two story building with a white wrap-around porch and a cute, little, white picket fence. It appeared to have come out of a story book, but Blake knew different.

Tugging on the latch of the gate, he pushed his way onto the property, dodging jump ropes and action figures that had been left on the sidewalk. The curtains shifted and he had the sudden urge to sprint away. Run from what he knew was about to come. But he couldn't.

The front door opened, the knocker banged against the wood, as a woman slammed it shut behind her. Her dirty blond hair trailed behind her in a strange array of curls. Her green eyes glared at Blake as he stood stick still, watching her.

"What do you think you're doing here?" She demanded, shoving a finger into his chest as she stood in front of him. He had the urge to pretend to fall backwards just to make her feel bad, but thought better of it. Knowing she had more to say, Blake didn't reply. He waited.

"Blake, get out of here. I don't want you around here. Ever." The conviction in her tone, almost, sent him scurrying but he had heard far better from her and wasn't buying.

"What Daddy threaten me again?" He asked, mocking her. Her eyes narrowed and she curled her fingers into a tight fist. The girl could hit, he knew it, but he doubted she would swing at him today. Not when the curtains kept shifting in the window behind her. She knew, exactly, who was watching them.

"No. Although, if he found out you were here you would probably have some major issues." As if it were an afterthought she added, "stop calling him Daddy."

Sensing that the scene had calmed, the door swung open again. The knocker rang clear and true against the door, as a small boy sprinted down the sidewalk and launched himself into Blake's arms.

Sighing, the woman shook her head. "Come into the house, before the neighbors start speculating and spreading gossip." Turning on her heel, she moved towards the house, a defeated stomp to her walk.

Following, Blake clung to the boy. When inside, he shut the door with his back and followed her into the living room. Settling onto the plush grey couch, he pushed the boy back by his shoulders, letting his eyes run over his features.

Shaggy brown hair sprouted from his head, going in all different directions. Green eyes, the shade of his mother's, shone back at Blake. "Hiya, Squirt," Blake began, loving the way 'Squirt' sounded coming out of his mouth.

"Hiya, Squirt," the boy mocked, a giggle erupting from between his hands as he covered his mouth. Blake chuckled. "How long are you staying?" The little boy asked.

Blake's eyes found the woman, who watched from the doorway. Her face said one thing but her eyes said another. "Well, little brother, that is all up to Mommy." As his brother turned to look at his mother, Blake smiled. He missed this relationship, and the humorous stress that he put upon his mom.

"Well-" she was caught off by the door opening and shutting. She sighed, as did Blake who sat his brother on the floor, whispering, he said, "You better go play now, Clayt. It's about to get loud." Clayten nodded, then sprinted past their mother down the hall.

"Darling!" The man called, "I have excellent news, the girl-" he stopped. "What in the hell is he doing here?"

"What pops," Blake said, "no hug in greeting?"

It was a surprise that the older man didn't lunge and attack. But the temptation and anger were definitely there. He began screaming and yelling. His face turned tomato red, and he waved his hands around as if he were doing a dance. His dark eyes darted between his wife and his son. Who he was yelling at and what he was saying, neither could determine. Until the last line.

"I want you out of my house right now. And if you dare to come back, I will rip your throat out like you did to that boy."