Wilder

Going Bats

"Are you sure this is the right street?" Jenny wondered. Everything on that shady lane was a personal belonging or piece of furniture in its worst state. Abandoned. And covered by the sticky dirty in the atmosphere. As if making the whole place a public trash dump wasn't bad enough, there were actual fires on the sidewalk. It was full of beggars, or people who seemed to be done with their lives. The buildings were urban, despite their state. They seemed to be trying pretty hard, too.

"Skid row, Jen." Brock replies.

"Didn't mom say something about only entering at night?"

"Your mom's trying to get us killed."

"That's not true! Dad, is that true?"

"Not so loud, Jennifer." Jones halts her in her step.

"This mask is very uncomfortable. Can I take it off now?" she tugged at the velcrow straps behind her head, "the plastic's all hot and condensed. I think my face is sweating."

"There's only one trick to beating the wolves at their own game, and that is the fact that you have to flow with the pack before you can break the pack." He explains, scanning the numbers of houses left and right. The house fit Janine's minimalistic description to perfection, the only thing missing was the cloak of night. Jenny noticed that the area around that building was clear. It wasn't anything alienated; it was still stuck to other buildings. Jones tested the door. Locked.

"Hey, don't say she didn't warn us." Jenny shrugs, matter of factly.

"Give me that." Jones yanks at her bionic arm, "does one of your fingers have a hairpin, or anything long that can undo the door's lock?"

"By the looks of it, that would be very useless. It's a safe-like door." Brock presses his ears to it, pushing it with his hand.

"That explains why no hobos are around this area...these Lupita people are getting more heartless by the day. Just because someone doesn't have a home, doesn't mean they're bad."

"Keep it low, Jenny!" Jones hisses.

"Sorry..."

"It's only 3 o'clock." Jones glances at his watch, "by night I guess she meant the actual darkness, not the time of day. Witches don't believe in time."

"What, you're saying we have to wait out here until they open up?" she groans, leaning against the wall and sliding down to sit.

"Not unless there's another entrance..." Brock held out his hand for Jenny to stand up, "Pierce never uses the front door. He has some sort of weird phobia since when he was small. It's complicated. But he does exit the headquarters. Knowing him, he would have never bough the building if the only entrance and exit was a front door."

"Yes, well whenever you decide to be useful and actually find out something about it, then you might as well tell us." Jones snaps.

"You know what?!" the tension around them was starting to make Jenny's eyes glow. Her fangs were already out. She had been strong for a very long time, bighting her tongue, holding her breath, counting to ten; all the things her mother had suggested she could do to tame her powers. Naturally, she left out the information that the cures she called simple were more for those who suffered from anger management, and not a curse that altered their species.

"Jenny, calm down. I'm trying to find a way in is all. I have nothing against Brock." Jones spoke slowly.

"It was my fault anyway, I really should have kept useless clues that could get us in to myself. Will keep in mind." Brock shoots at Jones.

"Enough!" she covers her ears. The ringing had returned. She had never seen a friendship so bipolar, and it was bothering her. She suddenly felt uneasy, where she stood. The ringing got louder. Since when could the actions of others impact her powers? It didn't stop. Jones and Brock were at it, without the bluff from before. She was certain he was about to clock him anytime. They began circling each other like two chicken. "Please stop!" she screeches, pacing in a small circle of her own. The feeling in her throat swelled up, the pain in her arched back was blooming.

"Jenny!" This time, Jones manages to catch her before she hits the floor one more time, "Jenny, breathe! I'm sorry, Jenny..." he rocked her back and forth, but it didn't stop the ringing to grow in frequency, her ears were growing upward and it felt like a million needles were piercing through at the same time. Feeling everything come up her throat, she breaks from Jones' hug, stumbling.

"Jenny, listen." Brock takes her hand calmly.

"Let her be! Can't you see she's stressed?!" Jones rips their grip apart.

"Jones, if you'd only allow me t-"

"You're the one making her ill!" he was panting by now, "I think I know my daughter better than you!" Brock waves Jones off aggressively and grabs Jenny by the hand again. Two lumps were perking up from the back of her leather jacket already. He spun her around, rips the mask off of her face, and smashes his mouth against hers, holding it there for a minute, forcing her to obey. Little by little, her ears, nose and back-lumps. As soon as the pain dissolved in those tiny little ants one gets when something goes numb, she pulls back roughly, straightening her hair.

"What the hell?!" It looked as if she was going to morph again, judging by the color in her face.

"Always feed it the opposite emotion." Brock shines his nails on his shirt, wiping off some of Jenny's dark lipstick from his face. Jones was paralyzed.

"Did you just..."

"Shh..." he cuts him off, "I think I'm hearing someone behind the door!" Jones checks his watch, but no change in time was visible. If anything, the sun began sliding down the sky, pulling down the diamond-encrusted curtain of darkness behind it. It wasn't yet visible, it was happening very slowly. Jenny shakes her head, re-entering reality.

"Well that's a lot of BS I'm hearing." She follows Brock, pressing her ears to the door, "not what they're saying; that's too muffled. What I mean is they're probably not gonna let us in yet. Let me demonstrate." She tugs on the door and it clatters in its hinges. Jones groans, like an annoyed 6-year-old boy dragged grocery shopping with his mom.

"Is there any way we could reach the back of this very building?" Brock looked down the street. It seemed endless.

"It must be glued to some wall, I think." Jenny replies, joining her father on the floor and burying her head in his beige trench coat. "It's alright, dad. We'll get in."

"That's a fact." Brock winks, "It's Wednesday. There's that weekly meeting on how to go about other plans in conquering the world. Everyone will be here, so do keep your mask on." He tossed her the mask, which she coyly accepted with a smile, sliding it back onto her face.

"This is going to be a long wait..." Jones hits his head against the deteriorated wall, some pieces of concrete falling into his even messier locks.