The Revelation

The screen glared at her like a glowing monster. Taunting Wren to keep digging. The web cam became the eye of a cyclops, grinning at her with words that incriminated her dearest friend. It was like the floor fell out from under her. If she crept back to her desk, the pit underneath it might swallow her up, and with it, Isaac’s freedom.

Wren closed her eyes, running her finger on the pad to look at the other records. She had to know how deep this went. He would go riding with friends to different spots in Florida, staying gone for a weekend or a few days. Isaac always returned looking refreshed and happy, but Wren now wondered if those weekends were truly motorcycle excursions or getting himself into trouble.

A date jumped out at Wren. It was a day stuck in her head forever. A day where she and Isaac sat in a hospital waiting room, holding their breath for news.

He and his ex-wife Luz were a young and happy couple. Isaac was nineteen and Luz was barely twenty. They struggled together in their apartment while Isaac fixed bikes out of someone’s garage. He had a dream to own a place someday soon. Until then, he bought broken bikes, turned them around and sold them for a profit.

They had a hasty wedding when Luz announced her pregnancy. Isaac promised to do the right thing with her and the baby. Wren was one of four people in attendance as the two embraced each other in a courthouse. Luz had a purple dress on, and Isaac wore leather pants at his own insistence.

A few months later, Wren received a phone call from Isaac. He was frantic, screaming, and cursing. The baby was coming. They had to get to the hospital. In the background, Luz spoke calmly, reminding Isaac to get her overnight bag and make sure that she had lipstick in the toiletries bag.

“Lipstick!? What do you need lipstick for? They’ll all look at the other lips for the next sixteen hours!” He yelled.

Wren doubled over laughing when Luz responded with a barrage of obscenities in Spanish. She called him everything but a nice young man and stopped short of insulting his Mother. By the time their argument finished, the phone was left somewhere in the house and Wren heard the door slam shut. She hung up, making her way to the hospital.

Luz beamed at Wren, rubbing her stomach and talking to the baby. Every few minutes, a contraction would interrupt her happy chatter and she’d groan in pain. Poor Isaac looked horrified, rubbing her shoulders like someone would a boxer in the middle of a round, coaching her to pant like she was about to get back in the ring.

“Get him off of me!” Luz shouted.

“Isaac. Let me.” Wren said, rubbing Luz’s lower back as another contraction ripped through her. “It’s OK. It’s almost done. You’re doing great. ”

The labor didn’t take long, and soon Luz was prepared to deliver. Isaac paced back and forth like a caged wolf, blowing air out of his nostrils and almost growling as Luz laid back and roared with the pain of a progressing labor. Wren remembered laughing as one of the Nurses whispered to another, afraid the two Werewolves were going to shift at any moment. It wasn’t close to a full moon, and it was in the middle of the morning.

She took Isaac to the waiting room, where Luz’s screams echoed through the halls along with another woman who was having an equally difficult day. The screams stopped, and a tiny cry broke the silence. Isaac sat up straight, about to bound through the hall. A Nurse came to get them both, and they walked in to see Luz grinning from ear to ear.

The smallest person Wren had ever seen was bundled in a blue blanket. His tiny fist pushed out toward Isaac, grasping at the air. The proud Father put his finger in the baby’s hand, letting tears flow as he greeted his newborn son.

There was no arrest that day. Emilio was born, and Isaac never left the hospital. Wren never left their side. He and Luz remained together until she and the baby were sent home. The Iron Oath database claims Isaac was arrested for attempting an illegal turn.

“It never happened.” Wren whispered.

Her eyes darted to the ceiling, staring at the long white tiles as if someone were looking through them. Wren pretended to scroll through records for a few more minutes, letting the words tumble out of her mind and become what they were, lies. Broken and doctored records to frame an innocent man and woman. But why?

She sent a hasty email to Jacob. It’s late. I need to let Brutus out. I’ll be back in the morning. Have a good night.

Nothing seemed safe anymore. Nothing at the office, at least.

Brutus pounced on Wren like a puppy. He was a large puppy, all one hundred plus pounds of him. His paws settled on her chest as he barked a happy welcome home to his best human friend.

She didn’t bother turning on the lights in the condo, opting to feel her way to the kitchen counter where Brutus’ leash and harness was kept. She always took it with them in case someone yelled at her for the dog being off-leash. The plants needed water, and the floor needed swept, but it would have to wait just a little longer.

“Brutus, let’s go out!” She said.

“Already? Aren’t you hungry?” He asked.

“We’ll pick something up.” Wren smiled.

She whispered an apology to her plants, feeling like they direly needed her attention. They were like her dog, alive and needing nurtured by sunlight, water and sometimes a kind word or three. Wren took one final look at the dark apartment, thinking that her plants all stretched out toward her as if they too wanted to go with her.

Behind the condos was a green space where all the dogs did their business. Brutus ran to his favorite patch of grass that had turned a yellow brown after so much use. He sniffed at a favored tree, sneezing, when he realized another dog had been in his coveted territory.

Wren felt like someone was watching her. A Werewolf prowling in the bushes. Or a Vampire hiding in the dark spot close to the road. Both of them had glowing eyes that stared at her, following every move she and Brutus made. The eyes were nothing more than headlights from the road, reflecting off of windows onto small green leaves and casting long shadows against the streetlights.

“I’m done!” Brutus announced, sitting at her feet while his tail thumped the grass.

“Great. Now I need your help.” She said. “It’s a big favor. You need to talk to someone about me. It’s important you tell them everything I tell you.”

“Why?” Brutus asked.

“Someone needs my help. They need yours too.” Wren said.

The dog closed his eyes, putting his head underneath the chin of his best friend as she whispered the story to him. His eyes opened, narrowing when she mentioned the doctored records. When Brutus realized someone was trying to harm Isaac, his mouth curled up and sharp canine teeth bared at the dark.

“I’ll tell her everything.” Brutus said. “I promise.”

“Thank you.” Wren smiled. “I knew I could count on you to do it.”

The house was thirty minutes north of Wren. Traffic meant it took an hour. By the time they arrived, Brutus had to use the bathroom, much to the disgust of the cat sitting in the front picture window. It was a large cat with long white fur striped with gray. He watched Brutus relieve himself, twitching his nose at the large dog as if he were a king about to order the execution of a peasant.

A red brick planter spanned the length of the front porch, filled with fan palms that brushed against the long ornamental grass. Off to the side, a large patch of catnip grew near an open window.The cat meowed loudly, disappearing from the window. A quiet voice answered the cat, and seconds later, the door flew open.

A woman with dazzling brown eyes and a warm tawny complexion stared at Wren. Two bright blue combs pulled her hair tight on either side, letting her curls fall free over her shoulders. She crossed her arms, holding a wooden spoon in her hand that was coated with something the color of poppies. Whatever it was, it had the most wonderful smell of warm spices, reminding Wren she hadn’t eaten yet. Or gone to the gym.

“What do you want, Wren?” She asked. “Make it quick. I’m getting supper ready.”

Sandy Carson was the woman who ran the Druids in South Florida for the last three years. She was born in Jamaica, and her dialect sharply emphasized some words. It made Wren stand up straight, as if she were caught by a teacher who accused her of not paying attention. The woman commanded respect at twenty-eight years old. It came from years of being a Social Worker, where she fought in courtrooms and beyond for children who had no voice.

Wren stood in front of Sandy, trying to convey everything with her eyes. The woman frowned when Wren refused to speak and rolled her eyes. But Brutus’ bark kept Sandy from slamming the door shut.

“Don’t leave. Please.” Brutus said. “I have to tell you something. Because Wren can’t.”

“You?” Sandy looked at Brutus. “What’s this about, then? Why won’t you talk with me, Wren? Do you hate us that much?”

“No, no!” Brutus flopped his head back and forth. “She can’t tell you. Can you call Isaac? Isaac Carillo? He needs help.”

“Why’s he need my help?” Sandy raised her sculpted eyebrows, softening her gaze and letting her arms relax.

“I think. No, Wren thinks the Iron Oath is trying to hurt him. She doesn’t know why. There’s a record that’s wrong. It said that Isaac was arrested one night, but Wren knows he wasn’t. It was the day his son was born. She was with him.” Brutus talked so fast that Sandy and the cat had a difficult time keeping up with him.

“Wait a minute. Why does this matter? Of course they are lying about us.” Sandy said.

Brutus panted. “They are trying to arrest him for an illegal hunt. Wren thinks all the records are wrong. They said he and someone else did a lot of bad things.”

Sandy’s eyes opened wide and she slowly turned her face to Wren. “Is this is all true?”

Wren nodded in response, pointing to Brutus, who was all too happy to answer. “You’ve got to tell him. Wren can’t.”

“You’re risking yourself coming here to tell me. But you know that, don’t you?” Sandy said.

Wren nodded again, patting Brutus on the backside.

“Oh. I am supposed to tell you that Oliver Faulkner is here.” He barked.

“Here!?” Sandy dropped the spoon in her hand, running inside of the house. Seconds later, she stormed out. “You’re joking!”

“No.” Wren finally answered her. “I was with him tonight.”

Sandy seemed like she might reach out and grab Wren by the hand, pulling her inside the safety of the house. “You keep yourself safe. I’ll do my part here.”

“I will.” Wren said.

“You tell me — Brutus can tell me — if anything else happens.”

Sandy turned to go inside, looking over her shoulder at Wren. It was no wonder Sandy’s familiars were felines. When she looked over her shoulder, her gaze was like a tiger’s, calm and calculated, waiting for someone else to make the next move. If anyone could get the word out quietly, it was her.

Wren started the car, heaving a relieved sigh. She did the right thing, and Sandy listened to Brutus. Animals didn’t lie unless they were trained to, and Brutus had no reason to lie. In all of her years encountering Sandy and the other Druids, they knew Wren was honest.

For so long, she tried to make them understand why she was part of the Iron Oath. She believed in her own lies, and the lies of her parents. The heaps of crap Jacob Stuart ladled on her from day one. All of that garbage was falling away from her, and she was seeing it for what it was - a stinking pile that contained years of manipulation and willful ignorance.

It was difficult for Wren to associate with The Others. They saw her as the enemy. Someone who betrayed them for the cause of the Iron Oath. Every story whispered in school yards came back to haunt Wren on the drive home. As a child, she too heard the rumors of the Iron Oath making Others disappear.

Like a hurricane raging over the Florida peninsula, destroying everything in his path. Oliver Faulkner, the only Other Agent that existed. The one person who should know what Wren didn’t know. How many stories were true? How much had she been ignoring?

Brutus asked for food, and Wren stopped, getting the dog a tempting slab of meat from a store. She ate nothing. Her appetite was gone, replaced by the feeling of nausea that threatened to overcome her if she took a bite. Her hands were sweating so badly that they slipped from the steering wheel, and tears were welling up in her eyes.

“Wren.” Brutus snacked on a stray piece of ham. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m realizing something I should have realized a long time ago.” She answered.

“That the Iron Oath isn’t good.” Brutus said it as if he were telling her he just ate his dinner. A matter-of-fact statement that hit Wren like a punch in the gut.

“Exactly.” She answered.

Her phone lit up, notifying her of a message from Isaac. The message was so short that Wren read it without touching her screen. Two words sent the tears flowing.

“Thank you.”

Everything had changed in an instant. Wren switched sides, but there was no one on her side. The Others didn’t accept her, and the Iron Oath never could.

Florian was right. Some Druids start fires. She may have started an inferno. One that she prayed they would all get away from.