RAY HOOK
Year 2014
(Summer, The U.R.T., Spring Palms)
The Ares family had been regularly sensationalised in the news so Ray pieced up the information and learned a lot about Kate from the internet.
Frank Ares was an algorithm genius who started Ares Corp with one aim in mind: elevate human interaction with technology to new heights. The startup would provide groundbreaking algorithmic solutions, and it very quickly became one of the prominent backbones of the tech world. Frank married his college friend, Teresa Rhea, who was the PR and Marketing director for the company, and a year later, the couple had a baby daughter, whom they named Kate.
Ray found numerous photos of the family of three. Kate on her father's shoulders in an amusement park, watching some humans dancing on a giant cake vehicle; Kate resting against her father, both immersed in their own books in a park; Kate with her hands up in the air, beaming at the bag of chips in her father's right hand, in the middle of a supermarket. Every picture showed one thing that was staring everyone in the face: the father and daughter had a very close relationship.
Teresa Ares, for some reason, was never in the pictures.
And, for some reason, people couldn't seem to piece two and two together. Everyone believed the constantly absent mother to a fourteen-year-old girl who had shown nothing but love for her father.
Ray glared at his own reflection in the bathroom mirror, still unable to fathom after all these years. How can people eat all that bullshit fed by that woman? How can they not see it? Why is Teresa Ares' bullshit not a marketing gimmick and Kate Ares' is?
Outside, the door opened and his uncle strolled in. "Hey, Ray-ster. Did you walk home again?" He stretched out on the bed into his usual mermaid pose as Ray emerged, drying his hair with a towel.
"It's all your fault." He threw the damp towel at the ex-Delta, who caught it immediately with a knowing grin.
"What did I do?" The towel flew like a three-pointer shoot into the laundry basket. "You were the butterfingers back at the club, not me."
Ray spun around, his eyes glaring with blame, his face flushed with embarrassment and a greater annoyance at that embarrassment. "Get out."
"Aww, come on, Ray-ster. You love it here, don't you?" An arm hooked around Ray's broad shoulder, and Ray was pulled closer to his uncle's side. Then, a lowered voice reminded him. "You're not in the Howling Five anymore. There's no need to get yourself cooped up in here all day. Go out, get a cute girlfriend, enjoy what this world has to offer, huh?"
"Leave me alone. I'm fine," mumbled the teen, trying to shake the snakish arm off him, but his uncle wouldn't let him and grabbed his shoulders to force him to look him in the eye.
"Wi-Fi monk. That's what they call people like you."
Ray flashed an unimpressed look and wiped off his uncle's hands with an irritated knit of his brows. "Please, get out."
"Humph." The older man shoved both hands into his pockets and dragged his feet to the exit. "Fine, I'll get out. That's something the wolf hasn't done all these years. A gentle reminder."
Ray doesn't need one. He's well aware that that monster hadn't emerged ever since he stepped foot in this world. But his curse hasn't ended. Ray can never tell what that monster is up to or will do. It's so unpredictable and dangerous, it can't be let out.
No matter what, it can never kill again.
"Did you check the CCTV footage like I told you?" Ray asked, not looking away from his giant desktop screen, pretending that he wasn't changing the subject.
His uncle paused at the door then turned back with a curious squint. "You mean the guy who's been adding stuff into people's drinks? Yes, I did, and there was nothing. Are you sure your head's not messing with you?"
Those blue eyes were on him, warning him for the millionth time. "My head isn't separated from me so I'm not crazy. I saw him—he was in the corner, watching his prey, waiting for her to take the bait."
"Sounds like quite the hunter."
Ray was confused by the light-hearted way his uncle is treating the matter. "Is this some manner of courtship here?"
His uncle rolled his eyes at 'manner' and 'courtship'. "Maybe they were a couple. Couples dig these things lately. Role-playing," he remarked with a shrug in his voice.
Ray studied his uncle's face and said nothing. Indeed, a Delta's capabilities are beneath an Alpha's. "Okay," he said and returned to his reading.
But his tone of contempt didn't elude the older man who stepped closer. "No, no." He wiggled his index finger and proceeded to list down all the things that he—a Delta—could do better than Ray the Alpha.
But Ray had already stopped listening.
The best evidence is to catch the guy in the act. That would definitely convince the police.
If only he could do that with Teresa Ares.
When Frank was CEO, he'd rejected suggestions on a regular basis for Ares Corp to go IPO. It soured his relationship with his partners but since the company had high margins with constant large gulps of revenue, no partners wanted out.
Yet, right after Teresa Ares took over as CEO, Ares Corp went public. The partners were appeased, and she went on a shopping spree in the tech world.
*****
The music pounded on. In the dim lights, the drink glowed in neon blue as the powdery promise of toxic pleasure plunged in to join in the fun. Satisfied, the predator stole a glance at his target swaying lusciously close by.
Ray grabbed the drink in a swift crescent swipe then swivelled away to leave—but an iron grip landed on his shoulder. Under pressure, he was forced to turn back, and a pair of dark, crazy eyes seized his own. Ray's heart nearly stopped.
Mozzo was staring back at him.
Hot boiling fear poured down. Ray jolted back, losing grip of the tray and its contents, his senses, reality, and then his footing. He landed in the middle of the dance floor as glass crashed like an explosive gunshot, killing the groove, silencing all movement.
Run, echoed his mother's voice, and Ray tried, but his legs wouldn't budge. A terrifying thought seized him: Mozzo had stabbed them dead. That's why he couldn't feel them.
No… his mind is playing tricks on him again. Take a peek, a quick check. But his eyes stared forward. He can't look away. Mozzo would swoop in anytime and rip off his head.
"That's my drink, you fucking shit! Did I say I was done with it?" The figure loomed closer, its shadow like a shark about to eat Ray's feet, which terrified the hell out of him, and he kicked furiously. He wanted to scream for it to fuck off, but his voice was stuck.
As though someone had frozen it.
Mozzo.
Mozzo had sliced his throat!
A new terror gripped Ray. He grabbed his own throat and coughed hard.
Blood is in his throat, choking him; he can't breathe; he's losing blood; he's losing lots of blood. Blood is everywhere. In the air, on the ground, across the leaves.
Ray clutched harder. His lungs clawed harder, scraping, gasping.
Get away. He needed to get away. Fast.
His palms pushed anxiously, he kicked frantically.
Get away. He needed to get away.
"Hey, you freak. Did you hear what I said?" A voice emerged from the bubble of sounds.
Curious, Ray looked up.
And Mozzo was grinning back. You're gonna pay for it, muck-mutt….
NO! Ray squeezed his eyes shut and kicked harder. GO AWAY! His mind screamed desperately. PLEASE, GO AWAY! IT WASN'T ME! IT'S THAT WOLF!
But the shadow caught him. It grabbed his shoulders, squeezing them till they hurt. He wanted to fight it off and run, but the shadow was stronger, and Ray still couldn't move. Mozzo's nails were sinking into his flesh, injecting poison—a poison to burn Ray till his flesh rots—"RAY!" His uncle's voice punched through.
And his burnt and steaming corpse burst like a bubble.
Ray was back on the cold dance floor. His lungs were freed. He could feel again. He could hear again. He scanned around, every face was puzzled and concerned—and one of them was crushed with worry.
His uncle, the 'shadow', was squeezing his shoulders. Not getting the response he needed, the ex-Delta called his name again, shaking him slightly. "Can you hear me?"
Ray swallowed to catch his breath and managed a croak of relief. "Yes…. Loud and clear."
"A panic attack!" Someone cried out.
"A panic attack?"
"Get the ambulance!"
"He needs a doctor!"
"No, he kicked him in the stomach! I saw it!"
Ray was getting on his feet, using his uncle as a crutch, when the drink spiker roared, "I did not touch him! He's the thief." He pointed angrily at Ray. "You better tell them the truth—tell them you stole my drink, and I caught you! And then you started putting on a freak show!"
"He had a panic attack because you kicked him! You didn't have to kick him!" His target shot her own angry finger at him, as her friends had their phones out like weapons, lenses and flashlights directed at him, recording him live. "That's an assault," they muttered, "and we're calling the police!"
"You dumb bitches!" The predator dived at the group to grab their devices, but the club's security—one MMA fighter in black and shades—appeared out of nowhere and held him back like a leash on a dog with rabies. Though terrified, his ego wouldn't let go. "You dumb pussies! I got those drinks for you, and that's how you repay me?"
A shouting match ensued with threats of 'make your pussy pay' and 'cut your ugly balls off' volleyed to and fro, and more security entered the scenes, directed by the club's owner. Then, more people joined in the verbal battle, hurling their own remarks, including the owner himself.
Finally, Ray finished checking the floor and sighed in relief. Not a single drop of blood anywhere. He felt for his neck, checked his feet—no signs of slashing.
"What, are you hurt?" his uncle shouted in an angry surprise. Without waiting for Ray, he thundered at the spiker like a wolf ready to rip a head off. "YOU SHITHEAD, HOW DARE YOU TOUCH HIM! DO YOU KNOW WHO HE IS?"
Ray was frantic. They can't know that he's a werewolf. Or he'll have to leave! He can't go back to the Howling Five. Hastily, he tried to intervene but could only manage a weak croak, "I'm fine—."
There was no use.
"He's a thief!" The drink spiker's yelp beat Ray's timid reply. "That's what he is!" And Ray had to use all of his leafy weight to pull his uncle back from throwing a punch while making sure that the spiker's face stayed out of his purview.
But his uncle immediately felt the grip on his lower arm tightened and sensed its tremors of fear. Then, he noted the Alpha clinging onto him—just as he had when he first arrived here.
Suddenly, the fourteen-year-old didn't seem to have grown much. He was still that seven-year-old boy trapped in the horrors of his own mind—the horrors created from his dark memories.
A sense of familiarity swarmed in. And with it, a paternal rage.
With the murderous gaze of a protective father, the ex-Delta promised the drink spiker a compensation for the spilled drinks and reassured him that the CCTV footage of the incident would be handed over to the police should he not be satisfied with the compensation.
Before the guy accepted the terms, two more MMA fighters in shades and black uniform appeared on each of his side, and he was hurled out like a fish out of water, flapping and wriggling in the air with indignance, roaring his anguish for missing his catch of the day.
A promise of free drinks for the rest of the evening later, everything returned—the dimness, the head-pounding music and the aimless downing—and Ray was escorted—much to his dislike—back to the staff lounge.
******
"Are you sure it wasn't him?" Ray tried to soothe the throbbing inside his head.
And his uncle sighed for the trillionth time. "For the trillionth time: yes, I'm sure. It wasn't him." A brief deafening silence later, he spoke again, his voice lowered to a rare decibel. "Mozzo's dead, Ray-ster. You gotta come to terms with it."
"I know," murmured the Alpha. "But I did see him just now."
Another sigh slipped out. Then, the older wolf slapped his thigh in a sudden epiphany. "It was too dark out there. You were too caught up with saving the girl—who by the way, asked to meet you outside."
"No."
Delighted that he had successfully stirred Ray away from the nagging subject, the ex-Delta whispered with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, "She's being thankful. And humans are willing to do anything when they get in that mood."
Ray turned to his uncle in full curiosity. "What do you mean? She's gonna pay me money? Like a reward or something?"
His uncle shook his head solemnly. "Something even better."
*****
The girl stepped forward, and Ray took a step back.
"Come on, I won't do anything, I promise." The girl reached for his hand but Ray tucked both into his jeans pockets, and she could only pout adorably. "Then, give me your address. I'll send a doctor over."
Outside, Ray continued smiling. Inside, he was exasperated. The girl is worse than his own mother, and he should've known better than to listen to that conniving uncle of his.
"Let's just get him to the hospital, huh?" Her friend whispered into her ear, but the girl hushed her with a 'I got this' frown then beamed at Ray.
"Give me your number then."
"I don't have a phone," said Ray calmly.
And her friend passed something to her, which she lifted up to his gaze and widened her smile into a pleased grin. "Isn't this yours, handsome?"
Ray blinked helplessly at his phone swaying between her fingers.
What should he do now? He can't go with this girl. He knows what she's after: she wants to try her goldfingers on him. And she'll bring him to some strange place to do it.
The girls were trying to unlock his phone now.
He needed to think of something before they lose interest and come back for him.
Ditch the phone—Uncle Ambrose can easily get a new one anyway.Just turn around and walk off, Ray instructed himself and, after checking on the girls for the last time, turned from them to walk away.
But as soon as he took a step, a familiar scent caught him, and everything came to a screeching halt.
The freshest snow on roasted wood.