Werewitch? The Weird Girl Saga Continues

It could have been worse, things could always be worse, but this was pretty bad. So terrible in fact, she recognized her fate at the early age of ten and accepted it as her normal. Life was just that way for some, certainly for her. She dreamed of a bed of her own, warm blankets and pretty new clothes; a hairbrush, a toothbrush and maybe some ribbons and one of those fancy hand mirrors, like princesses have in storybooks.

A life with a mother and loving father; with brothers and sisters and friends. Friends, oh, she wanted friends more than anything; maybe even just one, yes, one good friend would be fine. Someone to stand by her, stand up for her, someone who loved her. Her tormentors never looked down, and passed her each day after school as they ran toward the park, hoping for a clear shot as they threw rocks and trash at her. But after so many years, nothing, no horrible insult, nor sharp edged stone could inflict any more pain than she had already felt.

She never wondered why the other children disliked her so, as her own father never hesitated or missed an opportunity to remind her of her worthlessness and inability to be loved. Twice they came to take her, and twice she did not protest, yet somehow he convinced them to leave her in his care. He promised nicer clothes, better food and more frequent baths, but his promises were as empty as her belly each night.

The neighbors would sneak bits of leftovers to her if they happened to cross paths in the stairwell, or see her hiding beneath the stoop, but they all said the same thing; no one wanted to “get involved.”

It was bitter cold and the snow was threatening to fall, temporarily blanketing the city in quiet tranquility. She shivered uncontrollably, hunched in the corner of her sanctuary, just below the street. The first flakes swirled above her head; she should have gone in and kept warm, but a tiny cry in the distance kept her still. She poked her head up over the railing and craned her neck to the left then right, where was that sound coming from, anyway?

A whimper, soft and sorrowful grew louder as the minutes passed until she dared look up from her hallowed hideaway. The child’s eyes found themselves peering into another's. Could it be? Did her guardian angels finally deem her worthy and send a friend? She called out softly and cautiously, encouraging those tiny eyes to come to her and be comforted.

The snowfall became relentless, blinding drivers and pedestrians alike as they rushed to seek shelter. Thomas Hunter hurried along the sidewalk, realizing his quest for the perfect shot led him far from home. He pulled the lapels of his jacket together not only attempting to stay warm and dry but to shield the antiquated 35mm camera hanging around his neck. It was a loaner, entrusted to him by his photography teacher, Amelia Banks.

She said he had natural talent and a sharp eye, and challenged him to define city life with one perfect photograph. As if that wasn’t daunting enough for the awkward teen to accomplish, the privilege of digital ease was denied. He wouldn’t have looked down, for the city was before him, not below. He would have missed her, if not for an untied lace and slick cement.

Thomas fell forward, bracing himself with both hands. The cold bit at his fingers as he brushed the accumulated snow from his palms before reaching for the unruly laces of his red Converse. The slightest squeak caught his attention as if someone were turning a rusted gear by hand. He glanced to his left, frozen in awe at the sight of the actual source of the odd yet intriguing sound.

A child under the stairwell, pressed against the brick, nearly invisible, clutching what appeared to be a pup with gorgeous glowing amber eyes. She held it close to her, protecting it from the cold, from him. Her eyes met his, and he could see in them a lifetime of despair.

Thomas removed his tattered suede blazer, then his sweatshirt, carefully as not to expose his camera to the elements. He offered his hoodie to the child; she did not reach for it, nor did she utter a single word. Thomas tossed the jacket to her, took aim and shot, just once before tucking the borrowed camera back inside his jacket. “There’s a package of cookies in the pocket,” he said.

He stared, not knowing what else to do for them; his knees now numb as the snow he knelt upon soaked through his jeans. Finally, managing to get back on his feet, Thomas reluctantly resumed his trek through the unfamiliar neighborhood in search of his way home, shaken by the image he just managed to capture.

Professor Amelia Banks studied the 8x10 printed photograph presented to her for critique and grading by her most promising, yet insecure student, Thomas Hunter. The image threatening to evoke a long suppressed memory crept inside her very soul. Her eyes, so familiar, so expressive, and the pup, wild and feral by the looks of her eyes, was that a wolf?

Was the child homeless; a product of a broken society, nothing more than dysfunctional family fodder left to her own devices, cold, alone and barely surviving below the busy city streets? Amelia obsessed over the photo, silently pleading with herself to remember, to recognize the element of familiarity. She counted the minutes until class began, until she could speak with Thomas. She needed him to shed some much needed light into the recesses of her memory.

“I gave her my jacket and the cookies I had stashed in the pocket,” he explained.

“Where were you when you took the photo, Thomas?” The photo, a term so generic, just a senior class assignment adequately fulfilled by a slightly above average student with a passion for pictures. It would be ten years before the name Thomas Hunter was on every collector’s list and displayed in every gallery. The print entitled, “Enigmatic Eyes” will sell over a million copies, and the original will earn a place in The Museum of Modern Art. For now, Amelia Banks simply gave the work a generous A-, focusing on the subject rather than the execution.

“I’m not sure. I was walking through the park, and I managed to find my way out on the other side, landing myself in a strange neighborhood. It was snowing and I lost my bearings. I slipped on the snow, or maybe it was my shoelace, but in any instance, I was on the ground when I looked over and saw them. Miss Banks, they were so cold and so afraid, I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You did what you could, Thomas. I commend you for your kindness; you could have chosen to complete your assignment and moved along without any further consideration. I understand you were feeling disoriented, especially in blizzard-like conditions, but if I were to ask you to retrace your journey, would you be able to find your way into that neighborhood again?”

Her hideaway under the stoop was cold and damp. Melting snow pooled along the building and on this particular day, the tiny nook smelled of urine and spray paint. She ducked under the railing and whispered to her friend. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.” In her hand, she held a few scraps of Mr. Enders dinner from the night before. He left a meager plate just outside his door for her, as he had done several times in the past. There was barely enough to satisfy her own hunger, never mind that of a growing pup. However, she was grateful for anything at all, and happy to share her meal.

“It’s ok pretty girl, I have food for us.” The amber glow of her eyes emerged from the broken grate on the side of the building, as she squeezed her emaciated body from the crawlspace into the stairwell. Her fur was matted and filthy, but her spirit remained unbroken; they had one another. Soon, she would grow too large to fit into the hole in the foundation under the broken grate, soon they would be vulnerable; this frightened the child. She scooped up the mangy pup and tucked her into the sweatshirt she wrapped herself in; the very one the boy with the kind eyes gave her just days before; the only thing she ever cherished, besides her best friend, of course.

Amelia babbled as Thomas led her through the park and into what he hoped was the same neighborhood where he took the photo. The 35mm hung from his neck, like a thoroughbred in the starting gate, anticipating another big win. However, Thomas was certain he would never take a more significant photograph than the one of the child and her furry companion. Her eyes told a story, whether true or born of his imagination. Either way, the tale began with her, and continued in the eyes of the pup; simple, innocent, heroic, hopeful.

“You know Miss Banks, it just occurred to me that the child in my photo kind of resembles you. I imagine if you had a daughter, she would be very reminiscent of the girl.” Suddenly, Amelia’s legs refused to move. “Miss Banks, are you ok? Have I said something to upset you? I’m so sorry, it was not my intention.”

“No, Thomas.” Her voice was raspy and low as if she had to coax it from her diaphragm. “I know why she is so familiar to me. Oh, if I’m right, her world and mine are about to change forever. Thank you for being so bold as to express your thoughts without hesitation; your words are exactly what I needed to pry the memory from my dark subconscious into the light of day. Thomas, it’s nearly nightfall. Soon, we will be even more disoriented than we are now. I’m going to call for a taxi to get you home. Maybe I’ll keep searching on my own.”

“Wait, there! I recognize the railing. They were down under the stoop.”

No one ever looks down, she thought, not unless they need to tie their shoe. However, this day, Amelia Banks looked down, staring into familiar eyes; the child’s eyes, her sister’s eyes.

“Hello.” she managed. The child instinctively recoiled, pulling her pup tighter against her tiny body. Amelia crouched down, settling on the sidewalk with her legs dangling below the street into the nook under the stoop. She sighed deeply, as the resemblance was truly uncanny. Amelia gazed into the forgotten eyes of her own sister.

Her once broken heart began to mend with the very real possibility of the child belonging to her deceased sibling; the child she wasn’t certain existed, until now. She heard of a child by the name of Raina, born to her beloved Alana, but the family speculated as to the child’s plight after Alana’s tragic passing. “I think you may be my niece.” she offered.

The girl remained quiet for a few moments before recognizing Thomas. She addressed him directly, “Thank you.”

Thomas smiled, and Amelia continued, “Is your name Raina?” The girl shook her head. “Was your mother’s name Alana?” Again, the child nodded. Amelia offered her hand, wanting nothing more than to lift them out of that forsaken hole, into the light, into her arms. “Would both of you like to come with me?”

Teresa Mahoney hurried to pour her second cup of coffee into her travel mug and get downstairs before Martin disappeared back into his building across the street. She could see him from her bedroom window, sitting on the stoop with Faith Asher’s dog, Cara. He was such a nice man with a kind face, and ever since meeting him last Thanksgiving, Teresa wanted to get to know him better. The only regret Teresa Mahoney felt on occasion was not securing close relationships; being alone wasn’t always pleasant.

It wasn’t so much a romantic attraction as a longing for the company of someone her own age. Someone she could share the secrets she held with and simply be her quirky self around. Teresa grabbed her keys, coffee mug and favorite purple sweater and headed out the door. She dared not wait for the rickety old lift her landlord passed off as an elevator, as it was slower than her own chubby legs, carefully descending the three flights of stairs, holding the rickety handrail to her left and gripping her cup and keys in her right hand.

Teresa reached the front door, pulling it open and stepping out on to the sidewalk. “Yoo Hoo.” She called, waving her left arm frantically over her head. She turned to check her reflection in the window, fussing with her wiry red curls before making her way to the building across the street. She was thrilled to see that Martin and Cara hadn’t yet gone in, still enjoying the cool Spring morning. “Martin.” She called out again, toddling her way over to where he and Cara sat.

“Good morning, Teresa.” Martin offered, scooting over closer to Cara, making room in case she wanted to sit for a while. “Care to join us?” he asked, patting the space next to him on the cement step. “Careful,” he warned, “The banister is loose on that side.” His gentleman-like demeanor came naturally, making Teresa blush and liking him even more than she already did.

Teresa backed up and plopped down on the top step, “Oh, I was hoping you’d ask. It seems like a good morning to spend some time outside.”, she said with an odd girlish chuckle that even surprised her. “So, what do you two have planned for this beautiful day?”

Martin stroked Cara’s head, “Not much, other than a little quality time this morning with my favorite girl here. She’s become quite the mascot for our building. She may belong to Faith, but we have all come to love her. Everyone in the whole darn building goes out of their way to spend a few minutes with this beautiful soul. I swear dogs are not only our best friends, but true gift from the Heavens; like angels with wet noses and stinky farts.”

Teresa chuckled, again surprising herself with such girlish behavior. “You know Martin, Faith had the chance to go to a nice foster home on Staten Island, but she wouldn’t have it. The family told us they couldn’t take Cara as well, so Faith did everything in her power to hide from me until she figured out her way to the city. This dog means more to her than anything.” Teresa told him. “It was literally my job to find Faith a safe place to live, but I have to be honest with you, I was rooting for them to stay together.

“That’s right, you were Faith’s social worker; I forgot about that. I suppose I’m just used to Jessa and the kids being the nice family down the hall. As much as I’m embarrassed to admit it, everything before I got myself right is sort of a blur.”

“Got yourself right?” Teresa asked.

“Yes, sober. I’m nearly five months sober. If not for my son Jack and the twins, I might not be sitting here with you this morning.”

Teresa didn’t want to pry any further, at least not during their first real conversation. “Well, congratulations, Martin. I know that is quite an accomplishment that most people never achieve.”

“Thank you. You’d have thought after my wife left me, I would have woken up, but it only made things worse for me. If not for the love of my son and eventually the kids in the building, who knows where I would be?”

“I’m sorry to hear that happened to you. Have you always lived in the city?”

“Well, no. I grew up in the suburbs of New Jersey, but we moved to Tribeca when Jack was just a toddler. It’s been twenty-five years now; I can honestly call Tribeca home. And, there’s nothing to feel sorry for; my wife left because I was not someone she wanted to live with. I hear she’s doing well, got remarried and moved to Vermont.”

“Too cold up there for me.” Teresa told him, hoping to change the subject. Although Martin willingly accepted the responsibility for his failed marriage, talking about it now seemed to make him sad.

“Say, do you miss the suburbs?” he asked, realizing he may have accidentally made her uncomfortable with the mention of his ex-wife.

Teresa giggled again, “City living is very different, but I seemed to have gotten used to it rather quickly. There’s not much I miss about my old run-down house, and for Heaven’s sake, I do not miss the Vampires on Staten Island, that’s for sure.”

Martin’s eyes widened. “Vampires you say?” he asked with some reluctance, but even more curiosity.

“Oh yes. They were quite a problem for a while. And let me tell you, they are disgusting. The smell alone will drive you straight out of town. I often wondered about those things that literally go bump in the night, but it wasn’t until they got up close and personal, that I made the decision to follow the kids out here. How I got myself all tangled up in that mess, I will never know. But, hey, things always work out, don’t they?”

“I guess they do, Teresa. I suppose trading Vampires for Werewolves is an upgrade then?” Still wide-eyed and in awe, Martin could not believe himself that those words came out of his mouth.

“You can call it that. At first, I was petrified of the wolves, but they were there to protect me, and it didn’t take long for me to accept them into my reality. You know, I worked with Ben Bridges for nearly a year and had no idea he was anything but a nice young man. Come to find out, he and his sister were keeping a profound secret from the rest of the world. Having them trust me with it was an honor, really. It was not a hard decision to make to come live among the wolves. I’ve never felt more safe and secure in my life.”

"Well, if it means anything at all, I’m happy you’re here, and I’m glad you feel so at home in the city. It’s nice to have a friend close by, especially one who understands the unique aspects of the life I have, and the relationships I hold dear. You know, I have really enjoyed our conversation, we should do this more often, what do you think?”

Teresa blushed as her full face turned the same color as her fiery curls. “I’d like that, considering we have so much in common. I consider myself lucky to be working for the Sain Foundation, but I do crave some good old fashioned human interaction now and again, as I’m sure you do too.”

“Oh, yes. Like you, I have my place in the grand scheme of things; the designated Grandpa in the group, but it sure would be nice to take a break once and a while from the Werewolves of Tribeca.”

Teresa patted Martin’s knee, “I have a few chores needing to be done, but what would you say to an ice cream date around two?”

Martin stood and untied Cara’s leash from the wrought iron banister, “I’d say I’ll meet you right back here in a couple of hours, Miss Mahoney.”

“Excellent, I’m already looking forward to it.” Teresa said before hoisting herself up from the stoop and toddling her way back across the street.

Martin patted Cara on the head, “Remind me to thank Faith for running away. If not for that nice little girl, I might have never met Teresa. She makes living here in Tribeca a bit sweeter. Now, let’s get you back inside for your morning nap.”