The Boy Witch

23: Caving In

"Well, now that that's all sorted," began Sheriff Dawson, drawing my attention to the obviously pissed man, "you're going to go hospital to look at your arm and then we are going to have a serious talk. Alone." He pointedly looks at Alex, Josh, and the twins when adding the last part. All of them nod their heads, not daring to challenge the intimidating man. Alex hesitates, curiously enough, looking between me and his father before bowing his head.

With that, I was herded into Alex's shiny black car. I watch through the window's reflection as Alex gets into the driver's seat, glancing at me as the twins and Josh attempt to sit together in the back. He turns the key in the ignition but pauses for a moment, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel nervously.

"North—"

"Please," I cut him off quietly. "No questions, not now. Later, but not now please." I turn to look at him and find him staring back, mouth open as if wanting to say something. After a moment, he purses his lips and looks forward.

"Okay," Alex replies. "No questions."

And the ride stayed that way, all the way to the hospital. Nobody talked and I was far from the mood to as pain coursed through my body. When we arrive there, Alex stops in front of the ER doors, letting me and the others get out before quickly parking nearby. He comes back just before I'm escorted to an examination room. When he moves to follow me a nurse stops him.

"Sir, you can't come with him. Only family are allowed with patients," I overhear the nurse tell him.

"But, I'm his—" Alex cuts himself off abruptly, making me pause to look at him. He stares at me for a moment before turning away. "Nothing, never mind. Call me when you're done and I'll give you a ride back home." He doesn't wait for an answer before joining the twins and Josh in the waiting room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It turns out my initial thoughts were partially correct; my arm wasn't broken, but it was fractured in several places with varying severity. Along with the fractures there's also the severe bleeding and teeth wounds that would have to be stitched. Besides that, no surgery was needed.

Dr. Tremain saw to my wounds, being as gentle as he could be. Throughout the whole time I could vaguely hear him muttering under his breath about how stupid wolves could be sometimes and about why the hell their first instinct is to go for the throat of a child. Besides his muttering, he restrained any questions that he might've had for me but I still avoided eye contact, not quite willing to face this unknown shame.

After they finish addressing my injuries, which took roughly three hours, I am placed in a private hospital room. I sit up in the bed, trying to fight off the exhaustion from today's events. Through the haze of the pain medication, I faintly register that this was the same room from when I first arrived here in Wintervale. I can't muster up the energy to laugh at the irony.

The door opens with a quick knock, letting in three people. As the door opens I catch the tail end of the conversation.

"—don't understand why we need to do this now. It is well into the night, I wouldn't be surprised if he's—oh, you're still awake." Dr. Tremain's fingers tap on the door handle quickly, being the only sign of agitation, before he steps to the side to let in Sheriff Dawson and Mr. Wiser.

In the sheriff's hands is a plain folder, but clearly full of papers. I blankly stare at them before sighing and attempting to get more comfortable on the bed.

"So," Sheriff Dawson starts, taking the paper folder and opening it. "Your name is supposedly Northern Nightfall, sixteen years old, with no living relatives and an adopted guardian who is conveniently never around. Would you like to say anything before I continue?" His tone is scarily calm as he lists off the information. I purse my lips and avoid looking at anyone, instead finding the far corner of the room to be quite interesting.

When it becomes clear that I wouldn't say anything, the sheriff sighs and rubs his eyes tiredly. In that moment, he doesn't look like the intimidating man from my house, but someone who is just trying to do their job.

"I went digging, you know," the sheriff said as he pulls up a seat by the side of the bed, thankfully not too close. "You probably know what I found. No current records of a teenager by your name and age exist. But... I did find adoption records of a married couple by the name of Mending. They adopted a baby boy, within a year old, and they changed his name to Northern."

My working hand clenches the sheets as the sheriff pulls a piece of paper out of the folder and lays it on the bed in front of me. After a moment, I slowly pick it up. It's a photo copy of an adoption certificate. On it, I can see my name and two signatures in the spaces designated as parents.

"Nearly seven years ago, the Mendings had a terrible accident." The sheriff pulls out another piece of paper from the folder, this time a newspaper clipping. On it are two pictures: one is a small family of three and the other is the charred remains of a house. The familiar little boy in the picture can't be older than nine years old as his parents hug him tightly. All three of them are grinning happily into the camera. The headline links the two pictures together in bold letters.

LOCAL FAMILY KILLED IN FIRE

"The Mending family house caught fire the night of December twenty-second. All three were declared dead the next day, but local authorities could not conclude a viable source for the fire and they did not find any suspects in the case that it was arson. The bodies of the parents were beyond recognition, however the child's body could not be found."

Silence rings through the room as Sheriff Dawson finishes his sentence. I can feel their stares, but I only continue looking at the picture of the family in the newspaper clipping. Slowly, I reach forward and pick it up.

"I was nine, just turning ten," I said in a hollow voice. The smile on the boy's face in the picture suddenly becomes glaring. "That night, someone knocked on the door around midnight. I was supposed to be asleep but I wasn't. I had crept out of my room to see who was there and saw my father being strangled by—by something." I shakily thumb the picture of my father, trying to keep my breathing steady.

"Something?" Mr. Wiser speaks up, his expression oddly serious and absent. "As in what?"

I swallow my nerves as I respond in a shaky voice, "A man-shaped monster." I drop the photo and rub the bridge of my nose, trying to will away the horrific memories bombarding my mind. Everyone stays silent, waiting for me to continue.

"My mother, she came in as well, but the man wasn't alone." I shudder as the cries of my mother ring in my head. "I don't know if they killed them right then and there but once they were gone, they came for me. Those people dragged me outside and then lit my house on fire with my parents still inside."

There's a stunned silence before Sheriff Dawson speaks up in a soft voice, "What happened next?" I duck my head down, pursing my lips. I don't want to say it. Memories from what came after flood my head.

"North? What happened after?"

I shake my head, my one arm wrapping around my waist.

"Northern, you can tell us," Mr. Wiser said. His voice is uncharacteristically gentle as he finally settles into a seat on my other side opposite of the sheriff. After a few minutes of me staying silent, I can see them exchange glances. Before they can stand to leave, I blurt out my answer.

"A year." The sheriff and Mr. Wiser freeze before sitting back in their chairs, silently urging me to continue.

"They kept me for a year," I said in a softer voice, hating how my voice begins to tremble. "Always in a basement with no light. Barely any food or water was given to me. They kept demanding something of me that I didn't understand.

"After a year in that place, my familiar appeared to me and helped me to escape." My mouth suddenly becomes dry as I continue, "It was then that I found out what those people actually were."

"And?" Sheriff Dawson prompts, if a little impatiently. "What were they?" Slowly I turn to face him, my expression blank as I answered him.

"It was a werewolf pack."