Running With Wolves

I replayed the message over and over in my head, the owner’s words stuck in my head like a broken record,

Look, I know when you left you had no intentions of returning to Blackwood but out of respect to you and the fact that I understand no one else will call you, I think there is something you should know…Yesterday afternoon your father was killed…and…jesus, Saj, Cheyenne has been kidnapped.

I forgot where I was, my location wasn’t of any concern to me—the location of my sister however was another matter entirely.

Your father was killed…Cheyenne has been kidnapped.

My assistant, Mia, was hovering above me, one hand pressed to her mouth, the other leaning against the desk for support.

Your father was killed…Cheyenne has been kidnapped.

A migraine was fixing itself in my head, thick and lazy as fog. I could feel it, the moment Knoll’s message had ended I could feel it, twice as strong as ever before; the need, the pull, the yearn, to go home—to return to Blackwood. I could feel it in my bones, my broken family needing me to help stitch close the wound my father and sister had left.

Your father was killed…Cheyenne has been kidnapped.

Knoll’s words were heavier and held a much deeper meaning than my assistant could ever have guessed. Beneath his words, beneath the sound of regret and sadness in his voice was the hint of something else entirely; A warning.

A warning to what? I couldn’t fathom dealing with it.

Blackwood was my own personal ghost. Most days went by uninterrupted but every once in a blue moon a feeling would dig into my heart like a fishermen’s hook trying to reel me back home. But I never went, I swore I never would.

I’d also swear to never loose another sister.

“Miss. Wolfe,” Mia started her voice full of compassion I could hardly stand. “I don’t know what to say…I’m so sorry.”

“How many times must I tell you to call me Sage?” I returned weakly.

Mia was from South Dakota and a year younger than me. She’d come to the City Of Lights nearly the same time I had, together we learned to navigate the alien place. Mia was less of an employee and more the closest thing I had to a friend here. She had beautiful olive colored skin, eyes the color of hot chocolate, and hair as beautiful and shiny as a raven’s black wings; she was also 100% Lakota Indian.

Mia could only stare at me, her eyes as sharp as an eagles as she gauged my reaction. Here I was, sitting at my Cherry Oak desk, telling her how to address me when I had just heard my father had died and my sister was missing—I was the epitome of controlled emotion.

A breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding escaped through my red stained lips as I glanced away from her and gathered the papers on my desk.

“These must go to Charles,” I stated. “If you would please pass along a message in your kindest words of things you have just learned and request a leave of absence.”

The request had promptly snapped Mia out of her trans and she hurriedly reached for the papers, nodding loyally.

“Of course Miss. Wol—Sage.” She spun on her heels, half way across the room before I could even get another word out.

“and Mia,” I called after her. “Do tell Charles that you will be accompanying me.”

________________________________________________________________________________

Taking a cab from the nearest airport to Blackwood was not the ideal situation but I’d had little choice.

“Could perhaps the man from the phone pick us up?” Mia questioned hesitantly and I could hardly blame her. The cab ride would take approximately an hour and twenty-five minutes to reach Blackwood.

“No,” I replied simply. “He can’t.”

I didn’t elaborate and I was thankful she didn’t push for more details. I could never even begin to describe the ever long and colorful story that led to all the reasons to why Knoll could not pick me up from the airport but also why no other contacts from this state could either.

I would be lying if I said I hadn’t missed Minnesota at all, that the fresh air and quiet atmosphere didn’t immediately settle some part within me that New York simply made restless. The moment the plane landed it was as though I had found my center of gravity, the world stilled and simplified and suddenly there was a small spark of hope within me that hadn’t been there when our plane had left New York. There was something about being in a place that went for strolls and not powerwalking while on a mission, not being shoulder to shoulder with a million other people. It was a pleasant relief to escape the sounds of blaring horns, loud consistent hum of tens of thousands of people talking all at once, and not to have to deal with the hostility of ten people you’d have the displeasure of interrupting in the five blocks from the Starbucks to my office.

Don’t get me wrong; I loved New York in a way it was hard to explain. Everyone hadn’t known you since the womb, which meant nobody knew every inch of your business from your head to your toes, and no one cared about your past or future only about the present. There was also something to be said for living in a place were not one single person knew your life story—that in itself made New York my saving grace.

Mia laid her head against the cab window tiredly, watching as the busy airport decreased to a lazy small town to nothing short of the endless progression of trees that went on endlessly for miles; scenery didn’t really change between Mia’s part of North Dakota and my side of Minnesota—there was nothing she hadn’t seen. I felt bad for dragging her here, Mia was about as thrilled to be returning to the Midwest as I was, but I knew she had to come. Without Mia, there was the chance that I would never return to work or New York entirely.

The farther away we got from the city the closer I became to my past—The stronger I felt their pull. My mind had shut down somewhere over Ohio and all that was left was my heart, heavy with pain and loss but also with an ever increasing yearn to return to my roots. But beneath all of that was unrest, like kicked up dirt that never quite settles. Memories I had suppressed, emotions I’d ignored, came rushing back like a dam breaking and I couldn’t help but feel agitated. I was going home to the home I’d never wanted but would always have.

As we drove down the fifteen-mile stretch of barren road a sign suddenly appeared,

Welcome To Blackwood! Population 976

Mia’s head lifted from the window as a the town came into view, seeming to pop up out of no where was the quaint, middle of no where, town of Blackwood. It’s closest resemblance was an old western town charm mixed with close knit community and town of Stars Hallow like on one of Mia’s episodes of Gilmore Girls. Every inch of grass within the town was carefully kept like a golf course, flowers were meticulously cared for outside nearly every shop, large beautiful trees offered just the right amount of shade in the summer to keep Eastern Blackwood ten degrees cooler than Western. It was the picture perfect image of small town charm.

“It’s cute,” Mia observed, her eyes catching each passing shop in turn. My eyes lay less on the architecture and more on the civilians; more than I’d like had trained their attention on both the cab and myself.

“We aren’t there yet.” I stated quietly.

The citizens of Eastern Blackwood appeared curious and perhaps even friendly to Mia’s untrained eye but to my own? I saw their instant recognition of me, the defensive arch their of backs took as they straightened subtly, the unwelcoming hardness in their eyes—I could nearly see them bristling.
I knew that within the next forty-five minutes of my return the entire Eastern sector would know of my coming and within the next twenty-four hours the Mayor would come knocking.

The town slipped behind us as easily as it had come and Mia’s shoulders slouched in disappoint that we had yet to arrive at our destination.
The trees gave way to dead saplings, the grass disintegrated nearly before our eyes as it left only sun burnt weeds and dirt in its wake. This area of town resembled more of the Australian outback then it did the rest of the mid-wests woodsy landscape. After another five minutes of driving the cab finally came to a stop outside an older house and a notable sigh of relief slipped through Mia’s lips as she hurriedly staggered out of the cab—I forgot how prone she was to carsickness. I helped the driver lift our luggage out of the trunk of his car before handing him over $145 dollars, thanking him for a third time for his willingness to drive so far on our behalf.

At last, when I’d grown to have little choice, I gazed up at the house we stood before. It was simple enough in appearance: white, yet nearly grey, siding, forest green shutters on the windows and door with splattered paint chips, the Christmas lights still hanging on the porch—the house I’d grown up in.

Before we’d even stepped foot on the dead lawn the front door creaked open and a large silhouette filled the doorframe. Muscular built outline, short hair, and work boots could have only meant one person.

My hands released my bags on their own and my legs seemed to move on their own accord and before I’d known it, I was wrapped in a pair of strong muscular arms that lifted me off my feet, his face buried in my shoulder.

“Conan,” His name had barely slipped through my lips but it was enough for an invisible obstruction to form in my throat and I choked on my words, my mouth opening and closing silently, unable to find the right words to say.

“Sagemint,”

The nickname made my heart clench and my throat tightened. I’d forgotten how much I’d missed him, how had it been so easy to walk away before when I could hardly think of ever doing that again now?

A dark cloud fell over my emotions as a little voice in my head whispered that perhaps we clung so tightly to each other now because we were all we had left.

He released me slowly as though he’d heard the voice himself, his eyes filled with a bittersweet sadness as he took in my appearance,

“You look good,” He noted. “New York has been good to you.”

I licked my lips and swallowed not knowing how to respond. Conan held little resentment toward me; in fact he was probably the only one that had. Conan, who I’d fought with more often than not, who rarely ever came to my defense, was the only one that had supported me in leaving.

There was a quiet cough and my mind snapped back into place as I turned on my heels and saw Mia standing awkwardly on the curb, a small smile on her lips that told she didn’t want to interrupt our reunion.

“Conan this is Mia,” I said walking back to her side and grabbing my bags once more. “Mia this is Conan—My brother.”

His eyes dragged over her body, not in a horny guy kind of way but a ’could she pose a threat’ kind of way.

“I met her the first day I moved to the city.” I stated, enunciating each word to be sure he caught the undercurrent of my words.

she’s been around me long enough for me to know whether she is a threat.

Conan’s eyes flickered to me before they shifted back to Mia once more and a smile curved his lips, his eyes the color of dead leaves in the Fall, and I knew with that one look he had relaxed.

“Come,” He stated welcomingly as he turned toward the house.

I reached for one of Mia’s bags and together we approached the house, each step of my foot triggered a new memory.

Running through the sprinklers with my siblings and Lukas when we were six.

Spending hours inside our tree house as eight year olds; all our secrets, all our fears hidden within the old pine walls of the shelter.

Challenging each other to see who could climb the large old oak tree the highest as nine year olds.

Hanging out by the lake from the time we were eleven to fourteen.

When I was sixteen…when I was sixteen Seneca was killed and there were no more innocent nostalgic memories. There was only half remembered dark places in my mind that crept through every corner of my brain and affected me toxically, filling my head with thoughts of mutiny, killing, feeling out of place, yearning so badly to leave the place that chained me like a dog to a porch.

And then…I left. I disappeared. I woke up one morning, five weeks after Senecca's death, realizing that I would grow older than my eldest sister. I would be tied forever to the places and people that had ultimately resulted in her death. I was inconsolable and filled with such emotions that haunted me. Inextinguishable fury at my father, I didn’t know how to not lump Lukas in with what had happened—I couldn’t even bring myself to be in his presence. I hated Conan for not protecting our sister and I couldn’t even bring myself to face Cheyenne who’d been fed prettified lies that excluded true mutiny, an overtaking, the murder of our sister at the hands of the strongest of our allies, all at cost for a yearning to have a taste of being an Alpha—One day I’d kill Viktor for all the pain and harm he’d pressed unnecessarily upon my family.

My foot touched that bottom step; weather worn and creaking, nostalgia and pain hitting me like a tractor-trailer. I paused, every emotion I’d run from filling me until I could hardly catch my breath.

love, loss, pain, comfort, anger, laughing, yelling, bubbles, blood, happiness, goodness, badness, light, dark

“Sage?” I blinked, Conan and Mia both staring at me.

“I’m coming,” I mumbled stepping over the threshold into the place that smelled like tangerines and lavender; a scent that no matter how hard I tried I could never find elsewhere.

It was the smell of home.

I was home.