Chapter 15

Lorelai wrapped herself around Lenore’s arm, hugging her tight against the cold, pulling her puffer jacket closer to her; she did this while glaring at her, and muttering about how envious she was of the warmth that radiated from the werewolf. Lenore didn’t mind, and simply walked along, with a downtrodden expression on her face—like a puppy, Lorelai had unhelpfully said when Lenore told her everything that happened, then promptly flopped down on her bed last night.

They were in the suburbs; it was a place with neighbourhood watch signs, nosy neighbours, and mostly namely, filled with Outcast haters, and in the centre of all this—Mateo De Luca—and all his family, werebears, and they would’ve been driven out if anyone knew. They already questioned by an Outcast like Lenore came around, which is why she usually only did when it was dark.

She rapped her knuckles against the metal garage door, which rattled and shook; she could hear voices behind it, and moments later, it raised up. Lenore pulled Lorelai inside, and it quickly closed again. Mateo smiled at them, his twinkling eyes screwing up, and Avery offered them a smile from the corner, their violin sat on their lap.

“Anyone see you?” He asked.

“Don’t think so,” she answered as she shrugged off her coat. He took it, and threw it over an old camping chair; it was a mismatched room, filled with old chairs, furniture, instruments, tools, paperwork, and general rubbish they had no need for, but wouldn’t throw away. A heater worked tirelessly in the corner, caked with dust, filling the room with a thick burning smell. A drumkit, expensive, and rarely used took up much of the space, alongside a guitar stand. An old TV, and a handful of pillows, blankets, and a duvet covered the concrete floor.

Lorelai unattached herself from Lenore, and leaned down to warm herself on the heater. “It’s beyond me how you don’t freeze out there, you living radiator.” She said, shivering slightly.

“It’s a werewolf thing.” Lenore shrugged.

“Did you find it hard to get out of Nevermore? I remember I didn’t see you much when the school locked down last year.” Mateo asked, falling down on an old plastic chair, cracked down the back.

“No, it’s fallen to shit ever since Dort took over.” Lenore said, “we hardly have any security, plus, when you can hear someone coming from a mile away, it’s hard to get caught.”

“Truest shit, right there.” Lorelai added.

“You make it sound great.” He said, and she laughed dryly, rolling her eyes.

“That’s about how it is, though, the grounds are lovely,” Lenore said, sitting down on the duvet, and she drew the blankets around her waist. She leaned against Mateo’s leg, and sighed heavily. He cast her a concerned look.

“Are you okay, Lee? After yesterday… you just left. She stayed a while, and just, kind of, sat there, staring out the window.” He said. She fiddled with the blanket.

“It’s- I… it didn’t go well, she got pissed at Santiago because someone had called the police on me—.”

“—I’m sorry, what?” Lorelai snapped, turning around suddenly, unadulterated rage written across her face, brows furrowed, lips curled up to reveal sharp teeth, and her siren song snuck echoed through, despite her necklace.

“Let me guess, Inez Bloom?” Mateo asked.

“Yeah,” Lenore replied, bringing her legs up against her chest, and hugging them tight. Mateo squeezed her shoulder comfortingly. Lorelai’s breathing quickened, it came sharply. “It’s okay, Lia, she calls the police on anything and anyone. No one takes her seriously.” It didn’t seem to do much.

“Lenore, you’re a werewolf, and some old, bitchy white lady called the police on you. I’m fucking pissed.” She growled, and Lenore reached her hand out, and squeezed hers gently. Lorelai’s expression softened, just slightly.

“Please, continue.” Avery said, clearly invested in what happened.

“Yeah, I told her she didn’t mean anything to me, we argued, and I left. I haven’t spoken to her since, and I skipped my TA session. I just can’t bring herself to face her.” Lenore groaned, rubbing her hand over her face.

“Did she apologise?” Mateo asked.

“Yeah, and she clarified what she meant.” Lenore said, and he sent her a pointed look; she sighed, and nodded, understanding what he meant even when he said nothing. “I know I need to talk to her. Mat, trust me, I know, but I don’t know what to say.”

“Just don’t be angsty, and maybe tell her why you reacted like that.” Lorelai said, finally taking her thick puffer jacket off.

Lenore shook her head, and slumped down, “I can’t.”

Lorelai opened her mouth, clearly considering saying something, but only closed it instead, and quickly dismissed whatever she thought, “you got any food, or drink, or any shit like that?” She asked.

“Bottom drawer, left cabinet.” Mateo answered.

Lorelai rumaged through the drawer; it had chocolates, crisps, sweets, soft drinks, beer, cidar, and a few cocktails in cans. “Fuck, yeah, this is some nice cidar.” She grabbed a few crisp packets, a can of cidar, and sat down before the drumset. The can hissed when she snapped it open, and she took a swig. “Good stuff.” She said.

Mateo only smiled, “I’m glad you think so.”

“So, dickhead here—”

“—Who are you calling a dickhead?” Lenore grumbled.

“—Told me you guys play, and you’re in need of a drummer.” Lorelai said, and Avery looked over at her, a brow raised.

“Are you skilled enough to play with us?” They asked.

“Avery.” Mateo scolded, and was given no response, bar an unbothered look. He frowned, and looked down at his lap. Lenore squeezed his hand, and smiled softly.

“Oh, yeah, I am.” Lorelai said, confidence eminating from her.

Lorelai had proven herself, and more, trulying showing how talented she was with drums. Lenore already knew, but felt gleeful at Avery’s expression when Lorelai zoned in, and played with confidence, an ease, which made her impossible not to watch. She spun drum sticks in her hands, and slammed her head along to the knock and chime of the drumset. She grinned to herself, and sent Avery a cocky wink.

It didn’t take long for everyone to start; they played along to Avery’s sheet music, songs they had composed themself—Lenore on electric guitar, Mateo on Bass, and Avery on violin. It made Lenore’s chest loosen, and the ball in her stomach vanish, just as they played, but once they stopped, due to Mateo’s mother coming down to quiet them—her lingering anxiety returned.

They settled down to watch a movie, on the block of Mateo’s TV—an old machine from the eighties, showing a cowboy movie in poor graffics, if you weren’t angled well enough, it would go blank, and the sound buzzed metallically through the speakers. It made them group together. Mateo sat in the middle, Avery laid on his lap, while Lorelai leaned on Lenore’s shoulder, an arm slung around the siren’s back.

“That archery is so unrealistic.” Lenore commented.

“Don’t start.” Lorelai rolled her eyes.

“So is the shooting.” Mateo added.

“Oh, no, there’s two of you.” She muttered.

“It is, though.” Avery chimed in.

“Three of you, realism freaks, dear lord save me. It’s a movie, it’s meant to be entertaining not realistic.” Lorelai said.

“It’s making people believe utterly inaccurate things.” Lenore defended.

“Sorry, anyone who takes things from movies as truth, are fucking stupid.” Lorelai said. Lenore opened her mouth to argue, but the siren clasped her hand over the werewolf’s mouth, and glared. Her eyes were sharpened, but a playfulness glimmered behind.

Lenore simply raised a challenging brow.

“Don’t you dare lick me.” Lorelai gritted out.

She smiled behind Lorelai’s hand, who pulled away, digusted purely at the idea. “Why must you be like this?” Lorelai muttered. Lenore laughed, a smile slipping onto her face, and leaned on the siren’s shoulder. It was peaceful, though, it was broken when her phone buzzed in her pocket.

She threw off the duvet, and pulled out her phone—it wasn’t a number she recognised, though, her curiosity made her pick it up. “Hello, who is this?” Lenore asked.

She heard shaky breathing across the line. “This is Lenore, right?” It was Enid, her voice may have been hushed, but it was undoubtedly her. Lenore’s back snapped straight, and she pulled herself up, kicking away the duvet tangled around her feet.

“It is. Enid, are you alright?” She asked hurriedly.

“Um, I don’t know what to do, I didn’t know who else to call.” She said.

“It’s okay, Enid, just tell me what’s happening, and I’ll do what I can to help. I promise, okay?” Lenore said, forcing herself to sound calm, more than she actually was—her heart was racing in her chest.

“Okay,” she swallowed harshly. “I’m at Willow Hill.” That sent a surge of dread through Lenore’s stomach, “the alarms have gone off; Wednesday and Fester are inside, I can’t get ahold of them, neither can Agnes.” She explained.

“Do not move, either of you, stay where you are. Call the sheriff, and I’ll be on my way.” Lenore said, “twenty minutes, I’ll be twenty minutes.” She muttered, more to herself than anyone else.

“Okay, please get here soon.” Enid said, and the line went dead.

Lenore ran her hand through her hair, and yanked the curly strands straight, and then theycurled back up. “Mateo, I need to borrow your car.” She said. He didn’t question her, and threw her the car keys, which she caught without looking. She pulled on her leather jacket, and then looked down, releasing how inappropriately dressed she was—she wore a pair of baggy jean shorts, a tight vest, and trainers.

“What happened?” Lorelai asked.

“Willow Hill’s alarms have gone off, Wednesday and Fester are inside; I need to go now.” She explained.

“Not without me. I’m coming with you.” Lorelai said.

“We all are.” Mateo said.

“No.” Lenore said firmly. “This isn’t up for discussion, I’m not risking you, any of you.”

Lorelai opened her mouth to argue, but quieted quickly under Lenore’s stony glare. “I appreciate it. If I need help, I’ll call, okay.” She told them—softer.

“Don’t do anything stupid.” Lorelai said.

“Please don’t get yourself hurt.” Mateo added.

“Be safe.” Avery murmured.

Swiftly, Lenore ducked under the garage door, and jogged towards Mateo’s car. She unlocked it, slid in, buckled herself in, and with that, she was off.

Chaos had fallen upon Willow Hill—she could tell that much as she drove in, alarm blaring through the darkness, alongside the muffled sounds of commotion that travelled through the still night air, and over the security wall. Lenore leapt from her car, locking it as she sprinted, her legs slammed against the ground, muscles shifting, and she focused on her breathing, keeping it level—calm.

She had to remain calm—she just had to, if she lost her composure, if it frayed… she dismissed the thought. Lenore slowed, and then skidded to a stop when she encountered the security wall; it rose up high above her, topped with barbed wire. It was slightly open, enough to squeeze through maybe—before she could approach, footsteps caught her attention; she froze.

Her claws snapped out, and she shifted into a defensive stance. She looked around, eyes widened, allowing moonlight to illuminate the car park. “Lenore.” It was Enid—relief hit her. She let her claws sink back in. Her eyes flickered over both girls, even Agnes, checking them for injuries; they looked thankfully fine.

“Enid, what’s happening?” She asked.

“The zombie escaped, and all I can hear is shouting from in there. A few patients have come out…” Enid’s voice slowly fell to static, and she couldn’t focus, try as she might, but when she saw Ms Capri’s vintage car—she could only hear the blood pounding in her ears. The air left her lungs.

“Miss Capri, she’s here.” She said, voice strained. Panic thickened in her throat, and she felt like she couldn’t breathe. “I need to go. I’ll be back soon, and I will see if I can find Wednesday and Fester. Just stay here, and no matter the circumstances, do not come in.” She said louder, cutting through Enid’s rambling.

Lenore took off, chest heaving, muscles straining as she sprinted faster than she remembered running ever before; she slid between the security doors, and looked upon Willow Hill. An alarm screamed out, lights flashed in windows, and patients poured out the front doors. They ran, stumbled, tripped, sprinted, tumbled over, and trampled each other.

She couldn’t make it through the front door, a river of people swelled from the doorway, leaving no room for her to squeeze through—she cautiously kept her distance, staying away from the patients, and approached the building by walking in the shadows. Her footsteps padded softly against the ground.

Lenore cupped her hands against the window, looking through the bottom pane, into the room; a surge of relief filled her upon finding the music room—it had fallen chairs, crumple carpet, but no blood. It was clean.

She picked up a sizeable rock, and held it tightly in her palm, before slamming it through the window, rocking her entire body with the throw. It smashed through the window, glass glittered the floor, in tiny, and large shards. She laid her jacket onto the uneven glass window, protecting her from cutting open her stomach and legs.

She pulled herself up, and crawled flat through the narrow, open space. A scream died in her throat when the knives of glass tore through her shirt, roughly sinking into her back. She held her hand over her mouth—she considered going back, but as she looked behind her, she noticed someone approaching her from outside. They may have been doused by shadow, but she could see their grin gleam in the darkness. It was filled with desperate satisfaction. Panic filled her. She dug her fingers into the floor, and forced herself forward, even as three blades of glass sunk into her back, ripping through her vest, and goring through her back.

Tears formed in her eyes, but she closed the distance, freeing her back, and pulling her legs inside; slowly, but steadily, she stood up, and braced herself on the piano. Blood soaked through her clothes, flesh shining through the bloody holes in her vest, it streamed down her back, soaking into her shorts. She needed to do this quickly, find them, and get them out; it wasn’t even the blood loss she was worried about, it was the pure pain.

It wasn’t anything she was unfamiliar with, scalding, sanity testing pain was a monthly occurance, but it was quick, and then gone. This lasted. She breathed through her teeth. She caught Ms Capri’s scent on her tongue. After a moment to regain her composure, she grabbed her jacket, dumped out the glass, and ran into the hallway.

It wasn’t busy, or filled with rioting patients, but in the distance, she could hear security doors unlocking. It was the unsettling high pitch buzz of locks opening. They grew closer. Her legs weakened beneath her. She followed the familiar, rich, sweet scent of the woman, but as she walked, bracing herself on the wall, she caught something else.

Laurel Gates.

Lenore didn’t know she had been transferred here, and she wondered what on earth they were thinking; she turned around, sharply, but as she did, an elbow crunched into her eye socket. It made her growl. Clearly, it didn’t have the desired affect, as Lenore’s lips curled in a snarl, and her teeth shined in the light, sharper than torn metal.

“Laurel.” She said lowly.

“What happened to you?” The old teacher asked.

She didn’t respond, and stalked towards her—a punch was thrown, and dodged, followed by a kick, elbow, slap—she heard another door open. She grabbed Gates by the shoulders, and the woman clawed at her unmoving hands. She threw Laurel, like a ragdoll, who tumbled, and slid across the floor.

Lenore didn’t chase her—couldn’t—but they stayed there, motionless, bar the heavy expansion, and fall of her chest. Her eyes were sharp enough to rake at flesh—she couldn’t let Laurel know how compromised she was—she simply nodded her head, telling the woman to run. She gave her a surprised look, then scrambled to her feet and ran. She looked back, like she expected Lenore to chase.

She walked unsteadily, thought falling away to reveal raw, glistening instict; it kept her moving, it kept her mind sharp enough to react, enough to awaken from her trance once her eyes fell upon Miss Capri—her hair in ringlets, calm as ever, coat held to her side, helping patients out, accompanied by a more panicked Fairburn.

Ms Capri paused suddenly, body going rigid—she slowly, almost disbelievingly turned, and her heartrate quickened, to something like worry, when she laid eyes on Lenore, who looked worse for wear.

It looked like she had seen a ghost—a pale purple scar blooming around her eye socket like a wilted rose, her skin paling, and eyes hollow, light in the darkness of the halls; it didn’t look like anyone was home. The unnatural, wet gleam of her face didn’t help, strands of curly hair slicked against her skin. She wavered, moving like she wasn’t tethered to the earth. The bloodied mess of her hands, and shorts like it look like Ms Capri was looking upon the dead.

“Lenore, what are you doing here?” She asked hurriedly, approaching the younger woman, taking her wrists to check her hands for injuries.

“Who’s blood is that?” Fairburn asked, paling.

“Mine.” She breathed out, shoulders falling with each pained breath. Lenore slowly turned, revealing her back to the women, and she heard a gasp from her teacher, and a “oh, dear lord,” from Fairburn.

“Ms Yuson, how are still standing?” Rachel asked.

Lenore could only shrug, “I can’t stop until they’re safe.”

“Who?” Miss Capri asked.

She could feel her wits returning, her ability to think, her state of mind, but with that, came the pain—it seized her like a disease; she screwed her eyes together, and shook her head to force herself to awaken from her pained daze. “Wednesday, Fester, they’re both here, looking for something. I’m guessing they found it. I need to get them out.” She said. They looked at her like she was something inhuman, it made her hug her arms around herself, a pitful attempt to seem smaller.

“You can’t do that, Lenore,” Ms Capri held her by the shoulders, gripping her tense muscles, “you need medical attention now.” Lenore looked over her shoulder, and heard another door open, if she wasn’t mistaken, it was the penultimate.

“We need to go; there’s only one door left between us and them.” She gestured behind her, and she felt the palpable horror spark from Fairburn.

“That’s the ward for our violent patients.” She said. It hung in the air, and they slowly turned when the final, louder than before, bell rang; the door creaked open. Footsteps stampeded towards them. They crept around the corner, and charged.

It fell into chaos; Fairburn ran, and once she did, patients followed suit, making for the entrance. It left Lenore and Miss Capri alone, standing there as people charged towards them. She couldn’t feel panic, though, not as she felt Ms Capri’s steady, calm heartbeat. It kept her there mentally, though, her focus had been long fractured.

It meant she didn’t move, even as they were rapidly approached; Miss Capri braced for impact, but it never came. The patients didn’t attack them, but tumbled into them, knocking into each other like pinballs. Lenore screwed her eyes closed, shielding her teacher from the people who slammed into her back, sparking more pain with each blow. Her teeth trembled beneath the tightness of her jaw.

Her stomach dropped when she felt her muscles begin to grow tight, teeth lengthening, pupils widening, and heard a long, slow, mournful howl that cut through the commotion.

“Lenore, look at me.” Ms Capri cupped her neck, applying enough pressure to force Lenore’s attention onto her, their eyes met, “we need to get out of here, but I need you, not whatevers going in there, with me, you can’t go anywhere.” She pieced back together the fractured pieces of Lenore’s focus, who nodded, and swallowed harshly.

“We need to follow the patients, they know this place better than we do,” her voice was strangely calm, smooth, and steady. They interlocked their fingers.

“Let’s go, then.” Miss Capri said.

Then, they ran, and even with Lenore’s back throbbing with every step that shook through her body, they kept going; they stayed close, grip on each other crushingly tight. Patients slammed into them, tripped, stumbled around them, were stampeded, but they couldn’t stop or they would be next.

They rounded corners, ran down hallways, ignored the screams, yells, shouts, laughter of newly free patients, and Lenore acted like a battering ram, clearing the way, people would either move out of her way, or face getting slammed into by a freight train.

In a rush of people, fresh air collided with them, and Lenore breathed in greedily, they slowed to a halt once they were far enough away, standing there, in the darkness, hands clasped together, neither willing or wanting to let go.

Until, Lenore remembered why she was here, when she did, she released her hand, and she pushed forward on shaking legs. Her wrist was caught in a tight, but breakable grip. “You aren’t going back in there, are you?” Ms Capri asked, looking at her like she was mad.

“Yes, I have too.” She said.

“No, Lenore, you don’t. She dug her grave, you don’t have to lie in it with her.” Miss Capri snapped, but concern underlay her every breath.

“Listen, I’m sorry, but I promised. I don’t break those.” She answered guiltily.

Before their argument could continue, or either could do anything, a roar cracked the silence, and they stiffened. She knew that roar—she had heard it before, she had nightmares about it, and seemingly by the expression fixed on Ms Capri’s face, she recognised it, too. Lenore didn’t have the opporunity to question it because she knew, where Tyler was, Wednesday surely was, too.

She pulled herself free, and turned around. “Go.” She shouted.

Miss Capri didn’t have time to argue, or stop her because Lenore had left, and she couldn’t do anything but do as Lenore asked. She stepped back into the shadows, while Lenore’s own figure grew closer to the hospital. It was simply a dot against the shadow of Willow Hill, illuminated by moonlight.

Lenore stood before the building, pain twisting at her face, tremors shaking at her figure; she was transfixed in horror, as she heard heavy, graceless footsteps running, panting breaths, and a heart beating so fast, it should’ve burst by now. She couldn’t do anything now, and she knew it. She couldn’t turn away, though, and stayed there.

A thud echoed out, like a club hitting flesh, glass shattered, a slight figure ragdolled through the air. Lenore was winded, her shoulder crunched backwards, it seared with pain. She skidded back, and almost toppled over. Wednesday was safe, caught in her arms, held against her chest.

A flash of red and blue glistened across the tarmac, voices yelled out, sirens blared, footsteps rattled across the ground. She didn’t move, and only waited. She didn’t need to wait long—Tyler, in all his grotesque size, with his rake thin body, bulgling eyes, and thin curls, stood on the roof, staring down at them, at Lenore.

She stood before him, breathing quickly, sweat dripping down her temple, hair slicked with moisture, body bloody, bruised, and she was entirely, utterly terrified. She puffed her chest out, squared her shoulders, and sent him a daring look, telling him to come and get her. He didn’t. Gunfire rang through the air, hitting Tyler in the arms, chest, legs, back, piercing through him. He roared. The ground trembled as he jumped down, and crushed a car. He disappeared into the trees.

Lenore looked down at Wednesday, and whispered, “I told you.” It was bittersweet, said with a pained smile, in relief at the steady thudding of the girls heart. She was alive. Injured, unconscious, but living. Somehow, Lenore was here, too, breathing, herself, and conscious. The wolf hadn’t won.

It happened in a rush; medical personal collected Wednesday, took her from Lenore’s arms, laid her down in a gurney, and just as the girl hit the cotton, Lenore’s chest fell with a breath, and she couldn’t stand anymore. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed, head cracking against the concrete. She was awake, but couldn’t bring herself to move. 

– 

This was supposed to be one chapter, but it came to almost eight-thousand words, so you get a double update. My document I used to write this on stopped working, so that was a little worrying, but I managed to deal with it. I hope you enjoyed this.