The Geri Rogue

By D.R. Hedge

Descendants of cursed wolves from the Viking era, every full moon causes Retter and his kind to shift and change back into their natural form.
For some time, this was enough for him.
With no hope of becoming full wolf, and no way to escape the abyss of depression, Retter is losing faith in what his future may hold. It is only when, one night on the Prest Road overpass, he meets a blue haired woman who becomes his silver lining.
Yet, all good things must, eventually, come to an end.

Set in the vivid Fraser Valley of British Columbia, Canada.
Allow yourself to follow Retter through the chaos of depression, aggression, his search for happiness or for a way to end this.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D.R. Hedge
• Release date: Oct 14, 2016

D.R. Hedge

The best place for updates and information on what I am doing is my Instagram account. https://www.instagram.com/d.r.hedge The Geri Rogue is also available for purchase through Createspace. https://www.createspace.com/5931780 I was born in Alberta, Canada, yet moved to British Columbia early on in life. I am happily married and have two children.

Book preview

The Geri Rogue

D.R. HEDGE

Front Cover Designed by Sophie Wilkins.

www.sophiewilkins.com

Copyright © 2016 by D.R. Hedge

All rights reserved.

https://drhedge.wix.com/drhedge

RETTER

CHAPTER 1

I can feel the blood pounding through my body, the tension of my muscles as they scream at me with all of their strength. Willing the Dodge Duster to slow down, stop being the preferable action. Only, I ignore everything. Unable to hear or acknowledge anything over the song blaring through the speakers of my car. It reinforces my determination with lyrics I can hardly come to understand, followed by an ample amount of distortion. I can't slow down, couldn't if some small part of my being even wanted me to. The black matte painted steel and tires continue to speed over the river road. Not a glowing street light in sight all the way down. My lungs ache from the rhythmic stressed panting, adding to the list of pleas my body is attempting, hoping to cease the inevitable. Yet, I need to continue on. I need to do this.

It has always been this way, every time I'm about to go over the edge.

Forcing the pedal down further, the car sprints faster, passing tree after tree after tree. My jaw is trembling as I lessen the distance between myself and the desired outcome that will soon take hold of me. I silently repeat end this like a personal mantra. The road continues on towards Chilliwack Lake, bridges spanning over the Vedder and Chilliwack rivers as the asphalt weaves higher into the mountains. I refuse to take that route. I've been down it far too many times before, and it has never successfully led me anywhere worthwhile. So, I continue forward. Racing over one bridge and around the bend, until I find the sign that reads Allison Pools.

I grip the wheel tighter and yank it around. Tires hit dirt, momentarily, before air. The passenger side slams into an old cedar. The tree's dark, fiercely textured bark opens up, and its fresh wound spews chips of wood into the dark night. I don't stop. The Duster continues to careen over the rocks and river in slow motion, spinning slightly in the warm air. A thunderous burst of impact forces my body to smash against the dash, just as dark water explodes around the vehicle and I. All the while, the stereo continues to play Month of May as forcefully as it had when I was on solid ground. Fading out only when the cold water, consistently created by melting snow pack, seeps into the sound system and causes it to short.

My mantra holds to my thoughts, as my bleeding and broken nose heals and river water slowly floods the interior of the '71 Duster. Yet, despite death edging itself closer and closer to me, I am saturated with a Zen like calm. I don't have to hide my true nature; I don't have to continue causing pain. Deciding to close my eyes, I wait patiently for the world to finally cease and desist.

Water begins to cover my head, causing my body to ache for exemption. I keep my eyelids shut tight, holding back my instincts that crave for self-preservation. Gripping onto the leather seat, I let my last breath leave me, allowing consciousness to slip into the cold black water of the mid July night. As an emptiness fills me, I feel that familiar shift-snap of bone, followed by the shattering of glass and that inevitable gasp of fresh air. My arms stretch out, hands clawing at the river surface in an attempt to keep me afloat.

The evening is suddenly bombarded by an agonized howl, while the wolf, cruising against my insides, hesitates to release control over my suicidal human half. I decide to wade in the middle of the midnight water, taking in a moment to regain reality, before I return to solid ground. I tread through the icy water of the Vedder and pull myself onto the stone strewn bank. Flipping onto my back, I cough out the remaining liquid stationed within my lungs and let the humid Summer air warm me.

Killing myself shouldn't be this difficult... If I was fully human, my life would be more than easy to snuff out. Instead, I have to notch up another failed attempt at ending this duplicity. I run my hands over my face and through my sodden deep brown hair. Strands of fur cling to my wet fingers, before drying out and flitting away with the light breeze. When I sit up, I look out over the space of river in front of me. Water that is fed from the hidden and tranquil Chilliwack Lake; from the hundred and fourteen meters of haunting blue. My wounds are already healing. Muscle is pushing out the glass fragments that had lodged themselves past the barrier of my thick, scarred skin. After a time of silent reflection, I force myself to get onto my feet and begin walking back to civilization.

Water drips indifferently from my worn body as I climb back up the road. I don't bother to stop when I reach the asphalt; just turn right and head in the opposite direction that I had just sped over, minutes before. Dusty and dark shades of red-brown fur shed off and float away listlessly in the night. And the only thing that I can dwell upon is how every time that I try to end my life, without fail, the wolf creeps up through my skin and rescues us.

Why can't I just kill myself?!

Haven't I witnessed enough?

As the ends of night ride the threshold of day, I am filled with that familiar combination of self-loathing and exhaustion. Eventually, I reach the ancient Farmhouse, slamming shut the door behind me once I'm inside. I kick off my boots, each one hitting the wall and causing trapped water to explode on impact. Groaning, I head up the stairs towards my bedroom. Hunched over in defeat.

A familiar voice comes out of the abyss, causing me to look up. Lars is striding down the stairs, with that natural fluidity that he has always possessed.

Why do you smell of the Vedder? He asks, tilting his head to the side. Blue eyes completely focused on me.

I went for a drive.

He looks off to the side, taking in the vague explanation. I could tell him more, but why? The depression has always been inside of me, longer than I could have ever realized. But, it's a weakness, and our Community refuses to acknowledge anything that resembles weakness... After a moment, my friend's future brother-in-law turns his attention back to me.

Come get a drink.

I look up at him, craving my bed with its promises of warmth and sleep. Yet, the temptation of scotch is overwhelming, and I allow Lars to pass me before I follow him down the hall.

Upon entrance into the spacious living room, I grab a bottle of Drambuie and pour myself a glass. I glance over to the concrete patio and notice Mads, standing outside in the early morning air. Cracking my neck, I walk to him, taking in a mouthful of my soothing libation before stopping at his side. In the warm atmosphere, we both take a moment to soak in the quiet of our relatively remote location.

Slowly, Mads turns to me and says glad to have you back, not meeting my eyes until his statement is complete. I nod to him, the appointed authority figure of our makeshift pack. My closest friend. He pats me on the shoulder before turning and striding to the embrace of his home. I decide to stay out here, nursing my drink. It's only when I gulp down the last bit of Drambuie when I finally walk back, opening the sliding screen door and shutting it behind me once inside.

I make my way across the worn wooden floor boards and circle the black leather couch, before collapsing into the plush cushions. I crack my neck again and run a hand through my hair to separate remaining shed fur from human strands. My heart sinks as I contemplate the long list of my utter failures, while I ease back into the hatred that I have refined over the years.

Without warning, Vegar jumps onto the couch, causing the springs to squeak and strain with the sudden impact. My young cousin, with both feet sinking into a single leather cushion, is crouched and poised for attack; staring intensely at me. He's about to say something that I don't want to hear, yet I lack the energy to avoid. Guess what. He demands.

I don't respond.

I got laid! Vegar exclaims, grinning widely.

I'm not sure whether he's trying to start a conversation, or if he genuinely believes that I am interested in his promiscuous lifestyle.

That's not news.

She was fantastic. He pouts, elation slowly ebbing away.

I'm sure they all are.

Unimpressed, the seventeen-year-old tries to think of something that would get a reaction from me, when his eyes light up.

"She's human."

Your father is human. I point out. There aren't any wolves around here, except for us and the Natural Shifters. She, and all of your other partners, would have to be human.

You're in a shitty mood. He states, his shoulders sinking from defeat.

I lean my head back and close my eyes, as I allow the pup to have the last word. Eventually, my cousin decides to leave me and hops back over the couch, mumbling something spiteful as he wanders off. I keep my lids shut, focusing on the darkness inside of my head. Despite everything, the increased measures I took, I am still no closer to ridding this world of myself, and I of it. Hanging from a guitar string didn't work. Slicing my forearms to shreds didn't remotely work. Diving through a fifth story empty window had next to no effect. What do I have to do?!

As I reflect upon the different near death experiences that I have put myself through, sleep eventually takes over. With images of partial shifts and blood fading out of my mind, I succumb to the provoking dreamless state that overcomes me.

Later that day, once the sun had risen, I awake to a thin fleece blanket draped over me. Placed there, most likely, by Mads. I look around the room; the caribou head hung above the river stone fireplace, the mule deer skin draped over the leather chair that matches this sofa, shelves, weighed down with old books in Danish, Norwegian and English, along with the odd carved stone or wood animal…

Stretching, I notice the faint morning sun attempting to seep in through the large windows that spread themselves across this side of the abode. My clothes have become stiff against my skin from the river water and I need a shower, along with a change of attire. Unsticking my tongue from the roof of my dry mouth, I sit up and leave the leather, cracking my neck as I head upstairs and towards the bathroom.

Within moments, I am breathing in the steam, as scorching water running over my head and down my back. Clear rivers moving wildly as they cascade down my body. It is in this moment when I remember that I have work today. I don't want to go... The only positive thing about my job, other than funds, is that it kills eight hours of my day. Hanging my head low, I reluctantly turn off the comforting shower and wipe away some of the excess water, before stepping out. I grab the towel and lay it across the back of my neck and over my broad shoulders. The soft cotton fabric absorbs the remaining moisture from my skin, along with hiding old scars from past fights. I wipe off the antique mirror and, with one glance, I decide that I don't need to see any more of my reflection and finish drying myself.

Wrapping the towel around my waist, I head to my room and retrieve some clean clothing, then make my way to the kitchen fridge. I grab a left over piece of barbecued steak, biting down on it as I go to pull my boots on, all before I venture up the driveway and down the road towards work.

By the time I arrive, I've managed to choke down the cold, seasoned meat. I clock in and stride through the warehouse into James' office.

Retter! Hey, what's up? He asks, genuinely interested in what I have to say.

He's like this with everyone. James may be one of the nicest people I know, but he's spineless. It's his employees who run this place; he just signs the cheques.

I have to take this Thursday off.

Why not take the Friday off, instead?

Because, it's Thursday that I need.

For a moment, he mulls over this. The gears in his worn-out, pickled brain cranking slowly around the process of thought. Eventually, his mouth opens, releasing a fairly confused, yet quite clear why?

My cousin is in therapy and, this Thursday, my brothers and I are going over to speak with him.

More deep contemplation. The poor man is going to be mentally drained before the end of this conversation.

Can I ask what he's in therapy for?

It's pretty personal.

Oh...

James pouts, unable to be fed whatever bit of useless gossip he was hoping for.

So, can I have Thursday off?

Yeah, sure... He agrees, waving me off.

Thanking him, I head back to work on the injection molds for the day. It doesn't take long before I settle into my routine; put the black plastic webs into the steam filled machine, slam the gate shut, turn it on, wait until the whole thing pushes open to release the concrete forms in a plume of vapor, etc. I throw open the gate, sliding it to the side so that I can step in and pull the molds off of the metal, only to huck them onto a plastic topped table to be stacked by a coworker. And then, it all starts again. The same old mundane process.

Surprisingly, the day goes pretty well. Nothing breaks, no waiting for the molds to be swapped out, no confrontations. Even the Styrofoam cooperated, which is a victory of its own.

If everything was always this pleasant, I might not be so determined to end this life.

CHAPTER 2

As I walk down the familiar farm road, back in the direction of the house, in the late afternoon air, I can feel the change start to twist and grind beneath my skin; slowly amping up as the evening grows closer. By taking tomorrow off, I will have the option of sleeping in after a late night, rather than having to tough it out at work. I can't wait for the change. Every month, I count down the days until I get to finally be full wolf, rather than human or partial.

I loathe the partial shift... It's like salt in the perpetually un-healing wound. The partial wolf, in and of itself, is a blasphemous thing. Triggered by either life/death situations or by pure, unhindered rage. Your most primal emotions give the wolf enough strength to make itself known, while it fights against its human cage.

It's pathetic.

The music bombards me the moment I open the front door. Already, excessive levels of excitement rise from within the old Farmhouse, as darkness slowly dyes the Summer sky. The moment I stride into the living room, I can see Torden desperately attempting to keep himself upright, while fighting with Mads. Static X's All In Wait is blaring in the background, filling the abode with that industrial metal music sound that I can't help but adore. I move across the wooden floorboards and stand beside Lars, who is sitting on top of the kitchen counter. Both of us watch as Mads easily overwhelms Torden, despite the man's obvious advantage of both height and youth. The twenty-four-year-old lacks the experience, though, whereas Mads has accumulated years of it; fighting men both older and younger than him. He wouldn't have been able to purchase this house if he wasn't so talented at tearing people down.

My friend eventually becomes bored and grabs hold of the young man's neck, twisting it back and pulling on the spine until Torden's body arcs in an unnatural way. With a final quick white knuckled hit to the throat, Torden drops to the ground, coughing violently as he attempts to regain his breath. The convulsing skin begins to slowly blend through the starting shades of bruising, within minutes of receiving the blow. Mads simply walks straight for the black stained bar, leaving a sputtering Torden behind him as he reaches for a bottle of bourbon. Taking the cap off and having a swig, he returns to the now exhausted man, sitting on the bare wooden floor, sucking back oxygen greedily.

Torden looks up, with those brown eyes containing flecks of our kinds' trademark hazel. Mads hands him the bottle, which is gratefully received.

How long had they been going? I ask Lars, in vaguely hushed tones.

'bout an hour or so. I lost track. Vegar popped in, and then left somewhere in the middle of it.

What for?

"Pre-change sex, I'm guessing. That kid brings the term 'hound dog' to a whole new level." He grins, wickedly.

I shake my head, avoiding any and all thoughts on the topic.

Shortly after my cousin came here to live with us, the house had grown tired of him. It is only a matter of time before he steps too far over the line for us to find forgiveness. He's already so close to that point... Lars and Torden were never like that. They respected us and wanted to be a part of our household. They knew that once they had left the comforts of their parents' homes, they would be considered adults, and they have acted as such. Vegar has been refusing to grow up, instead finding that his new-found freedom only gives reason to act how he pleases, minus the consequences. He's more human than wolf.

We fill the rest of the hours with a lavish barbecue meal, complete with bison steaks and other lean red meats, with the bonus of roasted potatoes and gravy. Torden had received some farmed boar from a cousin in Alberta, which he said required only a simple spice blend before it was to be thrown on the grill. The taste was strong, though pleasing to the heightened senses and the growing need for something heavier in our stomachs.

I can already feel the rushes of the change coursing through my body. The wolf quivering below my skin; lacing itself through my muscles and winding its way into all parts of me.

As we relished the moments before full night, Vegar remained nowhere to be seen. By the time the moon was kissing the horizon, we had no choice but to leave him to find his own way into the woods. With Mads in the driver's seat, the rest of us filled the cab of his Dodge truck; leaving behind the Farmhouse as we raced off into the Eastern Hillsides, beyond Sardis. Black Rebel Motorcycle Club playing through the speaker, as we bomb down the thin roads, scanning for life as we searched for a safe place to park, inconspicuously, by the tree line.

The hair on the back of my neck starts to stand on end, just as we find a suitable space to leave Mads' navy blue truck. We quietly head down the barren street and off into the dense forest of coniferous trees, moving quickly to not draw attention to ourselves, before we branch off from one another.

As I walk further in to the wilderness, I can already feel my body changing over and begin to strip down. My breath grows deeper, filling my steadily expanding lungs as I lean back and look up to the sky. Watching the bright full moon, free in the empty star speckled sky, passing over us, as if it were some sort of strange glowing entity.

I come to a full stop in the smallest of clearings, cracking my neck once to either side as my spine slowly elongates. Each and every bone in my body breaks, one by one, while muscle hungrily stretches over them. Engulfing the healing white fragments, while keeping me together.

Everything steadily adapts to my natural form. The tattoos above my stomach and on my chest start to contort, shifting with my skin before being swallowed whole by the shades of reddish brown fur that covers my skin in a single wave. My spine curves inhumanely back before sling-shotting me forward, forcing me to reach out, instinctively, to break my fall. I cry out, while my fingertips form claws that grasp and dig into the perpetually damp earth. Clutching at it as the shift finally comes to an end.

Standing on all fours, I take in the crisp night air. Each gasp sending chills throughout my body. I run my tongue over my thin lips, feeling the carnivore teeth grazing the muscles encased inside of sensitive pink skin. Looking around, I can see the others stretching in the trees, rolling their shoulders as they settle into their bodies. I start walking forward and notice Mads standing ahead of me, waiting patiently as the glistening moonlight bounces off the grey of his coat. Slowly, we move towards him, following close behind as he turns to trot off into the heart of the west coast wild.  

The night is filled with the cool breeze that Summer nights harbour, while the soft sound of both small and large creatures rustle within and through the forest. Branches snap under our padded feet as we cut through the evergreens. Our bodies curving effortlessly as we navigate the terrain. Though we are unlikely to find prey, nights like these have always been more focused on how we fill the time, rather than our stomachs. Once a month, for one evening, we are free to wear our natural skins. We are on the outside as we are internally. Allowed to wander the wilderness as the animals our ancestors once were, way back when. That is what we crave for, as we wait for that full moon evening to come.

The glowing sphere glides effortlessly across the darkened sky, and the four of us continue meandering through the brush. Gaining distance from Mads' truck as time drifts by. Until Lars suddenly stops. He raises his head and takes in one deep breath after another. Chest expanding as he tracks the direction of a scent.

He takes one step forward, just as a dull thud breaks through the abyss, alerting the rest of us to what Lars had already known. Mads watches his mate's older brother as he stands perfectly still. It seems as if an eternity has passed before the tension in the twenty-five-year-old's muscles give. Finally, he nods in the direction the faint sound had come from.

The hunt is on.

On Mads' signal, we break out into a controlled run. Staying as close to the ground as possible, in order to hide ourselves from what may lie ahead. The smell of something pulsing with life fills my nostrils, and it's not long before we arrive at the source. Ceasing the charge, we take up position amongst the brush, watching a hapless doe grazing while her familiars act as distant shadows in the background.

I lower my head and roll my shoulders, waiting for Mads' command. My nostrils filled with the scent of her; how the forest lingers on her rough pelt. All the while, she carelessly keeps her head down to the ground, ingesting the greenery beneath her feet. All I want is to close my eyes and continue taking in this moment, yet, before I can even finish the thought, Mads bursts into a full sprint towards our prey and the rest of us gear up and follow. Her head shoots up, dark eyes taking a moment to focus on the four large wolves tearing through the moss and leaves. Terror hits the poor animal and she turns, booking it in the opposite direction. Towards her family, who have already abandoned her in order to save their own hides.

I can feel the fear burning off of her as I give control over to the creature surrounding my self. I snap forward, sinking my sharpened canines past the fur and into the skin. Taking hold of her leg as I anchor my teeth into the muscle. She takes the time to kick at me, letting out a frightened cry that ceases suddenly when Mads latches onto her throat, rendering her following pleas inaudible. He tears at her as she attempts to buck, nearly landing one of her sharp dainty hooves into my side. The deer continues fighting for her life, doing what she can, until Torden slams his massive body into her, causing her to lose balance while Mads successfully pulls her to the ground. He shreds apart the arteries in her neck while she gasps in desperation. Her wide eyes search for her herd, her family, her kind. The ones that had vanished from the area and left her to die and be consumed.

Blood froths on her lips, pouring out onto the forest floor as life slips away from the doe in one breath. Mads begins ripping at the flesh, separating it from the tender venison below. One by one, we start to tear out chunks of meat, chewing lightly before swallowing the pieces whole. Each of us taking our fill of the shared meal. Filling the created space of our carnivorous stomachs with what our bodies require to function.

Before long, we've topped up our energy source and decide to leave the rest for the ravens that have now flocked around us. A gift to them and the other predators in the area, for allowing us to wander their terrain. As the others begin heading off, I look down at the doe. Torn apart skin with red stained fur, gaping wounds and exposed insides. Those nearly black eyes, staring into the other side. Hollow and lifeless. I turn to put it all behind me and follow my comrades, into the cedars of the dense northern rain forest.

While the others enjoy the euphoria of the evening, I can't shake the way that doe had looked as it lay dying. Helpless, frightened. Completely alone, except for those who murdered her. I shouldn't be feeling this way. These are thoughts reserved for when the sun hits this hemisphere. I don't want to change back... To forfeit the heightened sounds, sights and smells surrounding me. I don't want to have anything to do with my cursed self.

I start to slow my pace as the others, feeling rightfully refreshed and alive, trot and run on ahead of me. Despite the vibrant moon and my more than satisfied stomach, I can't separate the joy of the full moon shift from the rest of my miserable life. With each passing month, I grow more and more depressed. Wanting desperately to remain how I am now. Full wolf. Full of life. I don't know what to do, I don't know what I'm doing here, what I am supposed to do. I don't know what I'm supposed to feel or be, anymore. I haven't for a long while, now.

Mads turns his grey body to look at me, realizing that I've fallen back. I take a moment to sort out the viciously spinning thoughts inside of my head. Finally, I signal to him that I'm going to wander off on my own. His deep amber eyes scan over me, as they fill with visible concern. Solemnly, he nods, accepting my decision with any amount of understanding that he can muster. I break away from the small group, the people who have become the closest thing that I can call family, now, and I head off into an unknown direction. Away from my friend, who I know doesn't want me to leave, but doesn't know what else to do.

Continuing forward, I crush all that lies beneath my feet.