October 19th, xxxx
SLEEPING AND WAKING UP by the girl's bedside has become an easy ritual, waking up before five in the morning he jams but doesn't join the troops five a.m.jog.
On his own, the exercise clears his head, a bath removes the sleep, he visits the girl, massages her, reads to her and then leaves before coming back late in the evening, massages and read to her again, sleep, wake, do it all over again.
On this particular morning, Kamil had just risen from the cushioned chair the Doc kindly placed for him, stretching tense muscles when the most miraculous thing happened.
Bowed to his waist, he lifts his head and Goddess, he's looking into swamp-green eyes bright like a cat's under dim fluorescent light.
Startling, he straightens, a hand to his lips as he slowly exhales, patiently and deliberately counting from ten. Countdown to zero, her eyes doesn't close but flutter from exhaustion that a tongue-tied Kamil flees from the room to beckon upon the Doc.
Off to the side of the room, he observes the Doc lead the girl through a series of exercises—motor, visual, audio and speech; grip is a bit weakened but will get better overtime, hearing is excellent, her voice come out a bit rough, speech snail-paced but coherent and she seems to have passed with flying colours because Doc nods and smiles encouragingly.
Gently, Doc probes the girl. Starts with,
"Do you remember your name?"
And suddenly, Kamil is transported back to the past, back to fifteen years ago. Right here in this clinic on a bed softer than the ground, body warm through the hand gripping his, the first thought that crossed his mind when the woman neared him, her head a pool of dark locks.
She looks like glory. Plain, warm, secure.
The boy doesn't know what to say. He thinks his tongue is cut off, he thinks there's no thought in his head but he's certain everything hurts, is sure that when he wriggles his toes the bones there feel like knife stabbing.
He hears what the woman says and for some reason is captivated by the lush of her eyes; like a reflection of brown and green—later when he learns the word kaleidoscope, he'll call it kaleidoscopic eyes—that when the lights hits, it is either lighter, darker or somewhere in between.
When the woman glance at the tall woman beside her in the white coat, the boy is immediately aware of the crowd. A man stands beside her, a hand on her shoulder, a girl of fiery red hair chews on her thumb, repeatedly poking the soft flesh of his calf to the chiding of the man.
A child sits cross-legged by the wall, head hanging like a loose screw buried in a book he reads and the boys hears the calling of birds, feels the silkness of the beach sand but he doesn't recall why he smells salty water, why the sandcastle picture on the cover of the book evokes such truth in his memory.
Kamil jerks to present to hear the Doc saying, "We will answer your questions later. For now, we need to get you something to eat. Major."
He peels off the wall, loosens his limbs and tries to appear as nonthreatening and safe as possible. He must've succeeded because when he takes the Doc's position on the chair, the girl's eyes doesn't leave him.
"Hi. I'm..."
Alpha North
"but you can call me Sandcastle..."
How are you feeling?
"Major Sandcastle has been keeping watch over you, waiting for you to wake up," a smile, "You're a lucky girl, Lata. Hold on, you must be starving. I'll bring you food."
I don't feel lucky. I feel like I'm drowning.
Reclining back, the girl close her eyes, her breathing evening out. He heard the Doc saying the worst is over but Kamil can't help feel attuned to the sound of her breathing—the up and down of life.
"I...Rain."
"What was that?"
"Where is Rain?" the girl fists the blanket to her chest and tightens her eyes as the seconds drag on.
Cmmon calculation tells him Rain was the other girl. The dead girl. Her friend. But Kamil can't give her an answer, not yet. He knows all too well how fragil she is, how fragile she will be in the coming days.
He decides to mimic the Doc's words. "We will answer your questions when the time comes. I promise."
The girl doesn't like his answer. Frowning eyes sweeps to him. "I just want to know where Rain is. If she's okay. I..."
A lone tear falls. Kamil doesn't look away but he's crushed. She looks away and she's heartbroken.
"Something happened to her, right?" Silence. "Is she dead?"
His silence speaks volumes. Instantly, Lata falls apart. He hangs his head as if saying a prayer for dearly departed Rain while Lata cries her eyes out becoming a hacking, hiccuping mess.
Although her tears is a tug on his heartstrings, although it is dreadful knowing a loved one is dead, although he wishes Rain is here and it's twice a happily ever after, he is happy there is a happily ever after.
He is happy she is alive. It's not a wrong thing to think but the guilt, the guilt will eat her alive.
The crying quietens but remnants of sorrow etch on her face.
"Did she suffer?"
"No." No she didn't. But her death was quiet. Here now, gone the next.
The next question she ask is also a harder question to answer.
"How... How... How did you find me? Us?"
Bloodied, beaten and almost dead, Kamil thinks to himself but know better than to say out loud. Mercifully, the Doc arriving with a tray of food and a young girl in tow relives him.
"Lata, this is Hayan. She'll be your guide. Ask her any questions you want to know about the Pack."
Bald, stick figure thirteen year old Hayan with eyes like a curious eagle smiles and wave at the girl, pulling up a chair at the other side and casually picking up a conversation as if they'd been long time friends.
A smart decision. Hayan is known to be talkative and friendly. For a while, she'll keep Lata occupied. Kamil wants to stay, to be assured that she's alright but he knows from experience that being watched like a hawk by people you barely know isn't the sweetest thing in the world.
Besides, the Doc is around in case anything happens. He says a goodbye and leaves, keenly aware everything is muted, muted...
The boy is alarmed at how muted sounds are but is assured his hearing will come back and when it does, it catches him off-guard. One minute he's running around with his mates, used to the hollows of noise, the next he's hunched over holding his head, screaming his head off, rocking back and forth, back and forth...
Instead of sounds, it's his mind, his emotions. He's all over the place. He finds himself in the wolves den a couple of hours or so later, sitting against the wall stroking mother wolf, annoyed at himself, at everything.
He still hasn't forced the Doc to attend to the mother, has neglected the wolves that he hears Private Qua has picked up the slack.
Hearing a noise, he picks his head up thinking it's the Private but is pleasantly surprised to find it's the Alpha, dark eyes roving the occupied space.
The wolves raise their heads and stands including mother wolf, meeting each other halfway, he crouches on his knees stroking all six like he has six arms.
The wolves surrounding him prevents him taking a step further that he plops right there, cross-legged and regal, blocking the entrance that when Private Qua makes an appearance less than a minute later, she laughs and bids them bye.
"Do you think Dragontooth the Second is sick?"
"I wouldn't know. I'm not a vet."
"I know. But aren't Alphas attuned to one another? You should know if she's sick."
Kamil notice for the first time that he's stroking mother wolf more purposeful than the others. Maybe Alphas are attuned to each other.
"I don't know if she's sick but she's exhausted."
Or maybe not. The Alpha's generic diagnosis isn't earth shattering. What he says next isn't either.
"It's a miracle."
"I know."
"Why are you here hiding?"
Is that what he's doing? No, he isn't. He's recuperating. No, she's recuperating. He's... Okay, he's hiding. Go Detective Alpha.
"She asked me how we found her. How can I tell her that when we found her she was almost dead?" Or that he froze like a completely useless ice-cube.
"Her name's Lata," nothing registers on the Alpha's face because of course he's been briefed, "She guessed her friend's dead. At least now we'll know what name to send her off."
Kamil hears the detachment in his voice, the Alpha hears it, the wolves hears it that when one clambers over and snuggles to him, he completely buries his head in the pool of fur—fluffy, grounded, soft.
The Alpha says nothing. He says nothing. They stay here in the den of wolves like they are kids again and silence is the language they know when to speak.