Father Isaiah

Oakenden, Ten Years Before

The pain was persistent. The sort of pain that Logan knew that was only a hair from agony. He knew that he was in hospital and drugged to take the edge off of his suffering as he had fleeting, foggy memories of whirling lights in an ambulance, and people talking to him, reassuring him that he was being looked after, the off-white halls and flash of neon lights as he was wheeled through the hospital, people staring at him in horror, and moments of waking surrounded by blue curtains as nurses checked in on him their voices blurring and the meaning lost.

He had run from the monster, from the scene of gore and horror in the kitchen, fleeing down towards Gillian’s room in the hope that she would be home, seeking help whilst knowing there was nothing that she could do against the monster. In the bedroom, the monster hand brought him down and pinned him facedown on the ground.

He’d felt the warm stickiness of blood running down his cheek, into his eye and mouth as the monster had panted it’s hot breath over him, and then it had whined, almost pathetically, and fled. He had faded into and out of consciousness, knowing in fleeting moments of coherence that if he didn’t get up and find a phone he would bleed out onto the carpet.

He’d clawed his way, crawling in slow, laborious agony down the hall to the kitchen, to his father’s body, and found his mobile phone. As he’d waited for the operator to answer, he’d stared into his mother’s open and empty eyes.

“Logan?” A man in black leaned over the bed. “Can you hear me?”

“Mhmm,” Logan groaned. His face was heavily bandaged and felt stiff and alien. He could only see out of one eye and wasn’t sure if the other was bandaged or gone. “Hurts.”

“Yes, I imagine that it does. Do you remember what happened?” The man’s voice was quiet and empathetic to Logan’s suffering.

“Monster. Killed. Parents,” Logan’s throat hurt and his mouth was a desert. “Drink?”

“I’ll have a nurse come in and give you a drink in just one moment. You said monster, Logan. Not a dog. The police think it a rabid dog attack.”

“No. Two legs.”

“It walked on two legs?” The man repeated.

“Mmm,” Logan grunted. “Hurts.”

“Sapphire?” The man said and Logan wondered if the drugs were affecting him until he felt a small cool hand take his and he turned his head in slow agony towards his blind-side. A young girl close to his own age held his hand. Her hair was blond at the tips and blue green at the roots as if it were growing out that way. Her eyes, meeting his, held an opalescent shimmer.

Logan felt as if a cool balm was being spread over the burning pain in his head. He moaned in relief, his eye fluttering closed.

“Stay with me, Logan,” the man said.

“I’m awake,” Logan replied. “My face…”

“You were badly clawed during the attack,” the man told him.

“Eye?”

“No damage, but it is covered by bandages at the moment. Logan, describe the monster to me.”

“It was… Human big. Not a dog. Dog like, though. Lots of hair. Claws and sharp teeth. Smelled like dog, ears, and face like a dog, but not a dog. Not a man.”

“Not a man?” The man was surprised.

“No,” Logan remembered that clearly and opened his eye, sliding a look at the girl who still held his hand. Her hair covered her face, hiding it from his sight. “Breasts like a woman,” Logan admitted, feeling awkward because the girl was holding his hand.

“Interesting. It didn’t kill you. Do you know why?”

“I don’t know. It just stopped and went away.” Something wet fell on Logan’s hand. The girl was crying.

“If you were to pick a word for the monster, what would you call it, Logan?”

“Werewolf,” Logan said with certainty. “Like in the old movies. Is she okay?” He asked in concern.

“Ah,” the man nodded. “Very, very interesting. Alright, Sapphire, rest now. A nurse and doctor will be in soon Logan, go back to sleep.”

Logan drifted off to sleep.

Over the next few days, Logan became more alert as his pain eased and the drugs needed to manage it were reduced. He wasn’t entirely sure if the conversation with the man in black had happened, the nurses and doctors who came to speak to him knew nothing of it.

Gradually they removed the bandages, and Logan’s face was revealed as that of a stranger, mottled and lividly bruised, swollen and puffy, his eyelids and cheek puffed to the point that his bone structure was lost beneath the swelling, and he could not open his eye. He reached up to touch his cheek, the skin wet and rubbery beneath his fingertips, the sensation of the pressure muted.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” the nurse assured him as the final layers were taken away. “The bruises and swelling will go down and they’ve made a really neat job of sewing up the tears through your scalp. The surgeon says that it will be barely noticeable when your hair grows out.”

“Doesn’t feel right,” he said in shock.

“That’s a good thing at the moment, as it helps with the pain,” she replied. “Sensation will improve as the swelling goes down.”

Every day he improved in small increments, able to stay awake for longer, to leave the bed to use the ensuite bathroom, and watch TV. From talking to the nurses and doctors and watching the News, he was able to determine that it was believed that as his father was leaving for work, he was attacked by a rabid dog. As his father sought refuge in the house, the dog was able to get through the door and attack his mother and then Logan.

There had been no mention of his sister, and the doctors and nurses were unable to answer his questions about her.

As his independence increased and he regained his appetite and was able to shower, he began to wonder what would become of him. He was beginning to look more like himself, the swelling going down until he could open his eye and recognise his cheekbone beneath the line of stitches there, it wouldn’t be long, he thought, until he would need to leave the hospital, and that worried him as he didn’t want to end up in the foster care system and there was no extended family or close family friends to take him in.

He was still over a year from turning eighteen. He needed Gillian. Where was she? How could she have not come back in all that time? Surely, she had heard about what had happened?

He was relieved when the police arrived one day as he was polishing off his hospital jelly. One of the women was in plain clothes whilst the other wore a uniform. With them was a man in a dark suit, who looked very familiar.

“Logan,” the woman in plain clothes led the way. “I am Detective Cassidy, and I’m in charge of your case. I’m not sure that you would remember me – we spoke on the night of the attack, but you were in shock at the time. I’m sorry that I’ve taken so long to come back and see you. I had hoped to locate an adult guardian to be with you whilst I spoke with you, but we have been unable to find anyone. This is Father Isaiah Matthews, he is a court appointed guardian and oversees a boarding school which has kindly offered you a place until a permanent guardian is located, and he is here to witness and represent your interests.”

“Hello, Logan,” Father Isaiah sat in the guest chair next to the bed and leaned forward. His eyes were dark and piercing and his smile friendly and warm. “I help a lot of teenagers through the worst experiences of their lives. I assure you, the Abraham Boarding School is a very welcoming place, and all the students there have had, maybe not precisely but very similar, experiences as yourself. You will find support and understanding with our staff and students and a safe place in which to recover and re-find yourself.”

“Umm, thanks,” Logan set the jelly tub down. “My sister Gillian is eighteen, though, and…”

“We haven’t been able to locate Gillian, unfortunately,” Detective Cassidy said, perching on the edge of the bed. “She left a note that she’d left to marry her boyfriend, Kyle Levine, but Kyle and his parents claim to know nothing about such plans. We are,” she grimaced slightly. “Treating her disappearance as suspicious at this time.”

Logan swallowed hard. “You think that he killed her on the same night as the monster killed my parents?”

“A rabid large-breed dog was located in the scrubland within 2 miles of your house and slaughtered. Our CSI is running tests to verify that it was responsible for the death of your parents and your parents, but we are pretty confident that we have found the dog responsible.”

“Oh,” Logan frowned and winced as doing so pulled on his stitches. “It wasn’t a dog though…” He said with uncertainty. “It was on two legs and had…” He trailed off, feeling his cheeks heat. Had he had a sex dream tangled up in his memory of what had happened in the kitchen, and been blabbing about a dog with breasts to everyone? “Maybe it was a dog,” he finished under his breath.

“It’s alright,” Detective Cassidy said gently. “One of the reasons that we have been delaying speaking to you again is that trauma, shock, and medicine can make things very unclear, and time can offer clarity to the situation. We take an initial statement whilst things are fresh, but rely heavily on the evidence left at the scene to understand what has taken place.”

“So…” Logan felt sick and pushed away the tray of food. “That’s it, then? I go to this boarding school until you find out about Gillian…?”

“We will organize a lawyer to go through your parents affairs, of course, and talk about finances and what you wish to do with the house and possessions within it,” Father Isaiah told him. “But there’s no hurry, Logan. A lot has happened in a short amount of time. Come to the school with me, settle in, make some friends. When you’re a little bit more recovered, you can resume school activities, and then we will talk about all these other things.”

Logan looked at Detective Cassidy who met his eyes and nodded wisely. “You can trust Father Isaiah, Logan,” she encouraged. “He will take good care of you.”