MetaDeprivation - 9. MetaPrompts 578: Teen (MW8)

It reminded him of one of those old shows set in Wisteria Lane; Stanford Street looked well-kept, inhabited by middle middle-class families with 2.4 kids and a dog. Maybe the houses were a little bit smaller than in that show, but they were nicely kept and there seemed to be some competition going regarding who could grow the most impressive rosebushes.

Warren stopped the car and waited for CE to join him before they approached number 610; an open SUV full of grocery bags made all the crackling noises of a car just parked.

“Yes?” the woman asked walking out of the main door to pick up the rest of the bags.

CE was displeased but smiled. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Geer.”

“Hi,” she said.

“I think these are yours, where can I put them?” Warren lifted the shopping bags.

“Kitchen, follow me,” she invited the tall blond man, who looked so official in his blue dress shirt with a badge on his right upper arm and tight jeans, into her house.

“We’re sorry to intrude,” Warren continued in his most charming voice. “But friends have told us you had a wolf recently on your property?”

She stopped her intention to start filling the refrigerator as if to think about the question. Her black hair was perfectly dyed and cut, the black blouse worked well with two rows of pearls, and her slim waist still communicated youthful fertility; and the perfectly creased, beige shorts revealed trim legs. She looked hot with her 33 MILF-years with her elegant pair of glasses, 14 years ago she must have been Sports-Illustrated-hot. She finally decided to continue with her sorting, when she said: “I must have dreamt, no wolves in Chicago. Woods are far away.”

Warren took some of the meat out of the bags and handed it to her to put it into the freezer. If she was surprised she had invited two strangers of sizable proportions into her house, she didn’t show it, but Warren had that effect on people: instantaneously trustworthy. Or she just liked wolves.

At this moment heavy noise shook the house.

She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. My son. He’s …”

Warren smiled. “No problem, kids. How old is he?”

“13. I’m a single mom, and he’s getting into an awkward age.” She suddenly looked tired.

“You’re doing a fantastic job. You’ve created a lovely home,” Warren suggested friendly.

“Thank you.” She started filling the fridge again.

“The wolf?” CE asked a bit impatiently.

“It was night, two weeks ago. It was just a shadow,” she denied it.

“I guess so,” Warren agreed, not mentioning that two neighbors also had seen the wolf in Mrs. Geer’s garden.

“Do you mind if my colleague asks your son some questions?” Warren asked. “You bought new cupcake baking forms, nice. How do you do them?”

“Mostly with nuts, my son …”

“Can I see him?” CE asked, trying to show his most trusted teddy bear face.

“Sure. His room is a mess, though,” she apologized in advance.

“What nuts do you use?” Warren asked.

“Normally …”

CE walked up the staircase. His target was clear: Follow the scent or the music.

He knocked. Hard.

“What?” some voice shouted.

“I’m Burt Thunder, I want to ask you some questions. Open the door!” he ordered, trying not to introduce himself like a DI, and failing miserably.

“What do you want?” the boy asked, unlocking the door and peeking through the gap.

“To talk,” CE answered stepping into the door.

That young pup couldn’t close the door anymore and instinctively made space for the hulk in front of him, despite protesting: “But I don’t want to …”

CE growled. And noticed with pleasure that the boy dropped his head against his initial intentions.

“Who are you?”

CE growled.

The boy wanted to curse and say something inappropriate, but some force held him back. He corrected himself: “Who are you, Sir?”

“I’m Burt A. Thunder!”

“What do you want?” the boy wanted to challenge the big guy but felt compelled to add: “I’m Aaron. My mother …”

“She’s downstairs with my 4th enforcer,” CE explained.

“’Enforcer?’” Aaron asked. “I’m sorry it’s a mess here.” His face clearly showed he didn’t understand why he apologized for his room; he had never done that.

“It is,” CE stated with displeasure, but not with surprise – it looked like a rambunctious 13-year-old boy’s room: clothes on the floor, the desk with more paper than possible, the bed unmade and with questionable odors and stains, two of the posters of hard rock or metal bands in crow-design, both in the process of peeling off the walls, one of the lights broken, several sport equipment pieces randomly distributed and the boy in a torn, dirty T-shirt, and gym shorts, long-haired and unshaven.

The boy removed used tissues from his chair to offer it to his guest.

But CE accepted the offer and asked: “How often have you shifted already?” He threw a new football up in the air … it stopped just before hitting the ceiling and fell into his oversized paw as if attracted by a magnet.

“What?” The boy was confused.

CE stopped playing with the ball, lifted his right hand … and turned it into a paw: big, brown, dangerous.

The boy’s brown eyes widened, he took a step back. “Who are you?”

“I told you, Burt Alexander Thunder. I’m the Chief Enforcer of the White Wolf Pack. I’m a wolf shifter. And so are you!” CE explained.

“Can’t …”

“How often have you shifted, wolf?” CE repeated his question with all the authority of a Chief Enforcer.

“Three times. It scared the hell out of me,” Aaron confessed. His face said: It all makes sense now. “Once in the garden … I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t stop it …”

CE nodded. “I know the feeling. You seem to be healthy. Your wolf is healthy despite everything.”

“My wolf?”

“The voice in you.”

“I’m not crazy?”

CE smiled. “I don’t think so. But we need to help you. You cannot shift in the middle of the suburbs, bad things will happen.”

“My teachers say I’m too wild. My mother says I have ADHD. I take medicine.”

CE snarled. “You’re a young wolf. You have lots of energy, you need to use it productively. Human females will never understand.”

Aaron smiled as his chest grew, his shoulders straightened. “So I’m a wolf?”

CE got up, put his fatherly hand on Aaron’s arm and said: “More a pup, but I smell enforcer genes, so lots of energy.”

“Cool! What’s an ‘enforcer?’” Aaron asked, slowly adding a respectful: “Sir.”

“The biggest and most loyal wolves, skilled in protecting their alpha and their pack,” CE explained fully of pride.

“Awesome.” Aaron’s dark brown eyes sparkled.

“So now you’re going to shave …”

“Shave, I’m 13 …”

“You’re a wolf, I can see your beard … should I show you?”

Nearly shyly the boy nodded.

When CE and Aaron came downstairs, Mrs. Geer had just pulled the cupcakes out of the oven – and a tray full of cookies. She stopped in her tracks to look at her son in surprise.

His hair was cropped, his face shaven, he wore a clean T-shirt and some of his nice slacks. “Aaron?” she asked with a careful smile. She hadn’t seen her son so tidy for more than a year.

“Hi, mom. Can I have a cookie?”

She twisted her head. Her son had long stopped asking for permission as well, he just took one normally. Looking from Aaron to the big lumberjack guy next to him and finally to Warren, she didn’t know what to say.

Warren helped out. “When they’re ready. They need to cool, and then we need to decorate the cupcakes …”

“Oh,” both, Aaron and CE, moaned in disappointment.

And both, Mrs. Geer and Warren, smiled.

“Aaron, would you show Warren the neighborhood?” CE asked in his deep voice. “I would like to have a word with your mother.”

“Sure, Sir!”

‘Sir?’ Mrs. Geer’s eyes seemed to ask but didn’t say anything when her new baking friend and her son left the house. She just asked. “Who are you?”

“I’m Burt Alexander Thunder,” he introduced himself for the third time. Before she could say anything, he asked. “Can you tell me something more about Aaron’s father?”

She fisted her apron and took a deep breath. “I met him at a party. He said his name was Jackson, but I think he lied. He was drinking with his friends. He was so handsome, tall, wavy dark-brown hair, so powerful. I wasn’t that kind of girl, but …”

CE poured her a glass of water.

“I was even on the pill, still …”

CE just nodded in understanding. Top ranking wolves had that effect on females. And some did take advantage of all of them – at least the pretty ones.

“Things happen,” CE tried to be sympathetic. He reached for his back pocket. “But you’ve done an amazing job with Aaron. You got yourself through law school as a single mother.”

Suddenly all that strength seemed to evaporate, she sat on one of the breakfast chairs. “Thanks.”

“Here is some more info about me, my job, my place, my ID.”

“Why?”

“We want to help you, Mrs. Geer. My contact details are on here …”

“Okay. But why?”

“Because Aaron’s my nephew.”