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pass
judgment … implement self-preservation, yes; but not judgment."
    “Michael, do you believe in justified
homicide because of the certainty of an imminent threat?”
    “Yes, I do, when you’re talking about a
habitual victim … like a battered wife. They are the underdog
taking advantage of a momentary upper hand, in order to protect
themselves in the future. You, on the other hand, were a habitual
victim, maybe ... but not the underdog by any means. I do
understand why you feel it was justified … you saw what they did to
Ann, and then the possibilities of what they could to do to Ellie.
I also understand that you felt your hands were tied, because there
is no system that you know of, to hold these creatures responsible
for their actions." Deflating a bit, he continues. "In your shoes,
I guess, I would have made similar choices … I’m just very
uncomfortable with the fact that to fight the beast, you had to
become the beast.”
    I can hear the fear that I've been waiting
for, finally seeping into Michael’s excited revelations about the
mist holding so many answers to his mythical questions. He is
starting to see why I made him answer the simple question “Give me
an example of evil, please.” This isn’t story time … finding out
that the Grimm brothers’ demented stories are more real than
Disney, should scare the crap out of you.
    I hadn’t realized the time passed by so
quickly, until I notice that the stove has burned down to embers.
Lune and Ursa wait patiently in the pen to be let out one more time
before bed. The pup wriggles around on the floor, blind and
helpless, whimpering for her mother’s warmth. Michael, seeing that
the pup might be cold stokes the fire, while I let Ursa and Lune
outside. Going into the pen, we clean all the paper and lay down
towels that will give Ursa and the pup more comfortable
bedding.
    The baby is hungry again, and roots around
while I hold her. Michael cleans up Ursa’s bowls and puts out fresh
water. Then he chops up some squirrel and rabbit meat, and mixes it
with more cottage cheese; all the while explaining that Ursa will
need to eat about three times her normal amount to produce enough
milk for the little one.
    When Ursa returns, she goes straight to the
pen and lies down, waiting for me to replace the pup. She sniffs at
the food with little interest, and goes about cleaning up the baby
while it starts suckling. I step outside and yell for Lune to hurry
up. When he comes rounding out of the trees with something feathery
in his mouth, I know what was keeping him … he was hunting
again.
    “You know, he keeps this up, and I’m going to
have to take him in for poaching.” Michael steps up behind me and
even though his voice is monotone, the joke is obvious. He admires
Lune, for taking such good care of his family.
    Wrapping the bird in plastic, I figure I’ll
pluck it tomorrow, saving me from the mess of Ursa pulling out the
feathers and leaving them around the cabin.
    I am relieved to see the exhaustion written
on Michael’s face; hoping that means I don’t have to delve any
further into my time in Vegas. The question about my scars is
forgotten in the flood of information I've just dumped into his
exhausted mind. I am saved, temporarily, from talking about my
greatest shame. Michael may never speak to me again after he finds
out what my scars are from, what actually drove me to come here …
but mostly, why I’ll never trust my own conscience again.
     

Chapter 5
Influences

    Standing in our place again, I miss our
place. Dreaming about the ghost town of Gothic, Colorado is just
about the only thing that makes me homesick for my childhood. Even
in sleep, I usually don’t allow myself the chance to miss my old
sanctuary, because acknowledging its absence mixes with my
anticipation of my one glimpse of Ellie. Tonight though, something
like peace counteracts the eagerness. I sit on the banks of the
stream and listen to the water lightly smacking against