Pride: Origin

Pride

By: M. Robinson

April 3, 2011

Ch 1

            Diego Ishmael resented the empty excuses his father gave him when he was departing on another one of his so-called business trips. His parents wouldn’t reveal to him what his father did for a living or why he so often left him and his mother alone for days and even weeks at a time. But over the years he’d gathered that it was something dangerous. When his father would come home from abroad his appearance would be unusually disheveled. His normally well trimmed hair and beard would be overgrown and gnarled, his wide eyes encircled by dark rings. He’d go straight for the bedroom and remain there for days before reemerging. Diego’s mother would go to and from the room but he was never allowed to enter unannounced.

Early on he hadn’t cared about where his father had been or why he looked so unkempt upon returning; he would just be elated to have him home. But as he’d aged, his curiosity on the subject increased and he began to question his parents about what was going on. At first they just wouldn’t give him a straight answer, telling him the entire business was for grownups and that he was too young to understand. In spite of this, he wouldn’t let up, asking questions constantly especially when his father was away. He was far more apprehensive about inquiring when his father was at home; a mix of both respect and fear holding him back. After he became a teen though, his confidence and smart remarks reached such a level that one day his parents simply stopped responding to him. He was extremely adept at using their words against them so when the conversations on the subject stopped altogether, he had far less to work with.   

Angered and confused by what he thought of as pure stubbornness and unwarranted distrust, he slowly withdrew from them and into himself. As far as he was concerned, he’d have to find the truth on his own. He still thought the world of his parents but after being cut off in such a way, he felt like an outsider in his own home. Why did they feel the need to keep secrets from him? His father had told him on a number of occasions not to take their secrecy personally but he’d done just that. How could he not take it personally; he wasn’t a distant relative of theirs that came to visit during the holidays, he was their son.

 As the years went by and his father’s flighty departures continued, his relationship with his parents became more and more distant. There were days when he wouldn’t say a single word to his mother even if they were standing a few feet apart. When his father happened to be around he wouldn’t give him the time of day. Any question or statement directed at him was met with short, concise answers. He never said anything that would help any of their conversations to flourish. They knew why he was so cold towards them; he could see it in their eyes. But they still wouldn’t budge, and neither would he.

 Despite all the silence he and his mother were on slightly better terms than he and his father, but only because she was always around. He would watch her move around their dimly lit home always wearing the same dreary expression. She was by far the unhappiest of them all and though he wanted to mend their relationship, he refused to falter. Their small one bedroom flat just outside of Durban, South Africa, didn’t do anything to help ease the awkwardness between them; often times it felt like a jail cell. There was absolutely nothing in their area for him to do for even the most rudimentary entertainment and he had no friends. He spent most of his free time reading or listening to the Walkman his father had given him on his tenth birthday, back when things were better between them. He hadn’t cared for any of the cassettes that had come with it so he would go on walks around the city tuning into different radio frequencies.

Every so often there would be a box of tarnished books beside the dumpster outside his school. An old yellow painted building; it had been scheduled for renovation for about twenty years. Despite its condition he most looked forward to school, not caring much for the weekends. It was the one of the few places he could go to escape the deafening quiet at home. He would salvage what he could from the boxes of books and had a decent sized collection of novels and autobiographies stacked under the coffee table at home. He enjoyed most, the grittier novels about unsolved mysteries and war. Despite the fact that most of them were works of fiction he liked to imagine the plots had taken place somewhere in the world. He had aspirations of becoming a private investigator one day, but the novels would have to do for now.

            “Dammit Israel, you told me last month that you were finished with them; what about your family?” his mother said one day after his father hung up the telephone. Diego was lying back on his bed in the living room, brainstorming for a research paper but he was also listening in on their conversation. He was well aware of why his father had retreated into the room to take the phone call a few moments before. It had been a business call and his father hadn’t wanted to risk him overhearing anything.

“Nadia every breath I take, I take for this family. I wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t to our benefit, you know that,” his father said, wrapping his arms around his mother who’d turned her back on him. She always grew aggravated before he departed but her discontent would never last more than an hour. “Diego, look after your mother while I’m away. I’ll only be a few days.”

“Don’t I always?” he said, sitting up and putting on a worn pair of boots.

 It never failed, his father would say the exact same thing every time he was about to leave. Venturing out of the house without another word Diego slipped his headphones on and headed off down the crack ridden sidewalk. The street was empty as usual except for his father’s old black pickup that was parked on the curb. Most of the residents living in or nearby their building were too poor to afford personal transportation so they either walked to work or caught the bus.

 He’d seen other vehicles parked on the street before but they were almost always vandalized and looted. It baffled him that his father’s truck hadn’t met the same fate; nobody had ever even come within five yards of it as far as he knew. Perhaps the vandals and thieves knew something about his father that he didn’t. This possibility had crossed his mind along with the fact that his father was flat out intimidating. He was a tall, muscular man with hard, black eyes and thin lips. A descendant of the Zulu tribesman, he’d served in the military for a decade before being discharged on classified charges. This was another subject that his parents wouldn’t discuss with him. He sometimes wondered if they were on the run from somebody or if his father was involved in some sort of illegal activity. The hushed whispers he often overheard between them were too suspicious to ignore.

As he walked down the darkening street the thought crossed his mind to just keep going. He was seventeen now, and could take care of himself for the most part. Seeing his reflection in the window of a deserted department store, he smirked and shook his head. Such a decision would be extremely naive for someone in his position. People of mixed heritage were rejected by almost every ethnic faction in South African society. He was either too white or too black in most cases for people to accept him. His chances of finding a decent job as well as a place to stay weren’t good. He’d seen videos at school of the civil rights protests that had taken place in America; thousands of black people marching through the streets getting mowed down by water hoses and policeman with batons and attack dogs.

He’d been left in awe of their refusal to resort to violence or protect themselves. His temper was far too short for such harassment and bigotry and he knew he’d have either have ended up in jail or worse if he had lived under such conditions. Like America, South Africa had seen its worst in the case of racism but it was far from gone. African’s were still at the bottom of the totem pole, so being stuck in the middle only made for a larger target on his back.

None of it made any sense to him. He didn’t understand how having a Dutch mother and African father could lead to such rejection and hostility from people that didn’t even know him. His olive skin and dark curly hair was always at the center of his classmate’s attention, all of which were from traditional African families. They would call him filthy coloured and zebra in the hopes that it would anger him. He could always tell by the hungry looks in their eyes that they were looking for any reason they could find to harm him. Every fiber of his being wanted to retaliate but his parents had gotten him to swear that he would never act out in such a way unless he absolutely had to. Even so, something peculiar would always occur whenever he was being confronted by such individuals. The hairs on the back of his neck would rise up followed by tension that would build slowly in his chest and throat. He didn’t understand why these things happened but they would make him more confident, more sure of himself.

Luckily, the confrontations had never ended in violence because the other kids never laid a hand on him. Their attitudes towards him bothered him less and less as he grew used to them. He thought that if they really felt such negative feelings towards him then they would act on them in an outright manner. He eventually dismissed them as cowards.

He never discussed such matters with his parents having always felt that if they could cope with people that disagreed with their marriage, then he could hold his own as well. This wasn’t the only deterrent that kept him from saying anything to them though.

There had been one occasion when he’d been cornered by one of the more rambunctious hecklers at his school that something eerie had taken place. He’d been emerging from a stall when the boy who’d been leaning against the wall and smoking started harassing him. He’d tried to leave but the boy blocked the door with an obnoxious grin and started taunting him about his parents being race traitors. Diego tried again to open the door but the boy pushed him back against the wall and started laughing. He could tell the boy had been smoking marijuana by the pungent odor in the air.

With the hair on his neck standing on end, and the tension in his chest and throat getting worse, he glared at the boy who pushed his shoulder provokingly. When he raised his hand again Diego’s vocal cords began to produce a bizarre rumbling sound that stopped the boy in his tracks. Unable to stop himself, Diego rushed him causing the boy to slam back into the door. He didn’t touch him but stood with both hands planted firmly on the door on either side of him.

He couldn’t remember how long the two of them had stood there but he remembered the look of terror on the boys face. He’d also seen in the boy’s eyes a reflection of his own; they had turned a bright yellow color. It had been at that moment that he was finally able to back away from the boy who slung the bathroom door open and disappeared. All that was left of him was the joint he’d been smoking which lay burning on the floor.

This incident had never left Diego’s thoughts, often drowning out everything else going on around him. He didn’t like admitting it but when the event had taken place he’d felt as if he’d lost partial control of himself. The sound he’d produced was predatory, and he knew that if the boy had made the wrong move he would have done something terrible to him. What that was exactly he didn’t know, he just knew it wouldn’t have turned out well for either of them.

Nonetheless, his fascination with the event was anything but quelled. Ever since that day he’d felt less sure of himself, and at a baser level, less human. He wanted to share with his parents what had happened, but his own selfishness kept him from doing so. This was something he could keep from them, something he wouldn’t allow them to deny him. In the back of his mind he knew they had to be connected to it in some way. His father’s often wild appearance only added to his ideas.

Keeping in the shadows of the old, rundown buildings, he ventured through the slowly darkening streets. People stood about on the corners drinking and conversing, mainly about local football matches and their discontent with the government. Sirens could be heard in the distance and he wondered if there was a place somewhere that he would be accepted. People like him perhaps, that didn’t care what he looked like or where he came from.

“Ahh, you are crazy. They have no defense!” he heard someone say from a group of men huddled around a trash fire on the other side of the street. The tallest of them looked up at him but he didn’t acknowledge them. If they got a good look at him he knew he’d have to run for it. Impoverished people were the worst when it came to racism and bigotry, what did they have to lose? He could tell by the silence then that they were looking at him so he cut onto another street. Exhaling deeply a few moments later he was relieved that they seemed to have lost interest.

After an hour or so of circling the block he decided he’d given his father ample time to get out of the house. Turning the next corner he made his way in the direction of home.

:::

The house was quiet when he got back and he found a plate of cold chicken in the microwave. His father’s truck hadn’t been in front of the building so it would be just him and his mother for the next few days.

“You may want to warm that up a bit,” she said from the kitchen doorway as he washed his hands. She was wearing the white shawl his father had brought back for her from one of his trips abroad a few years ago. It was worn, with a few discolorations, but she never went anywhere without it. Glancing at her, he could tell she had been crying. Her eyes were puffy and she had her arms folded tight against her body.

She was a beautiful woman with fair hair and pale blue eyes, but she carried with her and anxiousness and sadness that made her seem twice her age. He felt a mix of both irritation and affection when he saw her like this because while their relationship wasn’t the best, he didn’t like seeing her upset.

He studied her expression with steady eyes for a moment. Approaching her hesitantly at first, he took her into a warm embrace in which she gave a deep sigh. They stood in each other’s arms for a while before she pulled away from him and smiled weakly.

“It’s late, eat your supper,” she said, turning and leaving the kitchen.

The next few days went by quickly, and Diego saw no sign of when his father would return. They would usually receive a call from him when he was on his way back but they hadn’t heard from him since the night he’d left, it had been over a week.

That morning before school Diego had seen the uneasiness in his mother’s demeanor. She’d been cleaning the same plate for several minutes before he took it from her and put it away. He’d told her that everything would be okay and not to worry but had little hope his words would be any consolation. He just hoped for her sake that he was right.

With this being the only subject on his mind he’d watched the big hand on the clock at school as it made its way around to the two. When their teacher finally released them he was the first out the door. As he walked towards the school exit he saw the particular bathroom in which the incident with the smoker had taken place. His memory of his eyes flashed through his mind at that moment causing him to bump into someone.

“Watch it kid,” the man said. He was one of the school janitors.

“Sorry,” he said, relieved. Now wasn’t the time to be drawing attention. Passing through a crowd of students, he heard one of them whisper his name but didn’t bother to take notice. Ever since the incident he hadn’t received as many insults as he was accustomed to. Word had probably gotten around about his altercation. Exiting the schools back entrance, he fumbled around in his pocket for his walkman. The sun was out but there was still a bit of nip in the air.

 “Diego my dear, do you need a lift?” said a woman from the driver’s seat of a small blue convertible as he placed his headphones on his shaggy head. It was his psychology teacher, an elderly white woman. She was one of his nicer teachers, and besides the school principal, the only white staff member.

“No thanks, I could use the walk,” he said, as she waved and sped off down the narrow street. She would have drawn a lot of unwarranted attention to herself if he took her to his part of town.

As he cut down the various trash-cluttered back alleys leading towards home he tried not to dwell too much on the whereabouts of his father. He hoped that he’d at least called by now. The old blues tune he was listening to helped him block out more than his thoughts. He hadn’t noticed the three men that were tailing him.

 Humming a tune to himself, he paused momentarily as two scruffy white dogs cut across his path. No sooner had they passed did a small grey cat come creeping out from behind an old pile of rags lying next to a busted TV set. Diego started to step over the animal knowing that strays were often feral but couldn’t bring himself to ignore it. Leaning down carefully he was surprised that it didn’t make a run for it. Instead, it looked him straight in his eyes before jumping into his arms.

“Let’s get you out of here,” he said. The cat lay tight against his chest as he walked and he figured it saw him as some sort of protection.

 Judging by how docile it was it had probably belonged to someone at some point. Feral cats wouldn’t even let you get near them. Stepping out of the alley, they crossed a street with light traffic. It was obvious when they were nearing his side of town. The vehicles would appear progressively shabbier; most of which being made up of several different cars or trucks. People would often purchase the engines first before scouring junkyards for the rest of the parts. An old brown truck spewing black exhaust rolled to a stop in front of him then. There were several men covered in soot riding in the bed of the truck, its tailgate missing.

The cat, who’d been sitting still for the most part, had suddenly become more active. It had placed its paws on his chest and was looking back over his shoulder.

“Yeah, you’re okay now,” he said. The cat was making a high-pitched call but he could barely hear it over the noise of his headphones. Pulling one of the pads from his ear the cat’s call rang through his head loud and clear and he immediately turned back. As if reacting by instinct, he didn’t question himself. It was then that he met the gazes of three shadowy figures. They were on the other side of the street and were looking directly at him. He recognized the tallest of them as the man he’d seen the night his father had departed. The cat jumped out of his hands then and he turned slowly and continued on. Turning his Walkman off he glanced over his shoulder again and wasn’t surprised to find the men making their way across the street.

As he made his way out onto the next street he found the intersection gridlocked. People’s horns were blaring and a few of them were standing outside their vehicles craning their necks ahead. Making his way between the cars Diego could feel the hair on his neck starting to spike. Ducking under a large semi he made it to the other side of the street. No sooner had he entered the alley though did he hear swift footsteps behind him.

“I told you, he’s a damned zebra,” he heard one of the men yell as he took off running. Glancing back over his shoulder he could see that the gap between him and the men was widening. Breaking out onto the next street he jumped and slid over the hood of a car causing the man inside to curse at him. His father’s old boots were quite worn but they gave him perfect traction. He doubted strongly that anybody would take notice of what was happening to him. He continued on like this for several blocks and was relieved when he could no longer hear any footsteps. His chest heaving, he turned back and saw no sign of them in the cluttered alley. Why had they been chasing after him?

 As he thought about this he recognized a familiar, dozen or so, wooden crates he’d just passed and knew he was nearly home. Attempting to take a short cut down an adjacent alley something slammed hard into the side of his head and everything went black.

Ch 2

“We’re going to have some fun with this one, boys,” a gruff voice said. Head still spinning, Diego slowly opened his eyes. The high ceiling above was cracked and white; its old fans hanging motionless. He’d been blindsided by someone in the alley; that was for sure. The right side of his face was swollen making it hard to see out of that eye.

“Where am I, let me go?” he said, attempting to move but failing. He could just make out two men standing near him through his blurred vision. He’d only seen three of them following him but there had to have been more. They’d been able to flank him.

“Oh don’t you worry about that sweetheart, everything’s going to be just fine,” said one of the men approaching him and groping his thighs. Grunting in frustration, Diego struggled with the straps subduing his wrists and ankles. There were two voices talking somewhere out of his line of sight.

“Let me go you sick fuck!” he said as the man’s small, grubby hands crept up towards his crotch. Seeing the man’s blank expression and slightly agape mouth as he touched him, Diego could feel a familiar tension building in his chest and throat. Short and pudgy, the man’s kinky black hair was patchy, as if he had some sort of skin condition.

“That’s not a nice thing to say,” another voice said as took another hard blow to his head. Closing his eyes, Diego shook off the pain, taking in a deep breath through his nose. At that point more than just the hair on his neck had risen. Every hair on his body had followed suit as the tension continued to build. His heart was picking up its pace as well. Something was happening to him, and despite his uncertainty, he just hoped it would do him some good.

“Let me go,” he said, as his chest gave a violent heave causing the table he was laying on to shift. The pain it caused was far worse than what the blows to his head had managed. His voice, didn’t sound like his own, it was much deeper, with a distinct rasp to it. He pulled with all his might then and the cloth straps holding him down began to give slightly, their fibers tearing.

“You idiots, I told you to make sure he was secure. Namdi, get his clothes, we’re going to make this quick; the organs have to be fresh.”

Diego felt his restraints being pulled tighter then as the man with the grubby hands flipped open a gleaming switchblade. Just then, the sound of hissing came from under the table. Diego didn’t know how he could tell, but despite the excruciating physical changes he could feel taking place inside him, he knew it was the cat from the alley.

“Who let this damned thing in here?” said the man who’d hit him. The cat let out a cry as it was struck by something. The man with the switchblade had also started to cut open his sweater and undershirt.

 Diego could hear the cat struggling to breathe nearby. Somehow it managed to make a high pitched call that seared into him. Giving one last wet gasp it stopped moving. At that moment Diego felt as if his entire body had been enveloped in fire and his chest gave another great heave before he collapsed motionless onto the table.

“That’s a good boy, don’t fight it.” As the man’s rancid breath flowed down over his face Diego’s eyes snapped open. The dark, gaunt man standing over him had been wearing a smirk initially but it faded immediately and his jaw went slack. “What th—,” before he had finished his sentence, Diego broke one of his hands free, and grabbed him by the throat in a vice-like grip. Ripping out of his own clothing and restraints, he let out a long animalistic groan as his body started a rapid but excruciating transformation. His bones and muscles elongated and expanded as light brown fur sprouted all over his body, starting in the center of his face and working its way down. As his face contorted and reformed itself he opened his mouth wide as felt his teeth reforming themselves. They had grown jagged, almost lion-like, his canines several times larger than the rest.

Lifting the man into the air he plunged his hand into his abdomen tearing it open violently. His finger nails had been replaced by strong, black talons. The man’s entrails poured out of him as his eyes rolled into the back of his head. Crushing his windpipe, Diego threw him hard against the wall where his body fell into a heap on the floor. The other three men seemed unable to move in their dread as he drew himself to his full height. He’d grown nearly two feet, his lean, powerful body being just under eight feet now.

“Please, please, don’t kill me,” said the one who’d been fondling him. His small watery eyes only incensed Diego further as he stepped towards them. The other men stood with wide, horrified looks on their faces, not saying a word. With each breath Diego felt stronger, more sure of himself. He looked over each of them before glancing down at the small grey body of the cat lying on the floor. Making up his mind with little effort he felt no remorse for the men or for what he was about to do. Judging by the ice filled coolers and cutting utensils surrounding the table, they’d been serious about harvesting his organs.

The man threw the switchblade hard at him but the handle merely glanced off his chest, to which’s breadth had nearly doubled. Letting out a deafening roar, Diego sprang forward with unforgiving fury as everything went red. Haunting screams filled the deserted building as he tore them apart. He enjoyed the horrified expressions in their eyes; he would be the last thing they’d ever see.

:::

The tearing of flesh and pure exhilaration coursed through Diego’s mind as his eyes flashed open and he pushed himself upward. Bursting through the surface of pinkish water, he took in several lung full’s of air. He was in the bathtub at home, completely naked. His entire body ached immensely but he also felt in each of its fibers a new strength, unlike any he’d felt before. The smell of the blood in the water was extremely distinct, intensifying his memory of what had happened. Looking down at his hands, they were still stained red.

He managed a shaky attempt to get out of the bathtub, sloshing water on the dark wooden floor and stumbling over to the sink. Examining himself in the mirror, he steadied his breathing. His body looked different, more muscular and defined. He took a moment to wash his mouth out. He hadn’t consumed any part of the men but hadn’t been able to refrain from using his mouth in their dismemberment. The darkness around his eyes made it look like he hadn’t slept for days.

“Diego, clean yourself up,” his mother said, coming in suddenly and handing him some clothes. She didn’t look him in the eyes when she said this and he couldn’t manage to bring himself to speak. His memory of what had taken place was so vivid that he had to stop his heart from beating out of his chest. Gripping the countertop hard and closing his eyes he fought off the sound attempting to escape from his throat. He could sense that he could create the sound at will now. Looking back at the bathtub he pondered how long he’d been submerged. But more importantly, who’d put him there, and what happened after he’d killed those men? Had he blacked out? This bit of his memory was unclear.

“You have to learn to control it,” a familiar voice said from outside the bathroom door. Turning to the door, Diego clinched his jaw together and exhaled. His father’s presence drove him to move faster as he dried off and put on the clothes his mother had given him.

She was sitting, glossy eyed, on the couch when he came out. His father stood in the darkest corner of the room. All Diego could see of him were two yellow eyes watching him, they were slightly paler than his own when changed. As his father stepped out from the darkness he noticed that his clothes were covered in blood.

“What happened to me?” he asked, glancing down into the trash can next to him where his tattered and blood stained clothes lay.

“You experienced your very first shift, killing five men in the process,” his father said looking away from him and walking over to the window. “I’m going to need you to pack a change of clothes Diego, there are things you and I must attend to.”

His business as usual tone baffled Diego as much as it agitated him. The two of them hadn’t shared a meaningful conversation in years, and all his father had to say was that he should pack some clothes.

“I know this must be confusing for you my son but you must listen to me, time is of the essence.” He turned his back on Diego then, looking down at the floor.

He could hear what sounded like anxiety in his father’s voice but he wasn’t going to give up that easily.

“Where are we going?” he asked as his mother jumped up with wide eyes and trembling hands.

“Israel you promised me, you said you’d never take him there,” she said rushing over to his father and turning him around by the shoulder. Grabbing her carefully, his father pulled her towards him.

“You promised me!” she said beating on his chest with her fist. Tears streaming from her eyes, she eventually calmed down and submitted to his embrace.

“I have no choice, the Council will find out eventually. If we don’t go directly to them now then things will only get worse.”

“Worse for me you mean; how could you keep something like this from me?” Diego said stepping forward, as his eyes flashed yellow. Pushing his mother aside, his father stepped directly in front of him as his face transformed partially, revealing coarse brown hair on his forehead and around his eyes.

“Don’t you dare challenge me, Diego. You are my son but I will not hesitate to put you in your place.” The seriousness of his father’s tone was undeniable. And judging by the hard look in his eyes, he’d meant every word.

“Stop it, both of you!” his mother said stepping in between them, her face moist and red. Diego backed up slowly, recognizing that such a display had been foolish. His temper was a lot harder to control now.

“You saw what I did to those men. If you knew this would happen why didn’t you warn me; what are we?” he asked as his father’s face returned to normal; the tension between them still high.  

“Because— I never wanted this life for you, it’s far more dangerous than you can imagine Diego. I vowed to myself when you were born that I’d do everything in my power to keep you away from this life, even if that meant driving a stake between us.”

His words hit Diego hard and though he wanted to give a retort he decided to remain silent. He wanted so badly to curse his father but knew he just didn’t know enough to make a fair argument.

 “The only way that I would have revealed anything to you was if you showed signs of shifting. It usually happens when under distress, fits of violent anger, and minor transformations. But you never did; so naturally we thought you hadn’t inherited the ability from me. Diego, what you did today is unheard of. It can sometimes take years to master a full shift and you managed it on your first try.” The three of them stood in silence for a while as Diego organized his next words.

“There was an incident a couple of months ago at school, but nothing as significant as this. I didn’t tell you because I knew you two were hiding things from me as well. And seeing that they are connected it should be clear to you that it is not your decision to decide my fate.” With every word he spoke Diego felt the psychological clamp that had been holding him down for so long lifting. His father’s still expression depicted to him that though he didn’t like what he was hearing, he understood the reasoning. Not only had he inherited the monstrous ability his father possessed, but his stubbornness as well.

“No more secrets then,” his father said. Giving him a nod, Diego felt like they were on somewhat even ground. There would be consequences, no doubt, but he did feel a little better about the situation.

“I’ll pack my things,” he said leaving his parents alone with each other. None of this made any sense to him. His father hadn’t given him much to go on, but he knew bickering wouldn’t get him the answers he was looking for. This was what his parents had been hiding from him for so long. They were some sort of shape shifters. The thing about it that perplexed him the most was that he wasn’t really that surprised by all of it. Something about the bathroom incident and that afternoon had felt so natural to him. Somewhere deep down, he’d known. Seeing his father’s wild eyes when he was a little boy had been the first sign, he just hadn’t recognized it for what it was.

 As he packed he wondered why his parents weren’t the slightest bit upset with him. He’d mutilated five grown men and they hadn’t even so much as asked him why he’d done it. They were clearly still withholding information from him. Deciding to hold his tongue he was just glad the truth was starting to come out. The only thing he was sure of was that his father had been the one to find him. What other excuse was there for his bloody clothing?

 “We’ll have plenty of time to talk on the plane, make sure you have your coat,” his father said. His demeanor made Diego think that he was all to accustomed to situations like theirs; especially seeing that he still hadn’t bothered to change his clothes

“Where are we going?”

“A city called Chicago in the United States, its winter there.”

“I was only defending myself?” he said. His father looked at him critically for a moment, with pursed lips.

“I’m hoping that they will be lenient. What happened today is as much my fault as it is yours. I was wrong; I should have been honest with you from the very beginning. It’s my hope that your former captor’s intentions should significantly sway your punishment with the Council.”

“This Council you speak of; are they like us?” he asked looking at himself in the mirror and touching his face. It looked like he hadn’t shaved in weeks even though he’d done so the night before. His eyes changed color with just a thought and he found himself growing fond of them. Regardless of the circumstances he’d never felt anything remotely close to the exhilaration he’d experienced that night.

“Some of them are, but there are others as well. They are the ones we have to worry about.” His father walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Their dark brown eyes were nearly identical but his father’s were steadier, more reserved. Diego pondered what those eyes had seen, where they’d been.

“Others?” he asked.

“Yes, you will meet them soon enough. There are four separate clans that make up Federation; all you need to know right now is that you are a part of the Ikati. We are the most powerful of all the clans, our senior elder heads the Council.” With that his father turned to leave the room.

“So we have more influence?” he asked, half knowing the answer already.

“More than the others, yes, but the other clans can challenge us if they think we’re abusing our authority. That is why we must go to them and own up to what happened. Say we were to cover this up and they somehow found out about it. There would be hell to pay, I can promise you that.”

“But how could they find out?”

“No more questions for now Diego. Our flight is leaving out of Queenstown in a few hours and we have a long drive ahead of us.”