That afternoon, evening and night came and went in one motion. Rachel and I had clearly reached an agreement that involved letting me sleep quietly. I was just unaware of our accord until the next morning when my eyes shot open.

My room was dark. The world felt strange. My arms laid numb on either side. None of my fingers reported the sensation of sheets around me. Even my chest failed to move while I struggled to remember what should occur upon awareness.

Then it hit me.

Breathing should happen.

Heavy air flooded into lungs as I gasped. My heart raced into motion or maybe it had been pounding all along in a panic. No other noise in the house stirred aside from my frantic actions.

I curled up and rolled from my tiny bed straight down to the floor. Carpet flattened against my knees. Elephants sitting would have been quieter.

My thoughts were scattered half-formed ideas trying to recall a dream I had. Gray images and lots of darkness. The pieces crawled together in spurts. A strange world of faint fire rolling across the sky. Large patterned objects stood tall against a pastel background while below them stood a sea of angry red eyes.

Memory played out a hand reaching for me. Emotions only conveyed by a warped expression on one shadow's face. Uncontainable longing, hunger, anger, and frustration. The face itself was indistinguishable from dozens of others around it. Creatures of darkness writhed through the landscape.

I wanted to remember more and figure out why those images felt familiar. Nothing came to mind. My body heaved a few more breaths as I started to rationalize it. Dreams were extremely rare, but maybe those images were a nightmare from a television show. The half-heard whispers that accompanied those red eyes probably belonged to my subconscious. It was just replaying prior day conversations. Was the world going to hell? Vampires jockeying for power, wolves refusing to work. Next elves would stop trading and stay entombed in their clan homes. Anyone would be stressed.

Later, Rachel woke up with the approaching dawn. I heard her come down the stairs slowly, cautiously, as if she knew that someone else was awake before her. Maybe she sensed my exhausted agitation, or I banged around too much last night.

I sat in front of the television, bleary-eyed, watching reruns from yesterday's news. Wolves striking had forced many companies to invest in better equipment, put out expenditures that hadn't been expected. Newscasters raved about how stocks were a roller coaster. Yet the strike was ongoing, talks were faltering all over the board, and nothing new was happening. It was mind boggling how such a large chunk of one race could up and refuse to work. Maybe all the Alphas had decided together at a meeting or something.

It wasn’t my problem, especially out here. Tennison and Hyatt seemed devoid of a pack, elves, and vampires. Not enough of a nightlife and no Sector mandated parks for the elves to maintain. The county seemed to be mostly human.

"You okay, kiddo?" Rachel hesitated to step into her own kitchen. I looked over, barely aware, and grunted.

"Right." She saw my state and came up with her standard solution, food. "I'll get some eats cooking. You stay right there."

"'Kay." My face slowly melted over crossed arms. Eyes drooped closed then shot open in a panic repeatedly. Each time the whispers from my dreams crept back a pop of sizzling bacon would jerk me to consciousness.

"That's hot now, let it cool." A ceramic plate clattered onto the counter.

"'Kay."

"Eggs too?"

"'Kay." I was stuck on repeat.

Rachel clearly had enough and expressed displeasure with a wooden ladle to my forehead.

"Show some appreciation for my hard work, junior."

I smiled a little this time then said, "'Kay."

She hit me harder then slid over silverware to go with the meal in front of me. Moments later she was shuffling around again, cracking eggs, throwing on seasoning, and clanking everything in the room at least twice.

I wasn't hung over so the noise didn't bother me. I'd just slept terribly. Rachel was right, though, food helped. A few pieces of bacon in and the world was brighter already. Finally, sated and happier, I stood up.

"Thanks. Your food's great." I meant it too. Rachel stopped what she was doing and looked over with a smile. In the background, her little television blared out the latest worrywart theories.

"My pleasure." She said.

"I'm going to go out."

"Don't run on a full belly!"

"Just a walk." I picked up the plate and started towards the sink. Rachel waved me off.

"I'll take care of it." She shoved me away. "Go clear your head."

I shuffled out the door with less enthusiasm than yesterday. Maybe things would end on a brighter note. Rachel had certainly helped with the meal. Maybe this place would last longer than the others after all. Tennison. Strange that a place so far out of the way would start to feel like home.

A stray vibration brought Rachel's words to me as I left the building. "That boy. Always troubled."

What struck me as odd was how feeling words felt commonplace. I shook my head dismissed the occurrence nearly as soon as it happened. Feeling words a second time had to be complete nonsense no matter how natural it was.

This morning was dark. The old man was probably out and about somewhere. We never actually exchanged names but he probably knew mine from Rachel. It was a small town and gossip spread through them like wildfire, even with the advent of the internet. These kinds of places still had people out on their front porches, talking, eating, watching sunsets and sunrises.

I walked casually without a destination. Feet traveled to the right when it seemed best. They turned left just as easily. There was no chance of me ending up anywhere extremely interesting. Not out here. The town had one bar, two gas stations, and corner markets that were trying to carry one of everything. There was a city park on the eastern side of town for children. No one would be there this early.

That was where I found myself fifteen minutes later. Staring at a large twirly slide that was a few years away from being a deathtrap. With one hand I deliberately felt at the edges, relished the pattern changes between smooth polished metal to paint chipped surface and finally over the rust covered areas. Each brief texture a different sensation under my fingers.

I wandered from there to the swings then felt the dense clingy rubber of the seats and twists of chain link. Grain on the wooden supports and a dirt blasted pay phone. One hand wandered to the receiver while my other dug out a few pieces of change and clinked them into a small slot. A dial tone replaced the automated demand for money.

Then a number was dialed and someone spoke. My head felt dizzy as it blotted out and a rapid dial tone played. I tried to remember the number that my fingers had punched but couldn't. Even the voice was a blur. By the time my feet reached Rachel's porch all thoughts of my mystery call were almost gone.

By the time church bells rang out the next hour I was in the passenger seat of a truck. Groaning out my displeasure at being trapped in a metal monstrosity next to the chattiest person this side of Western Sector. Maybe this situation was a blessing. His constant demands for verbal engagement kept me from getting overly melancholy. Near the end of our nine hours of deliveries and driving my brain had completely shifted from teetering depression to a desire for escape.

At last, the driver dropped me off blocks away from work with a promise to tell Henderson I had worked my full shift. Henderson didn't care as long as the jobs were done. Or at least he hadn't cared so far. My first real paycheck would have to wait until next Monday.

Rachel must have worried up a storm. The house smelled fantastic and pastries were clearly on tonight's menu. Hopefully, there was some meat in there somewhere. A real steak or slab of cow would have been welcome.

I padded around looking for food solutions. There was a kitchen grill for meat that hadn’t been used in months. There were a few pans on a higher shelf that also seemed untouched. I wondered how a shorter woman like Rachel even got them up there in the first place.

Hunger made me settle for the baked goods. Rachel came in from the garden and was kind enough not to ask about my day. Not once did the wooden utensils hit me in chastisement. Gloom must have lined my face clearly enough that she felt sorry for me. Hell. To Rachel, I was probably a giant stray dog.

There was an itching sensation on my wrist the entire meal. I absently picked at it and searched for a bug bite dozens of times. Eyes would drift over the limb, not register anything odd, then slip away to something else on the counter.

It was easy to be distracted and out of sorts. This was still a new place to me, no matter how far my morning exercises had gotten. And didn't I have some place to be anyway? I put up my own dishes this time and headed for the park. That's where I was earlier this morning and where the old man had invited me to go at dusk.

Rachel said nothing, but her quiet brown eyes were keen on my every movement about her kitchen. It felt like her gaze followed me out the door and down the street as well. I leisurely made my way to the park before the evening rush started. Not that this town was that lively on a busy day.

The old man was there in the middle of a crowd moving along. His giant canine laid down under a tree. Either Senior was tired or bored. Exhaustion seemed more likely given how many laps that near wolf did around me yesterday.

There were about twenty people in total. Children, adults, females, males, the entire range of possibilities were lined up like a class. One large stern looking man stood in front demonstrating what to do while the others followed.

Was this yoga? I stood back and watched the movements, studied the area and spacing. Not that there was much to compare it to. The instructor must have been really good because I almost fell into pace with them. It was like I knew which way he was going. Next he could flow into a stance that leaned slightly forward, one arm up high, the other down near their navels.

The old man's canine companion leapt up and wandered over to where I was. His white fur didn't stand out as much at dusk. A wound lined one side, perhaps where he'd gotten into a fight with another dog. He sat down a few feet away, not facing me, but angled towards the gathering in the park. Senior watched where I watched. As if trying to figure out what was so interesting.

Smells and sounds washed over me. The slow casual counting of the man in charge reminded me of a scene in the past. That gathering had been smaller and maybe ten people at most. Those in the memory were sparring in practice because they needed to protect someone. The recollection was a barely tangible thing. Trying to grab ahold of it was hurting my head.

My silent partner kept watching the dance in front of us. Each movement linked to the next. The instructor leading the group kept his pace even, slow and collected. His hair trimmed extremely low and a dark pair of glasses sat on his nose. Blue sweats and a tee that tensed over defined muscles and a slight belly.

There were two other figures traveling through the crowd. They looked like brothers with nearly identical expressions. Both were stone-faced and barrel-chested like the instructor in front. Their corrections were gentle. People moving along were told to adjust their feel slightly, or place hands higher. Some students were instructed to fix their pelvis tilt or pry back their head.

The dog snorted and kept watching.

I didn't snort but lost focus instead. Vision drifted to the pay phone nearby. This morning I used it but couldn’t remember the person on the other end. The person’s name and face were out of reach and trying to dive into the blur of memory made me lose track of time.

Sunset came and went before the exercise finished. Slowly the crowd broke up and started going their separate ways. Whoever the instructor was calmly talked to a few stragglers. Something about his face stirred half-memories. We had met recently, I was sure of that much.

"You made it, James!" The old man was jubilant as he walked over to Senior and I. "How did you like our group?"

"They’re okay. Was that the workout you were talking about?" I pointed towards where they had all been gathered.

"Of course. It's a great practice, very relaxing, helps focus the mind and body." He said.

"Bit of a strange group." I scratched my head and shrugged. Not just the age range. Each person had looked a little off. Some stood weird, more hunched than expected. Others were a bit wirier than average or had bigger ears and tiny hands.

"Family's always weird." The older man said with a similar shrug.

"You're all related?"

"Not really, we just found each other over time, they're as much my family as any flesh and blood." He was a difficult man to understand. It could have been his age, but it sounded like he had marbles in his mouth.

"More so, sometimes." The second man said while walking over towards us. He spoke loudly and stood tall.

"There’s two types of family right?" I tried to remember the saying.

"Blood and bonds. It’s good to hear you understand, James." The instructor said. He didn’t smile as much.

I understood where this conversation was going before they even asked. The whole speech coming was predictable. I tried to back out before anyone could tie me down. "Look, sir."

"Tal, my father. I'm Roy." The instructor said. He annunciated things a lot better than his father had. Tal blinked in confusion then brightened.

"Right, forgot to introduce myself." Tal frowned for a moment.

"It's fine." I said. "I'm not sure how long I'll be around."

"We understand." Roy spoke with that deep and attention-grabbing voice.

"While you're here, feel free to join us. Consider yourself family." Tal had the same tone, but it seemed mellowed by age.

White hot anger flashed through my mind before being suppressed by panic. Family? I had no real family. They were gone. My father was nothing but a vague voice in my head. The people who had supported me during my growing years was a stern man that I couldn’t remember. Hell.

Thoughts that made no sense were fighting each other in my head. Itching plagued my wrist. Fingers were pulling at the skin, trying to remove the source of irritation. I tried to mute the actions and not seem like I just had a crazy fit but it was difficult.

Roy and Tal politely said nothing while my mind tried to sort out conflicting thoughts. I was aware enough to see them exchange a worried glance.

"I'm okay." I gritted through teeth.

"I hope so." Tal tried to smile but looked wary.

"We've got to head out, work soon. You have a good night." Roy said. His father grunted while rubbing at burn marks on his neck. They both nodded briskly and walked off to a parked car.

I guess some people did work the night shift in this nowhere town. Unless they drove to Hyatt, or further. Dales was nearly a three-hour drive to the east. Those two large guys fit that place more than they fit Tennison.

None of this was my business anyway. Thoughts spiraled around the conflicting elements of my past. What I remembered felt wrong, which was impossible. There were no ways to mess with a person's memory like that, was there?

Then there was meeting Tal and Roy, officially. Something about them reassured me and pissed me off at the same time. That crisscross of feelings only happened when I knew someone well and typically went with a long history, debts owed, and occasionally a deep grudging respect. With Roy, it felt like all three.

Hell.

I spent the entire walk home trying to figure out what was wrong with my head.