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“Last Supper”

by Richard Dansky

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The night I put down her brother, Cecily didn’t want to make love. I reached for her in the bed we shared in the massive farmhouse she’d inherited when she became leader of the pack, but she pulled away.

“Not tonight,” she said. “I don’t want those hands to touch me.”

“Is this because of your brother?” I asked.

She rolled over and stared at me, blonde hair flopping over one eye. “Of course it’s about Cole,” she said. “You killed him today.”

Carefully, I drew my hand back. “You know why I did it,” I said. Not accusing, just a statement of fact.

She let out an explosion of breath. “I know. I told you to do it. And someone had to. But I don’t want the hands that pulled the trigger on my brother touching me tonight. I need some time to mourn, and I can’t do that by sleeping with his killer.”

“I understand,” I said, and got out of bed.

Cecily propped her head up on one arm, “Where are you going?” she asked.

“The couch,” I answered. “You’re right. You shouldn’t be with me right now. I’ll see you in the morning. Love you.”

“I love you too,” she said, and then lay down and turned her back to me. I watched her for a minute, then padded into the hallway and was gone.

---

I got up early the next morning and went into the kitchen. I figured I’d make Cecily some breakfast, maybe some country ham and eggs with French toast because who doesn’t like a good French toast. Instead, to my surprise, she was already up, nursing a cup of coffee.

“Morning, Cecily,” I said. 

“Morning,” she answered. “It’s going to be a big day today. The whole family’s coming for Thanksgiving dinner. I’m going to have to start cooking soon.”

“What can I do to help?” I asked. 

“Go dig a grave,” she answered. “Get him out of the back of your truck and into the ground. Pick a spot in the back field. Mark it when you’re done. We’ll hold the funeral after supper, when the moon comes up.”

I nodded. “Mind if I get some coffee first?”

Cecily gestured to the pot, which was still half full. “Help yourself.” There was silence for a moment, and then she said, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” I paused with a mug in one hand and the coffeepot in the other. 

“For last night. You shouldn’t have had to sleep out on that lumpy old couch.”

I shrugged and poured the coffee, then took a sip. “It’s fine,” I said. “I understand. Let me know when you want me back in your bed. I don’t want to be there if it’s going to hurt you. And I shouldn’t have, well, you know. Just thought it might be some comfort.”

“It’s our bed,” she said, sounding tired. There were rings under her eyes. She hadn’t slept well, I could tell. Part of me pitied the turkey and ham she’d be preparing. Part of me just hurt seeing her that way.

She took another sip of her coffee. I took a swig of mine and burned my mouth. “You all right?” Cecily asked.

“Yeah,” I told her., and put the mug down on the counter so the coffee could cool off. Cecily liked hers with a lot of cream and two sugars. I took it black, no metaphors or pithy sayings with it. I just liked strong coffee. 

Cecily finished her cup and stood, walking the empty mug over to the sink. “I do love you, you know,” she said. “You’re the only one I could ask to do it.”

“I know,” I told her, and wrapped her in my arms. She stood stock still for a minute, then hugged me tight back. “I’m sorry, babe. I know you loved Cole, too.”

She leaned back and looked at me. “My brother was a drunk and a meth head and an idiot. He wasted his God-given gifts. And I loved him anyway, but I had to protect the whole family, not just him. I’d already covered for him for too long. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

“I liked him, too,” I said simply, and that was all. There didn’t seem to be much else to say.

We held each other for another long moment, then awkwardly detached. “Put some pants on before you go bury Cole,” Cecily said. “It’s chilly out there.”

I smiled, which made her smile, a little bit. “Yes ma’am. Anything else?”

“No.” Her smile faded. “Just leave me be. We’ve both got work to do.”

---

I got showered and dressed, then headed out to my truck. There were plenty of shovels and other tools leaning up against the side of the porch, so I took one, then I checked under the tarp. Cole’s body was still there, curled up as if he were asleep. Only the puddle of blood underneath him gave the lie to that impression. I was going to have to hose the truck out, I reflected. Didn’t want any evidence if the police ever came looking for Cole, didn’t want a bit of him back there to attract ghosts. I put the tarp back in place, dropped the shovel in beside, and got in the cab.

The back field was my destination, as per Cecily’s instructions. Two muddy ruts in the dirt passed for a road up that way, and I took it slow and careful in the early morning light. We’d put the field into Conservation a couple of years back, which was a fancy way of saying the government was paying us not to grow crops on it. They didn’t pay much, but it was something, and all I had to do was mow it every once in a while. 

I rounded one last curve, came through a curtain of trees, and there it was, an empty field. The dry skeletons of what had been wildflowers rustled in the wind, and a small herd of whitetails was grazing at the far end of the field. At the sound of my truck’s engine, they looked up, then bounded off, fearful of predators.

Smart of them, I thought, and drove up along the edge of the field. When I got within spitting distance of the wall of trees that marked the creek that served as the property line, I cut the engine and got out. Grabbing the shovel, I walked out into the field. One spot was likely as good as another, I told myself, but I kept walking until I found a place that felt right. Cole had always like running the back field, chasing deer and wild turkeys, and I hoped he’d find peace here. Then I put those thoughts aside and started digging. The ground was cold and wet from the previous night’s rain, and didn’t want to come up easy, but I kept at it. It was the right thing to do.

After a while I got the sense I was being watched. I stopped digging and looked around. At first I didn’t see anything, then scanning the creekline, I spotted them.

Wolves. Two of them, sitting there, watching me from the shadows. I got the feeling they didn’t approve.

Family was arriving early, I thought, and leaned on the shovel. “That side of the creek’s Mister Steele’s property,” I said. They stayed where they were for a moment, then crossed the water and trotted toward me. They were big, both of them, and they came up to the edge of the grave and sniffed. The eyes that regarded me were not kind.

“Cecily’s orders,” I told them. “You’d better get up to the house and see if she needs help in the kitchen. I’ll be done here soon enough.”

The smaller of the two let out a soft growl, but didn’t move until the big one nudged him. Then they walked off, pausing only to piss on my tires before disappearing down the track toward the house. “Very funny,” I said. Wolf piss is pungent stuff, and didn’t want the rest of the family thinking I’d let some dipshit cousin put his mark on my property.

Frowning, I went back to digging. 

Eventually, the hole was deep enough. I kept digging a bit past that point, making sure Cole was going to rest deep and dark in the red, clayey soil. Knifing the shovel into the pile of dirt I’d pulled out of the ground, I headed back to the truck for Cole’s body. He was light in my arms. The years of addiction had taken their toll. I cradled him in my arms, feeling dried blood cake and flake off as I did, then I carried him over to the grave. Gently, I laid him in the ground.
“Sorry, Cole,” I said. “I really am,” and I was. That didn’t make any difference to Cole, of course. He was still dead, and I was still the one who’d got him that way. But I could give him the best burial I had in me, and so I did. 

I said a couple of prayers then, because it seemed like the right thing to do. Then I started shovelling dirt into the grave. Cole didn’t object, so I kept going until it was roughly level with the untouched field. Then I threw the shovel in the back of the truck, and walked down to the creek. it was a small one, but it ran with energy over the rocks and mud. Picking at random, I lifted up one of the stones that was big enough to serve as a kind of marker, and carried it to the grave. Then I left it there, and got back in my truck. I thought about texting Cecily to let her know it was done, but she had enough going on what with the cooking and family arriving early. Better not to bother her.

Throwing the truck into gear, I turned it around and headed back toward the house, and whatever waited for me there.

---

I pulled up near the back of the house. Plenty of cars were already there, including one in my usual parking space. Grumbling, I got out and went for the hose. It was coiled up neatly on a hoop at the side of the house. I unwound it, turned it on, and walked back to the truck to hose it down.

Rian was waiting when I got there, dressed in a grey Oxford and deep blue jeans. His silver hair was slicked back; he’d respected the occasion in his own way.  “Jerry,” he said by way of greeting. “Is it true?”

I nodded. “It’s true.” Rian was Cecily’s favorite uncle, and I was fond of him as well. He’d been a voice for accepting me into the family when Cecily had brought me home with the intent of turning me. If I’d lost him, I was in trouble. But I wasn’t going to lie.

He nodded, slowly. “I figured. Cecily told me what happened, but I wanted to hear it from your lips.”

“I did what I did for the family, and because Cecily said so,” I said, and motioned with the hose nozzle. “You might want to stand back. Don’t want to get you wet.”

He backed away. “You’re going to want to be careful today. Fuckup or not, Cole was family.”

“And I’m still not,” I finished for him. “I understand. That’s why she asked me to do it. ‘Cause none of you could have.”

“That might be true,” he admitted. “But it doesn’t change anything. So watch yourself. Cecily would hate for a brawl to break out over the supper table.”

Despite myself, I laughed. Rian gave me the faintest of grins, then walked back into the house. I could hear Cecily yelling at him to get out of the kitchen and I turned my attention to the truck.

---

Half an hour later I was satisfied I could no longer see blood or smell piss, so I wound the hose back up and turned the water off. It was getting on towards noon, and the sounds of the family came busting out of the house at every seam. There was laughter, there was yelling, there were all sorts of noises designed to make a man glad to see kin. Every so often I could hear Cecily’s voice raised, barking orders that were instantly obeyed if people knew what was good for them.

Finally I couldn’t find an excuse to stay outside any longer. More cars were pulling up, and family members were piling out. None of them seemed particularly eager to talk to me, as they headed for the house in chattering clusters. I let them go without a greeting. then went in the back door to the kitchen.

Cecily was conducting in there, directing a couple of aunts and cousins in the making of stuffing and sweet potato casserole while she addressed the massive turkey and equally massive ham that were going to be the centerpieces of the afternoon’s meal. “What are you doing in here?” she asked me by way of greeting.

“Just passing through. Thought I’d wash off before supper.” As I spoke I edged through the whirling women toward the door.

“All right then,” Cecily said, her eyes never straying from the turkey she was basting. “But once you’re done, get down to the cellar and haul up another couple cases of beer. They’re thirsty out there.”

“Yes ma’am,” I said, and disappeared to rinse the dirt from the grave away.

---

They were happy to see the beer at least when I brought it upstairs. It was already cold, and greedy hands grabbed for the green glass bottles before I could finish putting them in the tub of ice in the front room. Then I did a circuit of the first floor – the second was off limits, by unspoken agreement – picking up empties and drained soda cans and hauling them to the recycling bin out back. The kitchen was still chaos, but I managed to plant a kiss on Cecily’s cheek before she shooed me off with a spatula. And in that manner I kept myself occupied and the house reasonably clean until Cecily announced that supper was ready, and we should all take our places at the table.

She sat at the head, of course. I was on her right, conspicuously so, and Rian was on her left. The rest of the table was a hodgepodge of aunts and uncles and grown cousins. The handful of kids were at their own table making some kind of ruckus, but as long as they didn’t fling the mashed potatoes against the wall I didn’t much care.

The turkey was at our end of the table, the ham a little further down. Around it were the sides in profusion, green bean casserole and sweet potatoes with marshmallows and all the rest of the holiday staples. She’d brought out the good china for this meal, a calculated risk with how rowdy family gatherings sometimes got.

Cecily reached out for my hand on her right, and Rian’s on her left. I took hers and reached with my right hand. After a moment the aunt sitting next to me, a woman I vaguely knew named Annie, took it. Her hand was cold and dry in mine, and she didn’t hold tight.

Around the table, everyone clasped hands and bowed their heads waiting for Cecily to say grace. She looked at the unbroken chain once, then launched in.

“Oh God, may you bless us and keep us. Thank you for this meal we are about to partake of, and thank you for another year. Your blessings be on all who are with us today, and your peace be on all who cannot. Amen.”

There was a round of murmured “Amen”s, along with some whispered grumbling at the unorthodox phrasing. Annie slipped her hand from mine. Cecily gave me a squeeze, then let go.

That was my cue. I stood to carve the turkey. Carving knife and fork in hand, I took a minute to look around. Not every set of eyes met mine. Rian had warned me; word had gotten out. Still, I didn’t think that would affect the turkey.

I was wrong. 

At the foot of the table, one of the younger cousins, a twenty-something named Trey, stood up. “I’m not eating that,” he said.

I looked at him. “You got a problem with Cecily’s cooking?” I asked mildly. 

“I’ve got a problem with you,” he replied. Several of the older adults tried to shush him, but he wouldn’t be quieted. “I’m not eating anything you touch, and neither should anyone else here.”

He’d been close to Cole, I remembered now. He and his brother Michael, a big, hulking guy who followed wherever the smaller, wiry Trey led. I knew in that moment that they’d been the ones to mark my truck, and that they’d make more trouble if this wasn’t nipped in the bud.

“Then you’ll want the ham,” I said. “Uncle Rian’s carving that.” And I bent to my task, taking slices off the bird with practiced ease.

“Hey. Hey!” I looked up. Trey was pointing at me with his knife, which would have been comical if there hadn’t been real fury behind it. “I’m talking to you and I’m not done yet.”

“Trey!” That was Aunt Annie. “You sit down right now.”

“I don’t think so,” he said. “Not til I’ve said my piece”

“No one here is interested, Trey,” I said, and turned to Cecily. “Light meat or dark meat?”

“Light meat, thank you,” she said, but her tone was ice. There was a quiet murmur around the table, and that should have been the end of it. 

It wasn’t, of course. I put a couple of slices on her plate, then turned to Aunt Annie and opened my mouth to ask her what she wanted when Tray opened his mouth again. “It’s not right!” he said. “He killed Cole, and y’all are just letting him stand there and serve you supper? It ain’t right!”

“Enough!” That was Cecily, and Trey shut up like he’d been slapped. “You all are guests in our home and you will act like it. Jerry is my mate and didn’t do anything I didn’t ask him to do. You have a problem with that, Trey, you can challenge me any time you like.”

Trey stared down at his feet and dropped the knife. “No ma’am,” he said. “It’s just…”

His voice trailed off. Cecily picked up where he left off. “We all loved Cole, but he was dangerous. Out of control. And Jerry did what he did for the good of us all. You’d best remember that. Now sit down and eat your ham before it gets cold.”

Trey sat down, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. I served more turkey. Rian got up and carved the ham. And the rest of the meal was silent, except for the sounds of knives and forks and chewing.

---

When the turkey had been gnawed down to the bone and the ham likewise, Cecily stood. “If you want to go watch football in the den, you’re welcome to. If you want to shift and run the fields, you’re welcome to do that too – we’re a long way from any neighbors to see us here. But come moonrise, we’re going up to the back field to say a few words over Cole. Anyone got a problem with that?”

No one did, and most of the menfolk pushed back their chairs and shuffled off to the den. Trey was one of them, his brother in tow, and both of them looked daggers at me as they went.

Me, I started picking up dirty plates and carrying them into the kitchen. This lasted about three trips, me scraping the bones and leavings into the trash can, before the women helping Cecily shooed me away. I looked to Cecily for help, but she was busy directing traffic, so I went out the back door to breathe in the late afternoon air. 

It had gotten noticeably colder since the morning, and now my breath made little clouds of steam in the air. Up in the fields I could hear members of the family running around and yipping at one another. I was half tempted to join them, but then I thought about what had gone down at dinner and decided against buying any trouble.

The back door creaked open and Rian came out. “Evening,” he said.

“Too much football?” I asked. 

He shook his head. “Too much bad football, and too many Monday morning quarterbacks in the den. Every single play, they could have done it better.”

I laughed. “Well, youth will be served.”

“It always is,” he agreed, and took a few steps down the driveway. “Sorry about what happened at supper tonight.”

“Not your fault,” I said, and waved it off. “Trey’s young and hurting, and I’m the obvious target.”

“Still, you shouldn’t have to put up with that. Not in your own house.”

“It’s Cecily’s house. You’d think Trey would have respected that.” I shook my head at the thought of it.

Rian looked me up and down. “That’s kind of the point. Look, Jerry, you’re a good man, but you didn’t grow up in this family, and to some of us that’s all that matters. All that will ever matter. They’ll tolerate you for Cecily’s sake, but that’s all, and there are limits.”

I chose my words carefully. “That’s why I’m not going to pick fights with small fry like Trey. Don’t want to give anyone an excuse – or an opportunity.”

“Then listen carefully to what I’m saying. You’ve been a good mate to Cecily, and God knows she asked you to do an impossible thing yesterday. But the pack comes first. It always does. So if it looks like you’re going to drag Cecily down. you’re going to have to go.”

We stared at each other for a moment, then he nodded. “You understand, I guess. Well, that’s all I’ve got to say. Going to go get ready for the funeral.”

“About that,” I said. “I don’t think I should go.”

“And why not?”

“He and Cole already had their moment this morning,” Cecily said as she stepped down from the back door. “And I don’t want that idiot Trey mouthing off during the funeral.”

“That about sums it up,” I agreed. “Evening, hon.”

She leaned in and gave me a peck on the cheek. “Evening. And Uncle Rian, you should know better. Jerry’s not going anywhere. Much as I loved Cole, Jerry did the pack a solid. Trey and Mike and whoever else can bitch and moan, but it was my choice. And so was Jerry.”

“Of course,” Rian said, and excused himself. He took a few steps and was gone in the lowering dark. 

“How much did you hear?” I asked her when Rian was gone.

“Enough,” she answered. “Don’t let Rian scare you. He means well, but he takes things too serious sometimes. You’re not going anywhere.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” I said. “Love you, babe.”

“Love you too,” she replied. “It’s getting on time for the funeral. I’d better get up to the back field before everyone starts wondering  where I am.” And sure enough, the uncles and cousins who’d been watching the game were starting to walk or stumble, depending on how much beer they’d had, out of the house. Several of them changed as I watched and started trotting off, leaving those who chose to stay in human shape behind.

I gave Cecily a quick squeeze. She stood still for a minute, then leaned into it. “You want to borrow my truck to get up there?” I asked. “It’s a long walk.”

“Don’t be silly,” she said, and leaned back out. I let her go. “I’m not scared of the dark.”

“I’m more worried about your nice shoes,” I joked. In response, she kicked her shoes off and put them by the back door, then shifted. I watched her, admiring the massive she-wolf who was my mate. She cocked her head at me, then sprang into a run.

I watched her go, and leaned up against the side of the house to wait for the howling to begin.

---

Too soon the moon came up above the tops of the trees. I knew Cecily would be starting the funeral right about then, and that everyone else should be there. 

Which is why I was surprised when the back door banged open, and out staggered Michael and Trey. They’d had too many beers and weren’t content to sleep it off. I didn’t like it one bit, and liked it less when they started moving toward me.

“You,” Trey said, too drunk to stand up quite straight but not so drunk he slurred his words. “You killed Cole.” Behind him, his brig brother nodded.

“Yes I did,” I said, and got my back off from against the wall. “And I did it because Cecily asked me to, and because Cole was going to get us all killed if he kept on like he was keeping on.”

“But you’re still the one that pulled the trigger,” Trey spat, and took an unsteady step forward. His brother stepped forward with him, an imposing but wobbly wall of flushed and sweaty muscle. 

“Didn’t really have a choice in the matter,” I said, and braced myself for what I knew was coming sooner or later.

Trey laughed, mocking me. “Of course you had a choice. You could’ve not killed him. Could have done a million things. Instead, you shot him!”

“I told Cecily I would. For all of us.” I said evenly, though my hands went to fists. 

“All of us? You’re not one of us. You’re just Cecily’s fucktoy. You don’t deserve to be here with the family.” Trey tottered forward another couple of steps and brought his fists up. Michael stayed where he was, but I knew that if Trey swung, he’d be in on the action in a heartbeat.

I wasn’t afraid of them, not drunk, but I didn’t like the situation one bit. Any way this went down I was going to look bad. Either I’d lose the fight and Cecily would lose face, or I’d win and have to explain to the family why I’d knocked the two of them out, or worse. “They started it,” wouldn’t fly, not with the family. Better was expected of Cecily’s mate, if not of me.

“Easy there, Trey. You don’t talk about Cecily like that, not in front of me. Now why don’t you let me drive you and Michael up to the back field so you can be there for the funeral?” Cautiously, I reached in my pocket and pulled out my truck key. 

Trey laughed, bitter as hell. “There shouldn’t be a funeral,” he said. “But maybe we can have two.”

And he and his brother shifted right in front of me.

I shifted, too, just in time. One thing about shifting is that your whole body changes. Whatever’s in your system when you’re standing on two legs is gone, just like that. It was a great way to sober up in a hurry, if you could get away with it.

Michael growled, He was a big boy even as a wolf, with a short muzzle and silver fur. Trey was smaller, wiry, with more black on his flanks. He didn’t bother to warn me with a growl, he just jumped for where my throat had been a second ago.

I dropped to all fours and under his leap, then snarled at Michael. Maybe I could keep him out of the fight long enough to subdue his brother. 

Behind me, Trey landed and made scrabbling sounds in the dirt and gravel of the driveway as he turned himself around. Michael narrowed his eyes and growled again. I realized what he was doing – holding my attention so Trey could come at me from behind – so I called his bluff and charged him.

He stood his ground and we came together with a heavy thud, jaws working. I caught an ear in my mouth and bit down hard even as he tried to lunge for my neck. He gave a whine of shock and I let go, blood in my mouth, hoping he’d retreat. Instead, he came at me again.

Like I said, he was a big boy, bigger than me. I could tell from the first, though, that size was all he had. He was used to winning fights because he was bigger and stronger, not because he knew how to fight.

Which I did. I knew that given time, I could wear him down and make him submit while keeping him off me. The trouble was, I knew Trey wasn’t going to give me that time.

Sure enough, he came snapping at my hind legs as I tussled with his brother. I gave a kick and caught him on the jaw, but there was no power behind it and he just shook it off. I spun to face him, and Michael landed on my back. We both went down, scrambling to get back to our feet while Trey tried to take a chunk out of my muzzle. I dodged his attack, then threw Michael off my back and got to my feet. Trey faced me, fangs bared, while off to the side Michael was slowly getting up. 

I made a decision and rammed into Michael’s flank with my shoulder. He went over, legs kicking at the air, with a surprised yelp. Trey came after me then, but I had just enough time to turn and face him dead on.

He stopped in his tracks. Just as I figured, he wanted no part of a fair fight. It was Michael who’d given him the courage to take a shot at me, that and the beer, and for this moment he didn’t have either. I went after him as fast as I could, hoping to get in a good shot before Michael got back in the fight.

Trey blinked and tried to run. I caught him by the neck and closed my jaws tight enough to hurt, not tight enough to break skin. Michael was up now, fur bristling even as his brother suddenly whined in pain.

I turned, dragging Trey with me, until I was facing Michael. He stared at me, and I stared back and tightened my grip on Trey’s neck a little bit. I tasted blood again, and Trey whined some more. I ignored him. Instead I shook my head, and shook Trey with it. The message was clear: If I wanted to, I could tear out his throat and Michael couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it.

So Michael did the sensible thing, and lay down in the dust with his head on his paws. He whined in tune with his brother, and watched me.

And I let Trey go, and shifted back.

The boys shifted too, sober now but bloody on the dirt of the driveway. “Get out of here,” I told them. “This is my home. You were invited here as guests, and you took advantage of our hospitality. I don’t want to see your faces around here anymore. Not now, not ever. Now get on out of here before I change my mind.”

Michael got up first, then picked his brother out of the dirt. Trey was still sputtering curses as Michael hauled him off. A minute later, they got into their car and drove away. I watched them go until they turned onto the county road and their taillights faded away.

“You can come out now,” I said to the dark without turning my head. There was silence for a minute, and then a lean, long wolf padded into view.

“Rian,” I said, and tilted my head. He cocked his head, then shifted out of courtesy.

“How long did you know I was there?” he asked.

“Long enough to know I had a witness to whatever happened.”

“Ah. You could have killed Trey, you know,” he said. “No one would have blamed you.”

I snorted. “Of course they’d blame me. They’re barely tolerating me right now. Another body on my pile and even Cecily couldn’t save me, and you know it.”

“Fair enough.” Rian shrugged. “There’s still going to be some grumbling over the boys being gone.”

“Let them grumble,” I said. “No one comes at me at my home. And this is my home.”

“I guess I read you right, then. You’re strong enough to be with her.” 

“I have to be,” I told him. “Even when it’s the hard thing to do.”

“Even then,” Rian agreed, and then we heard the howling rising from the back field.

I took a few steps toward the house. “You’ll tell her what happened, won’t you?”

He nodded. “I will.” Then he shifted back, and headed up towards the others, and left me alone in the dark once again.

---

Host Commentary

PseudoPod Episode 951

November 22nd 2024

Last Supper by Richard Dansky

Narrated by Trendane Sparks

Hosted by Alasdair Stuart with audio by Chelsea Davis

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Happy Anthology and Collection Showcase giving! I’m Alasdair, your host and this week’s story comes to us from the amazing Richard Dansky. “Last Supper” is a follow-up to “Licking Roadkill”, which previously appeared at PseudoPod (ep 786, Nov 2021) and in my collection A Meeting In the Devil’s House. It’s a standalone story, but if you tackle “Licking Roadkill” first, certain aspects will become clearer. The story is about the terrible things we ask of the ones we love, and what those things cost. And of course, it gets extra tricky if everyone involved is a werewolf….

Richard Dansky is 20+ year veteran of the video game industry, where he has written for games like The Division, Splinter Cell: Blacklist, and numerous others. He’s published seven novels and one short fiction collection, and was a contributor to White Wolf Game Studios’ World of Darkness games. He lives in North Carolina with a cat named Goblin, whom he swears was named that when he got her.
www.richarddansky.com

Your narrator this week is Trendane Sparks. Originally born in Texas, Trendane Sparks eventually escaped and wound his way through a mystical series of jobs in the San Francisco Bay Area where he has worked as a software quality assurance tester for both graphics drivers and video games, a freelance mascot performer, and several jobs on a PBS kids’ show. For most of his life, people have told him that his voice is a pleasure to listen to. But since being a werewolf phone sex operator can get boring, he decided to use his powers to entertain a broader audience.

 

So get digging, folks. Family’s coming. And ain’t that the truth.

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I’ve been thinking a lot about family recently. Having an American partner in an election means you do a lot of psychological algebra at the best of times and this is 2024. Dealing with the loss of a parent, as I’m doing, shifts everything in the remaining family members. My sister, my brother-in-law, my dad are all in different places in my life now than they were six months ago. None of us have any idea if that’ll stabilise or keep changing. I’m betting on the latter.

 

Sometimes the hard thing is what you see here: the violence of pragmatism and compassion colliding with the realities of someone who isn’t human getting their life destroyed by human drugs. I love how Dansky explores that here. How sympathetic Jerry is to the people who hate him, the way he and Cecily negotiate each other’s trauma. Sometimes love is respecting a bruise. Sometimes love is not closing your jaws and sometimes love is accepting that if someone has to do the hard thing, there’s no good reason why it shouldn’t be you.

 

Sometimes the hard thing is subtler. Sometimes it’s an absence of action. Not raising a contentious subject, not finishing a sentence. Not moving from the space you’re in because while it hurts you it doesn’t hurt you enough to counterbalance the harm you’re preventing by standing there. I’ve been in that version of this situation a lot this year and trust me, people like Rian, Cecily and Jerry are absolute gems. Doing the hard thing is exhausting and terrifying and horrifying. Seeing the hard thing done and acknowledging it’s both necessary and hard? Sometimes that’s the only compassion we get but it’s always the compassion we deserve.

 

Howl at the moon, folks. Here’s to Jerry, Rian, Cecily and doing the hard thing.

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PseudoPod is part of the Escape Artists Foundation, a 501(c)(3) non-profit, and this episode is distributed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Non-Commercial-No Derivatives 4.0 International license. Download and listen to the episode on any device you like, but don’t change it or sell it. Theme music is by permission of Anders Manga.

PseudoPod will be back next week with If You Don’t Want a Cat, Don’t Get a Kitten by Sonora narrated by David Powell, with audio production by Chelsea and hosted by Catscast’s own Laura Pearlman. We’ll see you then but before then Psuedopod wants you to remember there’s always room for family.