Riley's Curse, A Moon's Glow Prequel (11 page)

During lunch, my father called the store to
let me know he was coming for a visit. He was sixty-eight years old
now, so I needed to visit with him while I could.

I stopped on my way home to get his favorite
meal.

When I pulled into the driveway of my house,
which was on the outskirts of town, I saw my father’s motor car
sitting next to the porch. The white paint job shone in the sun's
glow. He had just purchased it and was very proud. The sight of his
brand new vehicle made me think that maybe I should embrace the new
ways and purchase one. I stabled the horses and made my way into
the house.

“Hello, Father?” I yelled from the entryway.
As soon as I shut the door and entered the living room, the smell
of blood entered my nostrils awakening the wolf within. But my
brain was suddenly panicked, what had happened to my father? I
heard him moaning and rushed towards the sound.

I found him lying on the wood floor behind
the settee. He had been beaten severely. Both eyes were swollen
shut, and starting to turn color. His lips were swollen as well and
bleeding. Cuts and bruises were all over his face and hands, and
his leg was twisted in an unnatural position. “Father, are you
okay? Who did this to you?” I asked, kneeling over him, assessing
his injuries. His regular scent of pipe tobacco was lost in the
smell of blood.

He whispered something, but even with my
extra hearing I couldn’t understand him. I bent down closer. “A
werewolf,” he whispered again. I sniffed the air hoping whoever did
this left his scent. At first all I could smell was the blood, my
father, and wood, but suddenly there it was, very faint. It was
Rowan.

I was responsible for this. I threatened him
and he retaliated, by hurting my father.

I picked him up into my arms, carrying him as
he had carried me when I was a child. Then I took him out to his
autocar hoping we could get to the hospital faster than my horse
and buggy. He groaned with pain as I placed him inside. Cringing
with guilt, I gently touched his hand trying to sooth him before
closing the passenger door. His skin was cold, and clammy.

I didn't really know what all the gadgets
were for, but after touching a few buttons and nothing happened, I
tried the key, next to the steering wheel and the motor purred to
life. When I moved the wheel we turned. It wasn't as hard as I
thought, and the drive was bumpy, but we arrived in no time. The
ride was definitely quicker, and if I wasn’t so worried about my
father I would have really enjoyed the drive. I had never been in a
autocar before.

At the hospital, the nurse took my father
through a door telling me to stay and wait. I was so worried, I
didn’t know if I could. What if his injuries were extensive? I
would never forgive myself.

I asked a nurse behind the desk to call my
mother, and then sat down in an empty stale smelling waiting room,
on an old plastic chair, staring out the window. It had started to
rain since we’d arrived at the hospital. I watched the droplets
scatter down the window pane, creating wavy lines all over the
glass while I waited to hear news about my father.

“Excuse me,” Dr. Allen said as he stepped
through the waiting room doors. He appeared to be in his mid
thirties, with reddish-brown hair, a little grey starting at his
sideburns and above his ears. He was wearing a long white doctor’s
coat with a white dress shirt, and navy blue tie under it.

We were all gathered in the tiny room, my
family had arrived about a half an hour earlier. William and I were
pacing the center of the room, and the women sat huddled on the
chairs. My mother stood up as the doctor approached. “Yes?”

“Mrs. Riley?” he asked, and my mother nodded.
“Your husband has suffered a very severe beating, which brought on
a heart attack. One of his ribs was broken and has punctured a
lung. I’m so sorry.” The girls stood up and hugged my mother. All
three broke out in tears.

I stared down at the floor while William
walked over to the window, looked out for a few seconds then walked
back. “What does this mean?” he asked the Doctor.

“It means we will make him comfortable, but
because of his age, I don’t think he will survive the night. You
all may go in and see him.” He opened the wide grey door, holding
it for my mother.

Everyone followed behind her, but as I
crossed the threshold, the doctor stopped me. “Only close family
members, I’m sorry.”

To him I looked eighteen and obviously not
the son of a sixty eight year old man. William stopped, and turned
around. “He’s my son,” he said with a wink and smirk for me.

I shook my head at him, and then followed the
others into the room.

It was hard to look at my father’s deformed
face. He was lying in the large hospital bed, hooked up to machines
that beeped loudly beside him,. The white blankets pulled up to his
neck made him appear small and frail. This man did not look like my
father, who was the strongest person I knew. He built an empire and
stood by me when I needed it the most. I’m not sure another father
would have done the same.

In an attempt to hide my tears, I leaned
against the window playing with the curtains, trying to disguise my
purpose, by actually doing something helpful.

“Is there a Nathaniel Riley here?” a nurse
with a nametag that said Margret poked her head in the doorway.

My family, who were sitting in chairs beside
the bed pointed to me. She handed me a note with my name on it. “It
was in the pocket of his coat,” she said nodding to my father, and
then she quietly slipped out of the room. The door closed behind
her with a soft click.

Everyone turned to me with curious
expressions on their faces.

I opened up the folded paper and read aloud:
“No one tells me what to do.

Don’t bother looking for me, I’ve left town.
But I’ll be seeing you again, Rowan.”

After I found my father, I was so worried
about him and the news that followed, that I forgot all about
Rowan. I was responsible for everything, now this note brought back
the guilt and anger. I ripped up the letter and threw it in the
trash can beside the bed.

“What does that mean? Who is Rowan,
Nathaniel?” my mother asked, approaching me.

I lifted my head, gazing into her hazel eyes.
She was still quite beautiful for her age, her honey brown hair was
now streaked with silver, and there were extra wrinkles around her
eyes, but other than that she looked the same as she did thirty
years ago. “This is my fault Mother. I should never have kept in
contact with the family. If I hadn’t, Father would still be
alive.”

My mother placed her hands on my face. “Don’t
you say that. We are Rileys; we don’t give up on family. Tell me
what happened.” She returned to her chair beside Mary, and took
hold of my father’s hand, turning her attention to me.

I cleared my throat, hesitating. All eyes
were on me, waiting for an explanation, the scene was too familiar.
An image of a similar event from thirty years ago popped into my
head. “A man named Rowan visited me about a month ago. He said he
followed me home the night before.” I didn’t tell them that I had
killed a man. I couldn’t take the disappointment on their faces.
“He was a werewolf, and he was worried that if I killed people like
he did, we would draw too much attention. I told him I wouldn’t be
any trouble because I didn’t take human lives." I paused, feeling
sweat forming on my forehead.

"After he left, I became worried he would
cause trouble. I started watching for deaths in the newspaper, and
I found four that were labeled as animal attacks. I knew it was
Rowan, and I knew that the police wouldn’t be able to stop him. I
decided to track him down. I found him in an alleyway just in time
to prevent him from murdering a young girl. I told him to stop the
killings or leave, and if he didn’t, I would find a way to stop
him. So now, because of me, Father is going to die.”

My mother's sigh was heavy with the night's
events. “It is not your fault Nathaniel. You did the right thing by
trying to stop him. You can’t take responsibility for other
people’s behavior,” my mother said, standing up and closing the gap
between us.

“Nathaniel,” my father whispered. All our
eyes turned to him as he struggled to sit up. William rushed over
and helped him lean against the pillows.

My mother took my hand and guided me over to
her husband. He motioned me closer with his fragile finger; I
leaned in just above his head. “It’s not your fault. I’m proud of
you,” he said so softly I barely heard him. He closed his eyes for
a few seconds, and then slowly re-opened them. It seemed to be a
struggle for him to stay awake. He glanced at each of my siblings
with a tired smile on his deformed face. “I love you all. Each one
of my children have made me proud.” Then focusing on my mother, he
whispered, “I love you.” My mother didn't get a chance to repeat
his words, before his eyes closed.

The machine stopped beating, and the screen
above it showed the bumpy line turn flat.

“No!” my mother cried, jumping up and lying
across him. “Philip please don’t leave me.”

William rushed out of the room to get help.
He was only gone a minute when he returned with Dr. Allen. But all
the doctor did was turn off the machine. “I’m sorry for your loss,”
he said, patting my mother gently on the back, and then he walked
slowly out of the room, leaving us alone with my father.

William and the girls huddled near the bed,
saying their goodbyes. I walked back over to the window feeling
empty. My father made me what I was. He wouldn’t give up on me when
I wanted to. He saved my life. And now he was dead and it was
entirely my fault.

“Don’t do that.” I heard my mother say.

I turned to see who she was speaking to. She
was staring at me. She stepped slowly over to me, wiping the tears
off of her cheeks, her honey brown hair falling into her eyes.
“Don’t you dare blame yourself, you didn’t do this, any of this.
You didn’t choose to be what you are. You didn’t hurt your father.
And if you blame yourself, you are disrespecting his memory. He
loved you and was so proud of you. You made something of yourself
despite what happened. You could have given up and you almost did.”
My eyes widened in surprise. She nodded. “Yes, I know what happened
between the two of you the first night you changed. And if you try
that again, you’ll have me to deal with.”

“Mother, what are you talking about?” Mary
asked. She resembled our mother in so many ways, her hair and eye
color, even facial expression, but Mary was much taller than her.
She inherited that from our father.

My mother turned to her. “The first
night-”she began.

“Mother don’t,” I said, not wanting my
siblings to know what I tried to do.

She spun back around to stare at me with
narrowed eyes, daring me to stop her. I knew when not to mess with
her. I held my tongue and let her tell them the story.

She sat down on her chair and faced my
sisters and brother. Not wanting to see their reactions, I stared
out the window, watching the rain fall down heavily onto the
buildings below. The streets were busy with people running for
shelter, or their awaiting buggies and autocars.

“The first night Nathaniel changed, your
father found him outside running into the woods, with a pistol in
his hand. He was going to kill himself.” I heard three gasps, two
female, one male. I turned away from the window and gazed down at
the floor. “Your father pushed the gun away just in time, but the
bullet went into Nathaniel's shoulder. It healed right before their
eyes, as if by magic. Your father and I were always worried that he
would finally find a way to finish what he started.” She turned
from them, and looked up at me. “He was so proud of you. Please
don’t blame yourself. I won’t stand for it.”

I nodded, still looking down at the floor.
The dull linoleum was marred and aged. I heard footsteps, and then
felt two sets of arms embrace me, and the smell of floral perfume
told me that it was my sisters.

“Don’t ever try that again.” I heard Rose
say, although her voice was muffled from her face resting against
my shoulder. I wrapped my arms around them taking comfort in their
warmth.

Together we joined hands to say goodbye to
the man that we called Father, a man who meant something different
to all of us.

My father was buried in Creekford. Most of
the town’s people came out to show how much he meant to them. It
was crowded and I couldn’t help but remember the last time I had
stood in this graveyard thirty years ago. During the sermon I
glanced over at Lucy’s grave and tried to picture her face.
However, time was not my friend, and I couldn’t picture her in my
mind.

William told the town's people that I was his
son and had been away at university. His actual son stayed away so
I could be there to say goodbye. Everyone remarked on the
resemblance between me and the son that had died thirty years ago.
Eventually after I left, my father had to tell people I died in an
accident. There was no other way to explain my absence.

He was placed beside my empty grave. The
other side was reserved for my mother.

Gradually one by one, my family members died.
In my father’s will he had left the company to William and me.
William was allowed to pass on his share to his three sons, but I
was always to remain the silent partner. I became the Riley family
secret.

February, 1968

"Here is the list of standard questions." I
handed off the paper as I took a seat at the end of my great, great
nephew's desk. John was a descendent of Mary's and we were
preparing for interviews. I was walking him through the
process.