Wolfe

Prologue

"Liars often set their own traps."

That was a favorite saying of my Grandfather's. And definitely not the only one. It was one of the more frequent words I've heard be uttered by a taciturn man like him. I never really understood what he meant by this, other than the fact that everyone faces the consequences of their actions.

"The world doesn't need to know about it. As long you acknowledge it, as long as you learn from it, the consequence is beneficial," Granddad would say.

"And if you die?" I would ask sitting on a wooden stool watching him wipe a hunting rifle while sucking on a big cherry lollipop my grandmother surprised me with.

"Then you learn that you should have never had done it in the first place."

Usually he would say this in the mornings after my father would drop me off at his farm, disappear, and come back days later bedraggled but alive. He would take me out to IHOP for a big meal of buttermilk pancakes, bacon crepes, grilled cheese sandwiches, omelettes, everything and anything that could cause me to go home with a stomach ache and vow never to eat breakfast again.

On the night when he would leave, my father would wake me up from a dreamless sleep, slip woolen socks over my small toes, help me guide my thin arms into the sleeves of a polyester coat, he would take me to my Grandfather's.

On nights like those-- which weren't quite rare, nor was as common-- I would curl up into a ball in the corner of the backseat, the musky stench of cigarettes ingrained into the leather of the 1967 Chevrolet Impala-- yes the one exactly like the car of the guy in Supernatural-- clutching a worn out, stained white handkerchief with the initials H.K.W stitched in aquamarine blue in my shivering hands, listening to the hum of the engine and the chords of a guitar over the radio my dad had tuned into.

However, on this particular day, I felt a sense of foreboding hanging heavy in the air. I had welcomed Dad waking me up this night-- a night terror with flashbacks of red and tendrils of black had startled me that night. I eagerly grabbed his fingerless gloved hand and let him drag me to the front door trying not to trip over my untied shoe laces.

After two hours of feeling each groove of the beaten Route 66, I crawled over to the front seat-- which I should not advise any eight year old to do, by the way-- and leaned my head against the rough leather of Dad's worn out jacket.

"Are we there yet?"

Dad placed his calloused right hand on my head, patting me. He wasn't one to show affection, so this was as close as it could get.

He turned his weary face, a 5 o'clock shadow already gracing his features, but wouldn't answer. Not until we were at the outskirts of the 40 acre farm belonging to my grandfather.

Since it's late for an eight year old to stay up past midnight, I was once again letting my whole body let go, and sank into the leather seats of the car. Through the rolled down window, and through the fireflies which idly flew into the car, I would hear bits and pieces of conversation.

"What now? I can't believe you'd.... What about Cassel?"

"I know but in.... it's supposed to be a few.... just take care of him...."

"You shouldn't be in this....son you don't want another....not like Helen Kim."

"No....never again......like Helen...."

I heard the crunch of gravel caused by footfalls of someone walking towards me. Quickly, I closed my eyes and feigned sleep.

Of course, I wasn't good enough. I squirmed around the seat pretending to be rolling through a restless dream, until I heard Dad's gravelly voice. "Sit up, Cassel." I complied with his order, straining my probably bloodshot eyes to see his grey eyes. He smiled, another rarity, before patting my head again. "Listen here, son. I'm gonna go away for a few weeks. Stay here with grandpa and don't give him trouble, alright?"

I nodded. "Yes, Dad." Before he could leave, I lunged at him, grabbing his torso and gave him a squeeze. "Stay safe, Daddy." I didn't know-- at least then I hadn't-- what he did for a living, except for the vague answer he always gave me: "Keeping you safe."

But he always came back.

And that's what mattered.

This was also the same night where I let my grandfather pick me up and put me in the house. I hugged my grandmother who stood in the parlor with a cookie and glass of milk waiting for me, and slipped into Dad's old room to drown into another dreamless sleep.

He'll be fine, I assured myself. It's not like the wolves would eat him.

I never saw my father again.

_______________________________________
Welcome to the world of "Wolfe." Interested in the damned, the sinners, and then badasses? You'll get them all here. And more. Hopefully. This was originally written for a final in my freshman English class (grade 9 aka Year 10 aka fourth form) so this is kinda crappy. But I was going through docs the other day and I started to get the same feels I get whenever I think up a new story and I'm full of ideas right now. 

Also, there'll be slow updates :( School's starting up and I have "The Stupid Knight" to work on too. 

Anyway, enjoy!