Eclipsed Hearts

A Mission

“What’s up?” I asked.

“I have a mission for you in Michigan. Are you up for it? The wolf you’re looking for might be there.”

I scoffed. “So now it’s one werewolf again, instead of an entire pack?”

“Bailey, you can’t pick at me every time I say something. There was no way of telling if it was one or more. Maybe they only sent a single one into your room. Your dad and mom were excellent hunters before they left the clan. Maybe they went soft and a single wolf managed it, but maybe there were more. God knows I want it to have been more. The idea of my brother being taken out by a single wolf when he could take on three at a time in our youth kills me,” he replied.

It wasn’t fair to him. I knew how much he suffered. I grumbled, then walked back toward my quarters.

“Don’t walk away from me. I am the leader of this family and you will treat me with respect,” Uncle Peter shouted.

I turned to him and felt the hollowness in my heart swallow the pain and sadness caused by making him yell at me. He stopped pursuing me and his hand went to his side, where I knew he had a blade. That would offend some people, but with work like our family did, some people could snap and become deadly to those they loved. Better safe than sorry.

“I’ll go pack,” I told him before turning away. “I’m sorry I upset you.”

“Bailey....”

He sighed, but I didn’t turn back. I just kept heading to my quarters.

It had been a long time since I was a kid. Sometimes he would get squishy and nostalgic. This time, he knew I was doing my best to behave properly.

Sometimes my mouth got me into trouble. He always tried to protect me from it when I was young. Now that he was the one in charge, it was harder for him to protect me without other members of the clan thinking he was playing favorites.

Once you became the leader of the family, direct bonds didn’t matter anymore. Because a lot of the work involved sending them into situations where they were likely to die, you couldn't hold your children dearer in your heart than anyone else’s.

I walked back across the compound, alone. Lights dotted the darkness as I made my way through the familiar paths. I knew this place like the back of my hand, having grown up here and trained here for years.

When I entered my quarters, I began to pack my gear. The soft hum of the lights in my room was comforting, and I couldn’t help but feel like I was back in my old bedroom, where my parents had once read me stories and tucked me in.

How long ago that time felt.

Today was hard. It was the anniversary of their death and I always became more depressed and nostalgic. Even if they had been dead for more of my life than they’d been alive, they were my happy place in the hard times.

It didn’t take long to put together a kit of clothing. The makeshift armory would provide weapons outside of my personal ones. As I bundled some of my favorite weapons, I couldn’t shake off the feeling of melancholy that lingered in the air.

On a whim, I grabbed the picture of my family that hung on my wall. I had every family photo there had been in the house and I’d filled my room with them when I was a kid. Now, they decorated my quarters, which was a small house with just about four hundred square feet.

I had a living room, dining area, and kitchen, taking up most of it. My bedroom and bathroom were small, and I used my walk-in closet to house my favorite weapons and all of my clothes. It wasn’t huge, but it was enough for me.

I looked at the picture of my family. Dad had the same dark brown hair as Uncle Peter, but Mom had an auburn shade that lent an orange tint to my hair, whereas Hallie had dark brown hair like Dad. My eyes were the same dark brown as Mom’s, too.

She used to joke that Hallie was somehow entirely Damson, my father’s family name. I had more traits of the Sawyer clan, where Mom’s family came from. They picked Walker for our name after buying their way out of the hunter life.

Back when I begged Uncle Peter to let me become a hunter, I didn’t realize why they ever left. Now that I’d lived with my family and hunter clan for most of my life, I knew. I saw the faces of the people who lost wives, husbands, sons, and daughters to the hunt.

My parents didn’t want us to lose them. They didn’t want to lose us. When I realized that, I didn’t feel bad about going back anymore. I didn’t have any reason to live once they were gone, except for finding their killer and returning the favor.

In my personal life, I used Walker as my last name. When I hunted, I used Damson. It got me more respect from other hunters.

I put the photo of my family into my bag. I wanted to have them with me, but I didn’t know why. In all the hunts I did before, I never took their picture with me. Maybe it was just part of the cycle of loss. Sometimes it did randomly come back to me. There was nothing else for me to focus on.

Once everything was ready, I slung the bag over my shoulder and picked up the roll of my personal weapons. My uncle was waiting for me. Maybe this was the one. This was the time the hunt would turn up my family’s killer.

After I avenged them, I would leave the family with my weapons and hunt werewolves without orders until the day I lost that fight. I’ll take out as many of the monsters as I can. My life wouldn’t matter anymore.... Not that it mattered after that night.

I died with them.

It was just a matter of lying down and giving up.