“Jackie dear, I need you to come back home and visit me. You’re always away from me for so long. Debbie tells me it isn’t healthy for a young girl to be out by herself these days.” Her mother’s voice emitting from the phone’s speaker, she dropped her head back on her pillow, rolling her eyes toward the popcorn ceiling of her apartment.

  “Yeah? It’s unhealthy for a twenty-six-year-old to do adult things? Is that seriously the advice a therapist should be giving? Isn't it her job just to listen?” She had always thought Ms. Collins was a quack, but the fact that her mom fed into it was ludicrous. No amount of sarcasm seemed to deter the woman away from continuing to take her terrible advice.

  “It's your uncle. He's raging again,” her mother whispered. At the mention of her uncle, she jumped out of bed, grabbed her coat from the closet and jumped into the living room.

  The times she'd gone over after being told her uncle was raging had been mostly true. Her uncle has been raging. Her uncle was always raging when she wasn't around. She didn't know why her presence calmed him but it did. He liked her chatting and would seem relatively normal when she was there. Her mother knew this and knew this would keep her near. Her uncle had told her so much about the world they'd come from. He regaled tales from his youth. He'd sometimes speak in a very royal-esque way. It sounded almost like an older, more formal way of speaking. But the things he spoke of. Now they were worth more than all the diamonds on earth.

  Simon rose up from his crouched position behind the fridge door. His voice stopped her progression toward her hanging keys.

  “Hey, where you going?” he asked.

  “I gotta head over to my parent's place. Something's happened to my uncle.”

  “Again?”

  “Don't say that like he’s always had these episodes.”

  “So, you're going to ignore that time you had me take notes for you? Or when the teacher caught me trying to answer for your name? You laughed when I told you. Not cool.” He looked at her. “You know, she knows using your uncle is the only way she can get you to do what she wants, right?”

  Jackie ignored him, stuffing her arms through the sleeves of her coat, buttoning herself up.

  “Jackjack, c’mere for a bit,” he said, rushing to her, catching her hands before they snatched the dangling keys. He pulled her around to face him. “Listen, you have bags under your eyes. Look at your buttons.”

  She stared down at the rumpled loops, created by her putting the wrong buttons in the wrong hoops. Undoing them and fixing their order, she glared at Simon for pointing it out. She hated when he did that. He made it seem like she didn’t know how to dress properly. She did. Just not while running on four hours of sleep, she’d felt energized for the first few minutes she was awake. But with each minute after the passage of time weighed down her lids and shoulders like anchors. Her thick blanket with tiny cartoon tigers decorated it, hung as if her bed were a cliff. A ridiculous effort as most of its body was spread across her carpeted floors. All it would take was someone to climb in the bed and rescue it from completely descending to its doom. She wanted that person to be her. The need dispersed when her mother’s ringtone burst through the silence and echoed in the foyer where they stood. She pulled it from her pocket, glanced down at the new message.

  Hurry!

  “You don’t understand. I have to go.” Snatching the keys from their hooks, she marched out the door.

  Right before it closed, she heard him sigh. “You always have to go.”

  What would cause someone who was sleep-deprived to continue to be pushed around by her seemingly controlling mother? Life or death situations that was what. The winter winds blew heavy outside and she curled into herself, making a toddling run to the snow-covered platform. Downstairs, she hastened to her silver Toyota. She hopped inside, rubbing and blowing on her cold fingers. She started the car, driving her to her parents’ house.

  Her uncle’s temper spikes were always unexpected and changed with the seasons, likening it to a seasonal flu was fair if you took away the danger of someone dying. She had told her mother to talk to him, bring him tea. I don’t know, do something that requires normality.

  Why bring someone like that in the house? Around children? She never claimed to have normal parents. Added to the fact that it was a recent occurrence. She moved out when she was twenty. So yeah, her mom had been living on edge for the last six years. Okay, more like three. Around the time her mom’s therapist changed from a Mr. Green to Miss Deborah Collins. The old friendly-looking woman was out to lock her up for all her life. Every advice she gave suggested Jackie had too much freedom. Giving her the benefit of the doubt, thinking maybe since she was older she was from a different time, but there was no way the sixty-year-old lady was born in the fourteenth century. Even then, did her mother seriously not understand how restricting this was? Every day, she called her to “check to see how you’re doing” which turns into “you haven’t been home lately, sweetie.”

  Turning into their driveway, the Georgian style home with its red bricked chimneys and white slatted sidings. A crowd was in their front yard. Uh-oh. She spotted her dad and the next-door neighbor among the frantic crowd. Their door was open. Through the gaps between their bodies, her uncle wore a stained wife-beater and gray sweats with his hand wrapped around her mother’s throat, his lips pulled back in a snarl. Without forethought, she slammed the car in park and threw herself from her car as it screeched to a halt. Ignoring the freezing temperature, adrenaline riding her to save her mom. She bolted across the lawn.

  “Let her go!” she roared at the top of her lungs, her yell soaring over the mingling voices already melding into a chaotic mess. All eyes darted to her running form. Her father, who held his uncle in a chokehold, released him like a hot potato. When she reached them, she pushed her way through the group of men, and gripped her uncle's hand and squeezed. “Now. I said, let her go.”

  Her command was low and threatening, his hands went slack as something akin to fear dashed across his vacant stare. A second later, he bowed his head, stepping back.

  She grabbed his arm and pulled him to the house, leaving her parents to deal with the neighbors. Great, every family needs another rumor spread about them. There is just never enough. Pulling her grunting uncle from under his arm, she took them into the dining room and put him in the chair.

  Taking a seat herself, she took a deep centering breath. When she finished inwardly counting to ten, she checked on him.

  His grunts turned to mutters. “Killed her, took everything from me. From everyone.” His chin jerked around as he said this, not disguising his attitude.

  “Killed who? Grandma?” she asked in a soft, low voice.

  “Yes, the enemies. The enemies are here, Bri. He comes in. They were choking me unaware that I can choke them as well. I'm not powerless. We are not powerless.”

  She found it ridiculous that though she was often the victim to most of his attacks, Uncle Emery always thought he was protecting her mother and himself. Maybe she looked more like the woman than she thought. She hoped she didn't act like her though. Looks are as far as she would allow someone to take their comparison.

  “No, we’re not powerless.” She let some of the silence settle over them, watched his raised and tensed shoulders lower and relax. His back rested onto the chair cushion.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “Hey.” She kept her voice light and playful.

  “Hey.” The gritted words rumbled from his hoarse throat, fraying across her nerves. She rubbed her drooping eyes.

  “Uncle, what happened?” His head snapped back and his barely restrained fury pulsed in the air. She held her palms up to his eyes and ambled slowly forward, being wary of how much distance they were from each other. “What is she saying this time?”

  “My enemies. They lurk. They remain undefeated. Festering, it festers.”

  Knowing not to ask obvious questions, she hummed and raised her voice an octave, keeping her tone playful. “Don’t ya worry, Unc, I’ll protect ya. I’ll defeat ‘em.”

  His slitted gaze surveyed her. “You?” He mulled over the thought with absolute focus, so consumed by it. He didn’t register how much she’d closed the distance. He twisted toward her, his eyes locked on something behind her or so she thought, but then his gaze tracked some invisible line from something that was barely touching her. Almost looking at an area above her shoulder, just barely catching her left ear, the top of her head. “Pretty colors vibrate off you.”

  “Do you know who I am?” she asked with a soft tone.

  He took a moment, his attention still grabbed by the “colors”. His eyes finally met mine as he answered, “Yes. The one who asks for my stories.”

  “Mmhm, I’m the one. Your one and only niece. All I wanted was some info about our family. You were so nice. You tell me stories, remember? Grandma. Her command on the battlefield. A victor, a legend.”

  Some semblance of recognition shone in his eyes, bringing their dull color to a shimmering golden-like brown.

  “Yes, child, she was. Even the Moon Goddess gave reverence to her.”

  “Oh, okay. Now you’re going overboard. You said it was a bunch of them. Wasn’t just Grandma on her own. You can’t just steal other people’s reputation of glory like that.”

  “Oh, I sure can. You little rascal. Your grandma was the best wolf that ever was.” Oh he’s reacting, he’s joking back. That’s a good sign. Come on back, Uncle Emery. You got this.

  “So great she became queen?”

  “Slander, falsifier. Do you understand the words you speak? The king is. Pardon me, was Graham the First. You need to learn more about your history.” Outside of his stumble, he was becoming grounded in real time. Memories, check. Anger gone, check. Definitely if he was joking like this. Finally, being aware of the time period, check.

  “Well, you keep misrepresenting it. How is that my fault?”

  Unwinding his knitted brows, her uncle’s slow smile appeared, his eyes shining even brighter. He nodded behind her, she turned around and watched her parents come inside. Her father’s hand was around her mom’s waist. Her mom was rubbing her bruised neck with a stank look on her face. Her mouth was moving and she couldn’t hear what she was saying. The moment her eyes landed on Jackie, particularly the smile on her lips, picking up on their relaxed mood. For some reason, she was upset that she calmed her uncle down like she had called her over to do. Like what was the problem now?

  “What happened?”

  “And this is why I told you to hurry!” Her mom screeched as soon as her father closed the front door, still outside probably to address the lingering neighbors.

  “Mom, I'm just asking you what happened. Why are you being like this?”

  What was so wrong with her doing what she always did? She wasn’t the one that choked her. It was a low blow but it was true. Why wasn’t she raging at Uncle Emery? Why did she have to get the attitude? Did she not want her to help out? Her thoughts were swirling with these questions when her mom stared at her like she had hurt her feelings somehow, leading her deeper into confusion.

  “Because you don't care! That's why. You only care about your studies, your new friends, new home. New life. You think you can replace this family. Become human. Well, I'm here to tell you. You can't. I forbid you.” Her mom was serious. She spoke from the heart. The conviction in her voice was clearer than the window pane where she saw her potential savior of a father walk across the lawn and out of sight.

  “Jacks, come in here.” Her dad said, his hand to the door open, she walked over entering the garage where he had his rogue-painted Ford Ranger’s hood up, her father’s palm on the hood and he leans inside like he understands how any of that worked. A closed toolbox laid on the ground by the tires—the spot had been its forever home for the last four months. The soft light seeping in from the open garage door white winking warped reflections off the red driver door. Her father’s empty wooden workbench was among the warping images, not a hammer in sight, the beautiful polished oak surface absorbed the cold sunlight, the metal legs held boxes of her old knitted play dolls, some of Laz’s miniature trains misplaced from the rest of the collection he kept in his room. Her mom’s dirty green shears poked out from the side of the box, tucked away in the far right corner.

  “Dad, you know those shears Mom used once then couldn’t find last year? Guess where I found it.” She went across the room to grab them and wave them in his direction.

  “Where?”

  “Been under your workbench this whole time.”

  “Don’t know what it's doing there.” He looked back and shook his head.

  She grabbed them by both handles, opening and closing them, walking toward him.

  He gave her an amused smirk when he caught on to her antics.

  She held it with one hand now and wielded it like a fencing sword, yelling, “En garde! Fight me, you fiend. For the honor of my country.”

  A wheezing laugh came from his bushy lumberjack beard. His dark round cheeks gleaming in the morning sun, his delight written in his shimmering eyes. His shaven head was the first thing to come out from under the hood. The rest of his tall and stout frame appeared, he rubbed his thick hands on the front of his navy dungarees and he cringed at the perceived germs tainting them. It wasn’t like he knew what he was doing anyway, his dreams of being a mechanic were always perturbed by his tidy tendencies. No soot in sight as always.

  He walked over and wrestled to get the tool out of her hand.

  “Dad, don’t be a buzzkill. I said, fight, not disarm me.”

  “Be glad, you’re my daughter. Otherwise, I’d have let you snap your head off with these. These are safer in my hands than yours.” He gave a strong pull and the shears were wrenched from her grip.

  He gave an approving nod and went back to staring at the guts of his fully-functioning truck.

  “So, what’d you call me in for?”

  “Well you looked like you needed saving. Your mom…You understand she’s been through a lot. After what happened with her brother and then you…" He sighed and opened the nearest cap then turned it back closed, inspecting his fingers. "It took its toll.”

  “Yeah, I know. No judgement here.” The cold wind blew harder. She shuddered, rubbing her mitten-covered hands together. She stared at the neighbor’s porch. The rocking chair swayed between highs and lows. It swung back with joy, building momentum for its cyclic game of back and forth. With each deep fall in the opposite direction carried on by the chaotic wind the chair swung back stronger and with more glee, the wind continued to egg it on. Swing, swing, swing to your heart’s content. Let’s swing forever seemed to be its howling message.

  “So, how’s school?” Her father broke the heavy silence with his default question.

  She swung her gaze to him and with a sigh, answered, “Usual. The same old protocols. The same old disinterest in any ambitious projects. Honestly, nothing’s changed since you graduated.”

  His laugh wheezed out again this time longer. “Yeah, but it can’t be the exact same.”

  “It literally is. We put out a project and it takes weeks for us to get a response. They think using the government will always work. I’m tired of waiting on someone’s whim to shift in my favor. I want—”

  “Jacks.” Her father said her name, quietly. A warning to lower her volume. The back door hung open and she became aware of how her voice must have echoed down the halls. Oops.

  “Oh shit, Dad.” I whined. “I said I wouldn’t miss any more of our meetings.”

  “My bad for being a great conversationalist,” he said with a shrug.

  His reply before she hopped into his truck. “I’m borrowing your car. I’ll bring it back after the meeting.”

  “So, you always say darling. You’re not going to bring it back.”

  She pressed the button for the ignition. The engine purred as she put the car in reverse and waved to her dad on her way out of the garage.

  He yelled to her about something, his words got caught up in the freezing rush of air blowing through her window. She nodded like she heard him and rolled the windows back up. Turning the heat on blast the moment the windows were all the way up. She daringly slid through lanes in a race to make it, trying not to think about her mom, her uncle, and how much time was passing at each stoplight she came to. Her fingers tapped impatiently on the wheel. She was going to be late.