He had confronted his family with “the truth” years ago, but his father had dismissed him immediately with only one ominous response. The idea had come to him in a dream in which he had overheard his parents having a heated argument: “Where did he get light hair and blue eyes from when everyone on my side of the family all have dark hair and dark eyes?” Why did you insist on going on that trip to Scandinavia alone?” “What exactly did you do there for three weeks?” The scene was still vivid in his mind and he thought of it often, especially when he was angry with his brother. Once, he had even convinced himself that he was the sole heir to his family’s enormous fortune because his older brother, Ben, was actually illegitimate, conceived from an affair his mother had had when she was vacationing alone in Sweden. Wesley had always had a wild imagination.
A long, razor-sharp claw emerged from nowhere and took a swipe at him, but after finding a magical sword nearby, he swung back and kept the beast at bay. Snapping and growling, its hot breath blew his dark hair back while he stared directly into the monster’s mouth filled with multiple rows of serrated teeth.
He pictured those teeth - now six inches long - hovering right in front of him, in a mouth that could easily bite off his entire head. They grew larger and more threatening every time he replayed his memory. The image of those huge, menacing teeth haunted him. Its oversized, sharp, white teeth glistened prominently through an angry snarl, like a bright movie billboard on a dark street, except this one wasn’t advertising Dumbo. It looked like an enormous rotting wolf or bear that had come back from the dead. With a deep growl that was barely audible, the thing had uncurled and a giant head had turned towards him. The pain in his toes had been immediate, but the shock of everything after that kick had been worse. It was bonier than he thought it would be, harder than what zombies were supposed to be like since they always made a squishy splat sound when wounded. Fingers were not supposed to look like that, especially if they were attached to his hand, his body.Ī throbbing ache in his foot took his mind back to what had just happened on the mountain. Acid crept up his throat after he inadvertently caught sight of exposed bone and he turned his head away quickly, squeezing his eyes shut.
Wesley tried not to look at his hand as his doctor worked on it.
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