Chapter XIII: Traces of faces
The wolf fell back into a deep sleep. His mind, however, had a different opinion and showed him images of the "interrogation room". Ignorant to the fact that he was dreaming, Aran found himself back on the bolted chair, wearing the harness. On the other side of the table, Kaiser was staring at him.
It took a while before Aran realized that the mouth of the Doberman was moving and that he was probably addressing the wolf with his words. Not all of said words managed to reach Aran's ears, and some words sounded slurred and twisted.
Only snatches of the conversation penetrated the mind of the wolf, the Doberman did not seem to pick up on that. Instead, the dog turned angry, got up from his chair and kicked it aside. Next up was the table. With a single move, the Doberman flipped it over, but as it hit the ground, it appeared to have vanished altogether.
Aran tried to reason with the dog, but his muzzle failed to move. When he looked back at the Doberman, it was no longer Kaiser's face he saw, but rather that of a silver-grey wolf he knew very well. He had tried his best to forget about the wolf, but never fully managed to. How could he?
While the silver wolf closed in, the surroundings changed to a resemblance of what Aran's bedroom looked like when he was a young teenager. He knew what was going to happen, but his mouth refused to speak and he was somehow still tied to a chair by the harness he wore.
"Since you refuse to answer me," a warped and twisted voice sounded, "I'll have to beat it out of you!"
The black wolf had guessed right, but there was still nothing he could do. The older wolf punched and kicked him, but he did not seem to land a single hit. However, Aran felt like his chest and all of his limbs were being pounded on with a hammer.
Eventually, the silver wolf figure finished off his rampage by hitting Aran in the face with his fist. On the moment just before the impact, the black wolf woke up from his dream, producing a loud gasp in terror.
With eyes wide open, he found himself back in the crib again, laying on his side, facing away from the door. The harness was switched back for the mittened sleeper. Damian laid next to him, less than an arm length away, but Aran's muscles failed to cooperate. Even though the wolf did not understand his urge to grab and cuddle the husky, he was still annoyed by his incompetence of giving in to said urge.
Part of him was fine with the situation, wanting to resist indulging in anything childish, but another part was begging for comfort. Even the pacifier, which had fallen out of Aran's muzzle when he gasped, was too far away to be of any use, although it would have taken little effort to take it back in his mouth. The panic locked up Aran's muscles, effectively preventing him to move. His bladder had a different opinion and decided to release all the liquid it had accumulated overnight.
His body was still trembling in anxiety, except for his ears. They perked up as they heard a door open, soon followed by the sound of the crib's side being unlocked. Aran then felt two hands petting his side and shoulder, but the feeling was a painful rather than a pleasant one. The wolf let out a raspy scream, causing the collie to instantly withdraw her hands.
"Your paws hurt!" he shouted.
"Oh Aran, I'm sorry. I didn't meant to hurt you," she whispered.
The wolf bundled all of the strength he could muster and rolled over on his back, experiencing even more pain.
"Not your... fault," Aran groaned.
"Hold on, little one, I'll be back soon," Jennifer reassured, then hurried out of the room.
A little while later, she returned. The wolf saw from the corner of his eye that she carried a small puppy bottle in the pouch of her apron.
"I'm going to help you sit up first, pup. It'll probably hurt, so I need you to be brave. Can you do that for me?"
"I guess..." he muttered.
With combined effort, the canines managed to get Aran into a more or less sitting position, the pillow placed on its side to support the black wolf. Jennifer took the bottle out of her apron and put the nipple in Aran's muzzle.
"It's just fluid painkiller, watered down to reduce the bad taste," she explained.
The word "painkiller" was enough to make Aran empty the bottle, though. He did not care about the taste, even if it would have been vinegar. The collie gently pet the top of his head while he tried to catch his breath.
"Poor wolfie. Can you tell me what's wrong?" she asked after she put the empty bottle back in the pouch of her apron.
"I... in the interrogation room... Kaiser was there. He kept asking q-questions, and I couldn't answer them," Aran stammered.
"It's okay," Jennifer tried to console him.
"No it's not. He hit me... kept hitting and hitting," the wolf groaned, "and I couldn't do anything - nothing to defend myself!"
"Kaiser hit you? Are you sure?"
The wolf took a couple of seconds to recollect his thoughts. Meanwhile, he felt that the painkiller was kicking in.
"Not Kaiser. A silver-grey wolf, his face was familiar."
"Aran, that must have been a dream. You haven't left the house since you came here," Jennifer replied, trying to calm down the black wolf.
"It was no dream. Maybe it was, but I've been there."
"What do you mean? Was your dream about a real experience you've had?"
Aran nodded.
"My dad has beaten me up lots of times. I know what it looked like, but I couldn't even defend myself."
"So your father was in your dream?"
"Yush... I don't like Kaiser, but I don't think he'll beat up someone that's tied to a chair, will he?"
The collie did not respond to the question.
"I assume the painkiller is working?"
"Kind of, but I still hurt all over."
"Did that drug dealer really hit you that hard?"
Aran shook his head.
"It's... different, I guess. It didn't feel like I was being beaten up. More like, as if my body was on fire beneath my skin."
"Oh goodness, it's worse than I'd feared," Jennifer thought aloud.
"What?" the wolf asked in confusion.
"I'm going to carry you downstairs, will you be okay?" the collie asked imperturbably.
Before Aran could respond, his tongue was surprised by the rubbery feeling of a nipple. Jennifer had put the pacifier back in his muzzle, then handed Damian back to him. The wolf wanted to protest, but felt too weak to put up a fight.
Jennifer grabbed her charge under his knees and shoulders and lifted him from the mattress. Cradling him like a puppy, she slowly and carefully carried him out of the nursery and down the stairs. In the living room, she put him down on a couch. Aran was glad the short trip was over, since the grip of the collie's hands caused him to suffer.
Meanwhile, the wolf had closed his eyes, as if that would help him to shut out the lingering burning sensation that engulfed his body. Even though the painkiller appeared to be effective at first, its power already seemed to diminish.