Real by Amy Bellows
H
The red wolf sanctuary is different at night. The light of day offers hope to the children who live here. We fill their mornings and afternoons with art projects, trips to the on-site playground, and all the cuddles they could ever want.
But when they go to bed, the nightmares come for them. There, I can’t chase away the terrors of their past with silly jokes or fill the ache of their loneliness with hugs. They’re all alone in their dreams.
I know what it’s like to have demons that come for you in the dark—demons no one else can fight. It’s why I work here. I want these children to have an adult who understands what they’re going through.
As I walk down the halls of the sanctuary, I hear the sobs and intermittent screams. I have to remind myself that waking the kids makes things worse for them, but it’s hard to not rush to a crying child. It feels callous, unnatural even. Children shouldn’t have a reason to scream like that.
I get to the end of the hall and open the door of the intake room. Steppe called me an hour ago and asked how fast I could get to the sanctuary. He said he had an unusual patient named Buddy who needed our help, and he wanted me to take care of him personally.
It was two o’clock in the morning. That’s not out of the ordinary. Human trafficking victims are rescued at all hours. But Steppe has never called a patient unusual. Not even the ones who come from particularly horrific circumstances. It makes me wonder what to expect.
The intake room is full of couches and toys. Normally, when new kids come here, we let them roam freely unless it isn’t safe for them to do so. I like to sit on one of the couches and let them come to me when they’re ready. For some, it takes hours before they have the courage to even glance at me. Others latch onto me right away. That’s not necessarily a good sign. If a small child latches onto a stranger, it often means the strangers in their life have been better to them than the people who were supposed to take care of them.
I sit down on my regular couch in the corner and try to sort through what Steppe told me about our new patient.
Buddy is involved in an active police investigation of a robbery, and we’ve been entrusted with him until the case is resolved.”
At first, I thought he was the suspect in the robbery, but Steppe said he wasn’t.
Technically, he’s what was stolen. The police are still trying to sort it all out.
If Steppe wasn’t the liaison for Lost Wolves Sanctuary—the place where displaced red wolf shifters come to heal when they have nowhere else to go—I’d assume he was simply using the wrong terminology when he said the word “robbery” instead of “human trafficking.”
But Steppe knows the difference. That’s what I don’t understand.
Buddy might be a shifter who won’t take his human form. We’ve had red wolf pups come to the shelter who refused to shift before. It takes a few days for the police to process a blood test that can ensure a shifter’s humanity. Maybe Buddy’s just a scared pup who’s test results haven’t come back yet. I’m not sure. Steppe had to get off the phone and couldn’t tell me the rest of the story.
The doorknob twists open and Steppe enters the room first. He’s everything I’m not—tall, fit, confident. We’re both thirty-two, but people often think I’m much older. He’s the face of our operation, working with the powerful people who have to greenlight our efforts, and he’s very good at it.
I’ve always done better with the kids. I’m unintimidating and soft. Adult omegas don’t like that, but to all the scared children who come through here, I look safe.
A tall, skinny boy walks in next. Unlike Steppe, who is dressed in a nice pair of slacks and a button-up shirt that shows off his big biceps, this boy is drowning in a huge hoodie and hunched over so the hood covers his face. Even his hands are tucked into the sleeves. I can’t see an inch of his skin.
“Buddy, take off your hood,” Steppe says to the young man.
Buddy outstretches his hands past the sleeves of the hoodie. Or what I assume are his hands until I get a proper look at them. They’re shaped like hands, and the same pale tone of my skin, but they’re made of what seems like plastic or silicone.
The silicone bends around the fabric of his hood to pull it back. His face is made of the same silicone as his hands. His dark, straight hair seems real enough, and so do his eyes, but there’s a line around the top of his neck, as if his head is attached through some kind of ball-and-joint socket. Likea doll.
He stares back at me with wide eyes, his body almost motionless except for the rise and fall of his chest.
“H, this is Buddy. Buddy, this is my friend H. He works here at the sanctuary, and he wants to help you.”
If I didn’t know better, I’d think Buddy was one of those realistic robots or maybe even a sophisticated sex doll.
Technically, he’s what was stolen.
Now I understand.
I give Buddy the same kind of smile I give the children I take care of. I don’t know what he is, but he looks scared. “It’s nice to meet you, Buddy.”
“Uh, hello.” His voice is deeper than I expected. It makes me wonder if he’s a man or a boy. His silicone skin is so smooth it’s hard to guess his age.
“The police say Buddy was created with magic,” Steppe explains.
Buddy lowers his gaze to the ground and his shoulders hunch. I don’t think he’s comfortable with that theory. I don’t blame him. Magic is unpredictable and sometimes vicious. Most people don’t want anything to do with it.
“Do we know why he was created?” I ask.
Steppe presses his lips together and glances at Buddy. I can hear the subtext loud and clear. Steppe plans to tell me but not now.
He doesn’t want Buddy to know.
“The police don’t want this publicized,” Steppe says. “They asked me to take him to an isolated location until they can establish whether to treat the situation as a human trafficking case or a theft. The man who claims to own Buddy says he paid for the magic to bring him to life.”
Spells are expensive and not just financially. They all require a personal sacrifice greater than the value of the spell. As a result, once someone has paid the price for a spell, the result of that spell always belongs to them. It’s the law.
I wonder if a law like that can apply to a sentient being. If that’s what Buddy is.
“I can’t go back to Dorian,” Buddy says, his deep voice trembling.
Steppe looks him straight in the eye. “I swear to you that we will do everything we can to prevent that from happening.”
What Steppe doesn’t say is that we’re bound by the law. We have to be, or the government wouldn’t trust us with human trafficking victims. If the police want us to hand Buddy over, we’ll have to.
“Where is Buddy going to stay?”
We don’t have a place here at the sanctuary where he’d be truly isolated. At least not for very long.
Steppe pulls a set of keys out of his pocket and tosses them to me. “One of our donors was kind enough to loan us their beach house for a month. It’s fairly isolated, and it’s in the same police district as his case.”
Buddy’s mouth spreads into a wide grin. Silicone or not, his smile is beautiful. “We’re going to the beach?”
“It’s not a warm beach. The water will be freezing this time of year. But it’s pretty,” Steppe says.
Buddy’s smile suddenly falters. “It seems wrong to go to the beach without Candlewick.”
Candlewick must be the person who was charged with the “robbery.”
Steppe places a hand on Buddy’s shoulder. “We’ll do what we can for Candlewick too, okay? Our best lawyers are handling his case now.”
Buddy looks at Steppe’s hand curiously. He doesn’t seem scared of Steppe’s touch. In fact, he moves a bit closer to Steppe. “Maybe you could take me to the beach instead. I won’t be a bother. I can cook and clean at night and stay out of sight during the day.”
I’ve heard that speech before. The “I can be useful to you” speech. It usually means the patient has come from a place where they were treated as nothing but a servant—a place where no one loved them.
Steppe smiles warmly at Buddy and lowers his arm. “That sounds lovely, Buddy. Really. But I need to do everything I can to ensure that you stay free and Candlewick gets bail.”
Buddy’s plastic cheeks flush pink. That’s curious. I wonder if he has some kind of circulatory system or if blushing is simply an aspect of the magic that makes him appear so life-like.
“I understand. You’re busy. And I’m not… Well…” Buddy turns his head away from Steppe, and the color in his cheeks deepens. I can’t help but feel bad for him. He’s obviously starved for attention.
“You’ll like H. He’s a nice guy. He’ll take care of you,” Steppe assures him.
Buddy turns around and stares at me for a few beats. “You look like a teddy bear.”
Steppe laughs. “He does, doesn’t he?”
It’s my turn to blush. That isn’t exactly a compliment. I know I should work out like he does and watch my weight. Both Steppe and I are unable to bond to omegas because of what our captors in the breeding pits did to us. Lots of omegas flirt with Steppe anyway.
None of them even notice I exist.
I stand up. If Steppe wants to keep Buddy a secret, it would be better to leave sooner rather than later.
“Can you text me the address? We should get going,” I say.
Buddy swallows hard, a plastic Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his throat. The details of each of his emotional reactions are spot on. “I offended you.”
“No, Buddy. I’m fine.”
He clasps his hands in front of him. “I think it’s nice that you’re like a teddy bear. I can’t think of anything better than an alpha like that.” His gaze drops to the ground. “I’m really sorry. I won’t run my mouth again.”
Fear radiates off him. I’ve seen it with so many of my patients I can sense it easily now. He’s genuinely afraid of what I’ll do in response to his comment.
He seemed to respond well to Steppe touching his shoulder, so I gently grasp his upper arm. “It’s okay. I may be a little sensitive about my weight. I apologize.”
His eyes meet mine. “Why?” He grits his teeth. “Sorry, I promised not to run my mouth. I know I ask too many questions—”
“Hey, hey, hey,” I say softly. “It’s okay. You can ask me as many questions as you’d like. I’m sensitive about my weight because it makes me feel unattractive.”
It’s funny. When faced with a situation where I need to calm a patient down, I can explain anything succinctly, even my body image problems.
Buddy’s eyes narrow. “Why?”
Before I can answer, Steppe pulls out his phone.
“Sorry to interrupt, but the two of you should get going. The beach is just north of the Pallisade Ice Baths.” He pulls out his phone. “Sending you the address as we speak. Do you have your emergency bags packed?”
This isn’t the first time we’ve had to respond to an emergency situation, and travel is a regular part of the job. I always have a bag packed in the trunk of my car, just in case. So does Steppe.
“Yeah. I have everything I need. Am I able to order groceries from the beach house?” I ask.
“The fridge and pantry should be stocked by the time you get there.”
I give Steppe a quick hug before we head out. He and I have been through a lot together. We were both rescued from the same red wolf shifter breeding pit twelve years ago. He isn’t normally an affectionate guy, but he’ll always take a hug from me.
Buddy pulls his hood over his head and tucks his hands back into his pockets. It looks a little suspicious, but it completely hides his plastic skin.
My phone beeps, and as we walk through the halls of the sanctuary, I slide it out. Steppe sent me the address, just like he promised, but he also sent me another message.
Candlewick warned me that Buddy will go into a mini heat every night at sunset. You won’t need to tie him down or anything to prevent him from seeking out an alpha. He can handle the heat on his own. But he should take the bedroom in the basement of the beach house so you can’t smell his slick. Candlewick said it’s very strong.
I’m grateful Buddy’s hood is blocking the view of my phone screen. I hurry and shoot off a question to Steppe.
Is that what he is? A sex doll?
If that’s the case, Buddy’s neediness would make sense. It would be terrible if he was created that way, of course. But at least I would know what to expect.
I walk through the exit to the parking lot with Buddy and nod to the two bodyguards standing on either side. Every entrance of the sanctuary is heavily guarded, and we have a state-of-the-art security system. A big reason why governments from all around the world are willing to send displaced red wolf shifters to our sanctuary is because we are able to keep them safe.
Given an omega red wolf shifter’s monetary value in the human trafficking world, that’s quite a feat.
Steppe sends me another message just as I unlock my car.
Candlewick wasn’t sure. All he said was that Dorian, Buddy’s supposed owner, didn’t want anything to do with him. Buddy was supposed to stay hidden in a closet every time Dorian was home.
That doesn’t make sense. The magic to create Buddy must have had an enormous price. Why would Dorian pay it and then demand Buddy stay hidden?
Buddy fiddles with the car door for a few seconds before managing to get it open. If he was supposed to hide in a closet every time Dorian came home, I can’t imagine he rode in cars much.
I have one last question before Buddy and I get going.
Why is his name Buddy? Don’t you think that’s a weird name for a sex doll?
Buddy takes just as long with the seatbelt, but at least he seems to understand it’s necessary.
I climb in next to him just as I get Steppe’s answer.
Buddy is what Candlewick calls him. He doesn’t have a name.
My heart aches for him. Clearly, the magic that brought Buddy to life enables him to feel emotion. So far, the emotions he’s felt probably haven’t been good ones.
I reach for his wrist and squeeze it gently. “Are you ready?”
He lifts his head until I can see his face under the hood. “Yeah. Thanks for doing this. I’m sorry I’m such a bother.”
I smile. “I love the beach. I imagine it will be a nice break.”
Buddy searches my face, clearly not sure whether to believe me. It may take him time before he realizes I’m not going to treat him the way Dorian did.
That’s okay. He can have all the time he needs.
I put the address Steppe sent me into my GPS and start my car.