On the night that Eric was taken back to his home, it was raining very heavily. Lauren had stayed behind in Beth's house; only Beth and a disgruntled Lia had accompanied him.
Beth parked the car in front of Eric's house and turned to him. "Do you know what to say to your mother yet?"
"Yes, yes." Eric replied, his face blank. "I was kidnapped."
"Alright." Beth eyed him warily. "Eric, how are you? Like, really. How have you been doing?"
"Don't know." He replied morosely. "The past few days have been a lot."
Beth nodded, a knot of fear forming in her stomach. She was worried for him, more so with the way he sounded. She'd seen the worst of Dr Makovsky and the results of his experiments, had endured it for many years. But how would it look to someone who had never seen any of it before?
"Lia will be checking on you from time to time. Is that okay?" Beth asked.
"Of course," Eric murmured and opened the car's door.
"Bye, kid." Lia called.
"Bye, werewolf." Eric answered, then stepped down and walked to the front door, his shoulders hunched against the rain. He never once mentioned Lauren.
******
Eric reached the front door and raised a hand to knock on it. Then he heard a car honk and turned: Beth and Lia were waving at him from the front seats. He waved back, forcing a smile on his face.
After they drove away, he turned back to the door of his house. He stared at the brass knocker for several minutes, shifting anxiously on his feet. He was a nervous wreck: what would his mother say if he appeared at her front door, his midriff swollen with several blood-soaked bandages? What would she say if she looked into his eyes and saw the trauma he'd been through?
How could he bear the anguish he knew he would see in her eyes?
Something caught his eyes from the left and he turned to it. He'd seen the shadow of something. Was it a raccoon or a stray dog?
Was it one of Dr Makovsky's rabid creations again?
Eric shook his head to dispell the thought. He was onlb being delusional: Mike and Lia had taken care of the last of the rabid wolves. He decided against knocking and opened the door instead, walking in. The interior of the house was dark, save for the glow of the TV and the orange-red illumination from the scented candles his mother loved to light. The candles were set in cups and placed on various shelves around the living room.
His mother wasn't in the living room, but he could hear her voice from the kitchen. She sounded harried and agitated, and Eric had a good idea why. He hesitated at the front door, water dripping from his dreads to the doormat, and toyed with the idea of turning and walking back to Beth's house.
Against his wish, he moved to the kitchen door.
"...missing for several weeks," he heard his mother say. "I told you this several times already."
His mother was standing in the middle of the kitchen, a cup of whatever—coffee, he guessed—in her hand. Her curly black hair was in her characteristic messy bun, and her ebony skin glowed with the light from the candles.
How he'd missed her so much. 
What would she say if she saw him now?
There was a pause where she listened to the voice on the other end, then she clicked her teeth impatiently. "I do not care. If you were doing your job, you would have—"
"Mom?"
Eric's mother hastily turned on her feet. Their eyes met from opposite ends of the room, and he heard a soft gasp from her.
The person on the other end of the call was still speaking, but her hand, with the phone in it, fell to her side, limp. He could see it in her eyes: the pain of the past two weeks, the anger and love and sorrow.
And it broke him.
"Mom," he whispered again, and without another word, his mother crossed the kitchen and wrapped her arms around him. One hand slid around his neck and fingers dipped into his wet locks. "Oh, Eric." She whispered.
"Mom, I'm sorry."
"Oh, shut up." She murmured, then pulled back to look into his face, both hands cradling his cheeks. He could see the worry lines that his absence had formed on her face, but she was happy to see him. He knew.
"I went to see Lauren and Beth instead of going to school and..." This was where it mattered most. He could go right and tell his mother everything that had truly happened, or he could go left and tell all the lies he'd come up with.
"I..." He started again, eyes trailing his mother's eager face.
"I was kidnapped," he said finally and swallowed. How he wished he could tell her everything, but he knew it was for her own safety that he didn't.
His mother gasped softly and her eyes widened. "How? Where? Who did this?"
"It's a long story, mom." Eric murmured, then let out a startled "Ow!" when his mother wrapped her arms around his midriff again.
She pulled back, her eyes on his swollen middle. "Are you injured?"
"Not much. I was shot," Eric grunted. "I'll be fine."
He saw the doubt in her eyes, etched deeply. "Okay. Let's take you to your room, then." She said, then reached for the First Aid kit in the kitchen drawers.
******
His mother led him through the house, to his room and opened the door. The familiar scent of detergent and pressed flowers hit his nose before he even stepped in. The smell of home.
His mother gently led him to the bed. He collapsed on it with a sigh, and she sat by him. She raised the First Aid kit to her laps, then opened it.
"Take off your shirt, Eric." She said.
Eric blinked. "Um—"
"What's wrong?" She paused, then chuckled wryly. "Are you shy of going naked in front of me?"
"No, I—" he paused and looked into her eyes. The he went with the flow. "Yes."
"You have to, if I want to reach the wounds."
Eric grunted in assent and leaned upwards to pull his shirt from his body. Then he slowly unwrapped the thick bandages around his midriff. The wounds had been stitched by Beth, already healing and forming purplish-red bruises that stretched from one end of his torso to the other.
His mother's eyes widened in shock. "Eric, these are not bullet wounds—"
"Mom," he said with a hint of warning in his tone, and his mother relented. She soaked a large swab of cotton wool in iodine and gently dabbed on the wounds. Eric winced as she cleaned him up.
"I would have suggested a shower, because you stink. But I'm scared of these stitches opening up again. Who stitched you up?"
"Beth," Eric murmured.
His mother frowned. "She knew about this?"
"Yeah...kinda." He replied evasively. Suddenly he felt very tired.
"Mom, it's okay." He said, holding on to her hand to stop her. "I'm fine. Beth has done all that needs to be done. I need to sleep."
"Alright," his mother eyed him warily. "I'll be downstairs if you need anything."
"Thanks, mom."
"Of course." She whispered, smiling, then leaned down to plant a kiss on his forehead. "I love you, and I'm glad you're back."
"Love you too, mom."
She nodded, then picked up the First Aid kit and walked out, closing the door behind him.
Eric stared at the closed door for several minutes. The tiredness made his bones heavy, and soon he felt his eyes close in sleep.
******
His dreams were populated by dark, slinking figures that moved swiftly in the shadows. He was walking on the empty street in front of the laboratory he remembered so well. Then he stopped in front of the tall building, and a white-haired man in a lab coat walked out of it.
"Hello, Eric." The man said and grinned. "I've been waiting for you."
Eric opened his mouth in a silent scream. The shadows around the white-haired man solidified into the rabid dogs with glowing red eyes, and they took off towards him.
He turned and ran down the street. As in the manner of dreams, his feet were sluggish, as though he was running through water, and soon the beasts caught up to him. He felt the first slash of claws on his back, screamed and fell to the ground. The beasts attacked, slashing and biting at him, and Eric slowly slipped into the darkness that followed.
******
He gasped and sat up, panting.
It was all a dream, he tried to reassure himself. Just a dream.
His eyes became accustomed to the familiar sight of his room and his thundering heart went back to normal. Eric looked around: it was almost daytime, and the rising sun was already lighting his room a soft orange.
He threw aside the bed covers and slipped out of the bed. His sweat had wet the sheets on the bed. He pulled the sheets away, rolled them into a messy ball and threw them in his laundry basket. Then he staggered to his closet.
He couldn't take a bath because of his wounds, so he changed clothes instead. He rummaged in his closet till he found a long-sleeved blue shit. He put it on, decided against changing his pants, then walked back into the room. He moved towards the window, then looked out. 
It was still raining, but the drop down was a mere four feet, nothing he couldn't survive. He glanced back at the room that had been his for many years, and he knew. Till he died, he would never be normal Eric again. Going back to living in the same house with his mother would not change that.
"I'm sorry, mom," he whispered. Then he opened the window and sneaked out, blending into the shadows the night provided.