“Why aren’t you believing me?”
“I just find it hard to believe that all of that happened.”
“It did!”
Simon nodded once more. “To top that, the werewolf boys then happened to park your truck in the front yard drunkenly.” My brows furrowed. I had no idea what he was referring to until I hurried to his window. He wasn’t wrong. Parked outside in the front yard was a bizarre scene. Next to my mother’s wooden swing and her dying flower bed was my truck. But that wasn’t right. It shouldn’t have been there. I had no recollection of anything after the incident on the rooftop, let alone driving home.
“I didn’t drive last night!”
“And your truck just happened to drive itself back home?” Again, there was more snide mocking in his tone.
“Simon, I swear I didn’t drive home drunk! I was headed outside to call Miranda to get me. Before I could reach her, Jamie found me. I don’t know how the truck got here!”
Simon looked to hold an overwhelming amount of doubt until he saw the panic on my face. His skeptical look started to fade. “You seriously don’t remember driving home?”
“That’s what I’m saying!” I covered my face with both hands as I tried to recollect the night before. “I don’t remember anything other than the boys turned into monsters! One minute they were my human coworkers, and the next they were snarling creatures…” I slowly slid down the edge of the bed until I was sitting on the floor. All I could do was stare off into space as the memory of the boys morphing still replayed in my head. I didn’t realize I had started crying until Simon’s hand was patting my shoulder.
“Okay, okay…” Simon took in a few deep breaths. He began to pace some more until he finally snapped his fingers. He clearly had an idea as a smile lit up his face. “You’re going to go shower; you look like a cast member of The Walking Dead. I’m going to go park your truck properly before Miranda goes outside and sees it.”
This all sounded like a pretty solid idea. My hands were still shaking at the memory of last night. Ten minutes later standing in the shower, the dull throbbing of water cascading down my head and back did nothing to calm me. I stood in the hot water, hoping some form of clarity would come to mind. None did. My imaginary world of make believe was shattering around me as I stood naked in the water. There were no more hypotheticals or second guessing in regard to whether or not I had seen a werewolf that one night.
I was never again going to think of anything in the world as merely ordinary. There wasn’t just one wolf roaming the outside forest; there were many. My coworkers weren’t just rowdy college-aged guys who never had a hearty dose of reality. They were supernatural creatures. Monsters were real.
After changing into a comfortable pair of sweats and a decent green t-shirt, I headed into Simon’s room. I hadn’t bothered to blow dry my hair. I made a half decent towel turban to help it dry. When I entered my brother’s room, he was already dressed for the day. “Good, you’re out. Let’s get going!”
“Going?” I motioned toward my towel turban and my bare feet. “Where are we going to go?”
“Old man Thompson’s house. We’ve been putting off doing it for too long. It’s time to get it over with.”
I stared at him. “You don’t think we have bigger problems than just getting a story from our crotchety neighbor?” Namely, the enormous new problem that all my coworkers were quite literally a pack of werewolves. All my thoughts regarding the fear of solely Matt being one were now long gone. Our problems were now at a much higher proportion.
A half hour later, I managed to blow dry my damp hair as well as make myself somewhat presentable. Simon and I managed to avoid breakfast and morning coffee with Miranda. She seemed to be in a foul mood as she argued with what sounded like her boss on the phone. She paced and glared, vocally adamant that they weren’t going to hit an important deadline in time. Simon grabbed a pack of Pop Tarts, and I grabbed my keys as we hurried out of the house. I found Simon did a good job re-parking my truck while I was in the shower.
“Who would drive you home?” Simon wondered aloud as he pulled himself inside the truck. He started looking around the floor and the back, seemingly looking for a clue of some sort to confirm the events of last night. But there was nothing. No clues left behind, not even a patch of fur. The only inhabitants of my truck were my pine-scented air freshener hanging and a tire iron under the backseat. My truck was clean, not a trace that anyone had been inside it last night. I could tell I was wondering the same thing as Simon. They didn’t kill me. That only meant that one of the guys managed to take me home and tuck me into bed.
“It was Matt,” I mumbled as my fingers twiddled against themselves.
Simon stopped his searching to pull himself into the passenger seat. He slammed the door shut before speaking. “What was?”
“The one who brought me home.”
“And why would he do that?”
I didn’t quite know the answer. At the party, there had been a moment between us. We spent most of our time squabbling, but when Cale clearly wanted to cause me harm, Matt was the only one who got in his way to stop him. He also prevented Cale from reaching me. Did that act of kindness mean he wasn’t quite a monster?
The drive down the long, winding road to Mr. Thompson’s house was quiet. Neither Simon nor I seemed to know what to say; neither of us pushed to break the silence.
“Miranda didn’t go to the party last night,” Simon finally said. He looked lost in thought as he drummed his fingernails against his thigh.
“Why not?”
“Dunno. I guess we’ll have to ask late…” Simon stopped mid-sentence. My eyes never left the road, so I knew why he stopped talking. About forty yards ahead of us were police cars, their red and blue lights flashing as they remained parked. There were four total, along with an ambulance. I slowly approached the scene in my truck, Simon and I looking out toward Mr. Thompson’s dilapidated house. Police were coming and going; bright yellow crime scene tape closed off the perimeter around the front porch.
“What the hell?” Simon wondered aloud. I pulled my truck to a stop. Exiting the ugly wooden house were two large men wheeling a cart. On top of the cart was a body bag with a man-sized person inside of it. Given the crotchety old man lived alone, there was only one real idea of who it was inside of that body bag. “I don’t think we’re talking to Mr. T today,” said Simon finally, his eyes wide.
A sharp knock on my window startled us. An officer was at my window. I quickly rolled it down. “We need to keep moving on this road, ma’am,” said the officer. He looked too young to be a cop, barely out of high school perhaps. A multitude of light brown freckles covered his face, and a mop of red hair was neatly combed under a large deputy hat.
“Sorry,” I mumbled as the cart with the body bag reached the driveway. The two men started to load it into the back of the ambulance. “That’s our neighbor,” I offered numbly.
“What happened?” asked Simon, his wide eyes intently watching the black body bag.
“Animal attack,” said the young officer.
My eyes shot to the officer at the same time Simon’s did. “A-Animal?”