Page 34 of Wolf's Fate
No thanks.
“It’s in Colorado?”
Was it? I had no idea. I knew it was a town located along the route of the Rockies, but they stretched for over three thousand miles, covering six states and into Canada. Which state in particular Baywater Creek was in was unknown.
“Yup, it’s small.” I was fairly confident it wasn’t a sprawling metropolis.
“Isn’t it amazing how much we don’t even know about ourown country?” Lorna shook her head slightly as if she couldn’t quite believe it.
Knowing there were shifters out there, living among us, men and women who couldshiftinto wolves, I decided to not tell her how much she didn’t know about her country.
“It is a little.” When in doubt about what to say, I found it was easier to agree.
“And your bus is what time again?”
Now, I narrowed my eyes at her. She knew darn well what time my bus was. She had my itinerary memorized. “Okay, what’s going on?” Folding my arms across my chest, I fixed her with a steady stare.
She had the decency to blush. “I’m sorry, Willow, I’m just a worrier.”
Leaning towards her, I closed the distance between us and gave her a quick hug. “I’m going to be okay,” I told her, hoping it wasn’t a lie. “If you don’t want to do this, it’s okay, I unders?—”
Lorna’s eyes were wide with alarm. “No! Iwantto do this. I am really looking forward to it,” she admitted sheepishly. “But I worry about you, sweet girl, all alone after what’s happened to you.”
“I’ve been alone for a long time. It’s fine, I’m used to it.” It was an innocent offhand remark.
It did not need to take twenty minutes to appease my friends, assuring them that I hadn’t meant to insult them or our friendships. When they finally had their ruffled feathers back in place and were suitably soothed, I thought maybe a break would be a good thing after all.
Buses were strange things,I decided that morning. Convenient, more eco-friendly, kind of, but they just housed such a mix of travelers. Take me, a mid-twenty-something-year-old educated business owner. Most people in my shoes had a car and, more importantly, could drive it. Compare me to the older lady two seats down from me, who was reading a book, an actual paperback and not a tablet, who had her knitting beside her. When she wasn’t reading, she was knitting, the click-clacking of the needles soothing.
Both of us were maybe typical bus users? I wasn’t sure. Or was it the younger guy sitting diagonally behind me? His eyes had been trained on me for a while, and it was making me uncomfortable, but not in a predatory way. He just seemed to have staring issues. Then there was the guy at the very back who burped his alcohol-fueled breath for us all to enjoy.
This was the same bus, well, maybe not the exact bus, but the same route that took me to Whispering Pines. I had felt sad as we left the town, and then had spent the next ten minutes settling down into my seat with my bag and snacks for the journey. Then I turned my attention to studying my fellow passengers because my paranoid brain wanted to make sure that there were no obvious stalkers. Which is why I kind of knew who my companions were.
Plus, I liked to make up stories about them. The older lady was most definitely a grandmother and was knitting scarves for her grandkids to get them ready for winter. The younger guy, the one with the staring issues, had anguish all over him. I was sure he was recently brokenhearted, and I reminded him of that person. The drunk in the back, well, it depended on how loud his burps were. Sometimes he was down on his luck andheading home to put the pieces of his life back together. Other times, I imagined that he’d been run out of town, his past catching up to him in one way or another.
The bus was a story all by itself, warm but worn. Every creak and rumble echoed with the countless miles it had traveled. How many people had sat in these seats, carrying not just their physical baggage but all the extra invisible weight of their stories, hopes, and failures?
My idle musings kept me entertained and distracted for the first leg of my journey. The people, the stories I invented for them, even the bus itself—everything blended into a soft, harmless daydream that passed the time. But when I got off the bus at the station, as I stepped off the small step, something shifted in the air.
Scanning the platform, I searched the shadows until my gaze landed on the really large guy standing in the far corner. As I noticed him, he noticed me, his eyes locking on mine, unblinking and direct. Unease settled low in my belly, a coil tightening into a knot of apprehension as I fought down the feeling of panic.
I kept repeating to myself that I was overreacting. My imagination had been on overdrive over the last few hours, and this was probably just a guy waiting for the next bus. Trying to shake off the uncomfortable feeling, I moved to stand nearer an exit, and I felt his eyes follow my every move. Gripping the strap of my backpack, I debated whether I could outrun him if I suddenly legged it. I knew I didn’t have the speed or strength needed to shake him off.
My next bus rolled slowly into the station, and I surreptitiously glanced at the station clock. I’d planned the journey outroughly for presentation purposes, knowing I wasn’t completing it. I hadn’t looked too much into the schedules if I missed a connection. I was now regretting not being more meticulous in my fake journey planning.
I debated my options. I could run. No. I just knew I couldn’t. Scratch that. I could get the bus that I was supposed to. What could he do to me on a bus? I’d be surrounded by other passengers, and any physical harm would be restricted. Blowing out a breath, I wondered if that was the best option. Doc was meeting me at the next stop, and I had help if I needed it.
Or I would lead them straight to Doc.
Why are we suddenly at “them?”The voice in my head sounded like Caleb, and the mix of curiosity and amusement in the tone made me miss his presence even more.
I didn’t know what to do. The sudden sound of the hydraulics of a door closing from a nearby bus made me spring into action. I didn’t run away to be chased. I didn’t leap onto the bus to lead them to Doc.
I dived for the bus that wasn’t mine, making it just in time as the driver was closing the doors. My heart was pounding as I barely squeezed through, catching myself from face-planting and flashing my ticket with shaky hands. I hoped the driver wouldn’t look too closely at the wrong destination printed on it, and thankfully he didn’t. He did give me a look of exasperation as if to say he just saw me standing, purposelynotgetting on the bus until the last minute, but I didn’t engage.
Hurrying to the back of the bus, I sank into the seat, knowing I had gotten away with it when I saw the big guy standing on the platform, scratching his head as he watched thebus depart. It looked like he’d chased me in vain. It was a small distance between us, which was a relief, but I had no feeling of safety despite the fact the bus was moving out of the station.
Glancing out the window, I saw him take a phone out of his pocket, and I wondered who he was calling. Was I actually of any interest to him? Had he been focused on me, or was I losing my mind? Firing out a quick text to Doc, I explained I was on a different bus and then had to ask a fellow passenger where I was actually going. My text to Doc was concise, I didn’t want to explain over a text why I was on a different bus, in case he thought I needed a psych evaluation.