The Amazing Wolf Boy

Part 49 - Missing!

For the rest of the week, the main talk in school was Eff and his friends getting community service. They had to work a hundred and twenty hours at the Palms West Hospital, presumably so they could see pain and suffering firsthand. I didn't know if that would teach them a lesson or inspire them. But Eff kept his word about the truce, and he had enough influence to keep the other guys off me.

I spent my evenings with Uncle Bob. I figured he wouldn't try to kill anyone else with me hanging around. The most exciting thing we did was go to Publix for groceries one night.

As we walked into the store, I noticed a large scale, the kind with a three-foot dial, and I decided to weigh myself. The joke Brittany had made about my having muscles bothered me. I didn't feel any different, although my T-shirts were getting a little tight.

I stared as the dial stopped just short of one-fifty. That couldn't be right. That was football player weight. I still pictured myself as a skinny science nerd. I walked away, glancing over my shoulder at the scale. Maybe this was another perk of being a werewolf.

On Friday, Uncle Bob left a voice mail that he was going to dinner with a friend and would be home late. I had cold pizza for dinner, and was all set to research magic circles when I heard a knock at the door. I opened it.

Brittany collapsed against my chest. "He's gone. I can't find him."

I wrapped my arms about her, too stunned to enjoy it. "What do you mean? Who's gone?"

"My brother." She looked at me, tears like black rivers streaming down her cheeks. "He didn't come home from school. He never stays away this long. He wouldn't miss dinner. I went to all his friends' houses. But nobody's seen him. Where could he be?" She sobbed, her shoulders shaking.

I didn't know what to do. "Don't cry." I patted her back. How lame could I get?

I drew her inside the house and walked her to the kitchen. She sat at the table as if hopeless. I gave her a paper napkin, and then poured a glass of water from the pitcher in the fridge. She sipped, hiccupping.

"What did his friends say?" I asked.

Her voice was weak. "One of the guys, Jeremy, has a couple of motocross bikes, and they took them to these dirt trails out in the Glades. I knew where he meant. I've been there before. Anyway, there were two bikes and three boys, so one had to stay behind and wait."

She blew her nose, and I gave her another napkin.

"So they went to give Butt Crack his turn, only he was gone. Jeremy thought he went back to the house. But when they got home, he wasn't there either." She started to cry again, her face red and puffy. "Jeremy said he thought to himself, gee that's weird. But he didn't tell anyone. He didn't call."

I put my hand over hers and squeezed it gently. "Did you let the sheriff know?"

"Grandpa did. They're watching the hospitals."

With a curt nod, I got up to refill her glass. A combination of sympathy and frustration washed over me. "Why didn't Butt Crack have his cell with him?"

"Mom says he's too young to have a phone." She scrubbed her face with the heel of her hand. "Now it's getting dark, and... Oh, God. There's a killer on the loose."

"Take me to those trails," I said.

"It's no use," she said. "I just came from there."

"Maybe I can track him. I might smell something or hear his voice." I paused, not really wanting to point out how different I was from everybody else.

"All right." She threw her napkins in the trash and walked woodenly to her car.

The sky was bright orange, the sun red. I climbed in beside her. She backed down the drive and onto the road, turning away from town. Several minutes later, we pulled into a new housing development. The homes were large—three car garages, pools in every yard. A few weren't landscaped yet, and they stood out like derelicts.