Instinct

43. The Breakdown

A police station in Vermont receives a call, among a slew of calls they receive on any given day, and the information gets shoved to the back of the queue they have going. It's a crazy world out there now, and there's just not time to respond to every crime that's already been committed – only time to try to get to the ones that are in progress. There's no shame, they try to convince themselves, in dedicating manpower to saving people who still have a chance, rather than those already damned and gone.

This call is from a small hospital in town, however, regarding a young, unidentified woman who was brought in by ambulance hours ago, having sustained multiple injuries. She had been assaulted at night somewhere near the university campus.

In the time between this call, and an officer getting round to the hospital, the girl has fled in spite of her injuries and fragile state of mind. She's nowhere to be found, and though an APB is issued, there's no doubt in everyone's mind that she will not be found.

"And she was mugged late last night?" the officer asks the doctor and nurses who were assigned her case.

"Not mugged," one of the nurses corrects. "It was sexual assault, rape."

Later, once the harried, disillusioned officers have collected the evidence on hand and gotten statements from the hospital staff, they make their way back to the station.

"Poor bitch," one says. "It was a wonder she managed to escape in her condition."

"She's a werewolf, man," the other reminds him. "Nothing'll keep them down except for a bullet to the heart. Not even a gangbang."

"She's lucky she even made it that long without being caught for trying to pass herself off as a human."

The third, a quieter officer who had hung back thus far, is unsettled by the way they're talking about the young woman in question. He's human, by all accounts, but he doesn't understand how anyone could see werewolves as anything less than people themselves.

"But she didn't deserve it," he said quietly. "No one deserves that, werewolf or not."

The other two laugh perversely and shoot him down for his naïveté. He is briefly angered, but there's not much he can do anyway, so he hangs back and listens with discontent for the rest of the journey.

Across town, still dressed in lightly coloured scrubs, the girl is standing at a payphone, swaying on her feet. She's still in unimaginable discomfort, but refuses to think too hard about what happened to her. She dials the only number she can think of in the moment and waits as she listens to the dial tones.

"Hello?" the tired voice greets.

"Daniel?" Diana asks. There's no wobble to her voice, she hasn't shed a tear. Hasn't spoken a word since. She just feels cold and empty inside.

He notices immediately, as she knew he would. "Diana? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she lies. "I know we haven't spoken for a while, but I just wanted to know – could you come pick me up?"

Daniel's in Virginia in a motel, trying to sleep after a long week just outside of Richmond. Before he's even wiped the grogginess out of his eyes, he's up and getting dressed with his phone pressed to his ear. He tells her to wait for him, that he's coming and to stay out of sight and out of trouble. She doesn't even ask him to hurry, she just waits the ten hours of non-stop driving until he gets there. And once he does, they don't talk about it.

***

"Caroline," her grandfather says. "I need you to leave."

She's not sure she hears him right, when all is said and done. They've just finished breakfast and she's doing the dishes when he broaches the subject.