Crimson's Daughter

Chapter IV: Information Overload

The black car that I sat in while Lydia drove had been following Finley for over ten minutes. He would take various turns along his route home. Some of them were unnecessary when I realized he only lived five minutes from Fulton's graveyard. 

"Don't you think he is going to suspect he is being followed by now?" I asked Lydia.

"It is a possibility, but given that Finley has been living under the radar for so long I wouldn't be surprised if he was a tracker back at his old pack." 

Finley had parked his car in the driveway of his home. He lived in a quiet house that was painted a pale blue. The shutters were painted white and the grass was beginning to go dormant with fall approaching day by day. 

"A tracker?"

"Basically when we need someone to find someone or something there is a specific werewolf within the community who is more in touch with their senses than anyone else. Because of their abilities, they are able to locate easier than we ever could, this also includes no one being able to find them if they wanted to go missing themselves." 

Finley was a quiet guy. A very reserved person who kept to himself most of his life. I had never gone to his home and neither had Margo. Even when mentioning his parents and meeting them Finley was very standoff-ish about it all. 

Looking back on all of that it made sense why Finley could be a werewolf.

"Keep your head low and the hood of your jacket up when we walk up to his front door. I don't expect to make a scene by knocking down doors, but I also don't need anyone seeing a supposed dead girl walking around town."

My palms began to sweat as we got out of the car. Our footsteps low but in a brisk walk to his front porch. Lydia had a neutral expression on her face and she had swept your short hair up into a ponytail. The tuft sticking out. 

She rapt on the door three times and I could hear shuffling on the other side. My nose could smell Finley, a completely different scent compared to the axe I usually smelled on him every day. His scent was stronger, more prominent and stuck out like a sore thumb. It was oddly comforting.

"You're not going to hurt him right?" I replied, catching up with her, matching her pace. 

"No. I'm not a fighter...unless you warrant it of course." she smiled.

The door was opened and I stared down at Finley's dress shoes, not daring to look up. My nerves were kicking in.

"Who are you?" Finley asked, his voice gruff and held distaste.

"I'm Lydia Stone. You do know that you're an undocumented werewolf on my land correct?"

"I didn't realize."

"I'm sure." Lydia's voice contained sarcasm.

Tension filled the air and I didn't know if it was hostility I felt coming from Lydia or from Finley. Nonetheless, I didn't appreciate it.

"Besides that point, I am not here to cause you trouble. We can easily resolve that issue...I'm here because you attended Claire Monroe's funeral today."

"You know Claire?"

At this point, I decided it was best to look up at Finley. My breathing shuddered when I got a good look at him. 

His sand-colored hair was disheveled and he had bags under his light brown eyes. There was a bit of facial hair growing on him and you could tell he really needed sleep. I could tell already that even if what Lydia had said about him being a tracker was true then he was in no state to be aware of his surroundings.