Under A Latent Moon (A Werewolf Tale)

Chapter 22

Harley

Gravel and twigs crunched under Harley's shoes. With each step her chest seemed to get tighter and tighter. She felt like she'd suddenly been cast underwater, trying to breathe in an environment without enough oxygen. Beside her, Ben ran a hand through his caramel hair, his face carefully blank. "Harley..."

He knew where she was leading him. He had to. Ben was a smart guy, he'd probably known the second she started their hike. It had been thirty minutes since they'd pulled over to the side of the road and stepped into the trees. Harley's feet had begun a fierce ache after the first mile.

Not much farther. She could feel it in her bones. "Almost there."

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

No. But somehow it might help. Might give her the closure she didn't realize until now she needed. "It's something I need to do eventually."

"I don't get why you'd want me here. Did you ask Will?"

A crooked tree branch cut into her path. Ben pulled it out of the way so she could move forward. "Thanks." When the green, vibrant trees started thinning out, she finally replied, "I didn't. Ask, that is.Will has his own connections to this place and I'm not going to make him face his own demons so he could help me face mine."

"What if he wants to help?"

What if he didn't? "This might be better done alone."

Ben mumbled something under his breath.

They reached their destination. Harley stumbled forward, caught off guard, an action that had Ben placing a hand on her arm to steady her. She scanned the area, her breath catching painfully in her chest. She'd thought it was farther. That she'd have more time.

The clearing was rather large, almost completely cut off from civilization. A single overgrown path served as an exit--or a driveway. What was once a pretty, expansive grass backyard was now a mixed-up mass of weeds and knee-deep grass. The shrubs and trees near the edges of the clearing leaned inward, expanding, seeing how far they could go without punishment.

She'd thought doing this during the day would make it easier, but somehow the sunlight casting through the trees gave a harsh view to the scene before her.

Among the grass lay all the rubble. Nothing but a charred black frame was left of the house. On the right side, the foundation tilted as if it wanted to fall apart. Pieces of the structure lay about--a slim pipe here, a brick there.

Harley made herself take slow steps forward. She stepped over blackened beams, large shards of glass, a partially melted plastic knob from the stove.

Ben whistled lowly behind her. "I thought they had this all cleaned up. They told me it was."

"It is." Her voice sounded hollow to her own ears. "All the personal items are gone."

She'd found a chunk of the counter, the leg of a chair. Yet no picture frames, no bicycles or ceramic plates. The fire afterward couldn't have eaten absolutely everything. She'd have to ask Alpha Mark about where it all went. Probably in a storage unit that had been listed under her assets. A list she'd tried hard not to read.

The remains of what was once her life lay around her: what was and what could have been. She reached down to grab the chunk of wood near her foot. It was a dark wood--painted maroon--with black around the edges and a hinge dangling from the edge by a single screw. A piece of their front door. She remembered, dimly, her mother spending an afternoon painting it while she sat on the porch, playing with her puppy stuffed animal.