The Wizard's Herbarium: The Wolf Child

Part 8

Colt felt the gazes of the crowd shift towards him, heads turning as though on a spit. He felt himself deflate, and his mind began to make plans to leave before anything else. He'd liked this town and the people he met so far. It was too bad he'd be leaving so soon.

Chuck's expression was hurt and disappointed, with a touch of fear. Colt knew what was running through his mind. Chuck thought that he'd picked someone halfway decent and invited him into his home. Even when Colt did nothing, the fact that he was being accused brought Chuck's reputation into question too.

Colt didn't know what to say. Denying the crowd, who were searching for any answer they could grasp at, seemed like an unwise idea. Any rebuttal on his part could spark more questions, or potential accusations. He could talk to Chuck on his own, even go as far as to show the other man his apartment, Colt had nothing to hide, but he wasn't about to invite an entire angry mob in either.

He stayed silent, clenching his jaw and keeping his hands in his pockets. Arguments sparked in front of him, people shouted, and Colt realized the clear lack of someone of authority.

He tired of the whole situation, but Colt didn't dare leave, as the prime object of suspicion. It would take him a few minutes to pack and then leave town. There were too many variables, and unknowns when the crowd was so full of anger. So, he let his thoughts wander, taking refuge in his own mind.

From where he was standing, Colt could see past the soccer fields and up the hill to the apartments where he'd been staying. The forest was thick there, giving the apartments some privacy, but also something nice to look out at. If Colt squinted, he could see movement at the forest's edge. A flash of white and two figures.

"I think Lorayne's might've convinced them to disperse." Chuck's worn voice started Colt out of his thoughts. The other man didn't look great. In fact, he looked downright exhausted, as though the crowd were sucking the life out of him.

"Why don't you call the police?" Colt asked, watching the quieted crowd begin to move on.

"Because she's not missing," Chuck explained with an irritated sigh. "She went to a party for heaven's sake. We just haven't heard from her yet and the people in this town are too nosy for their own good. I'm sorry you got dragged into it."

"It's not a problem."

Chuck's expression turned serious as he gazed at Colt. "I really hate to ask, but you didn't - wouldn't... would you?"

"I understand and no, I didn't take your daughter. You can come to the apartment if you want."

"I think I'll take you up on the offer, if only just to get away from all these people."

By the time Colt and Chuck started up the hill, the two figures by the forest were gone. Colt wondered if he imagined the whole thing.

"Is it true that someone saw you with the Felcon boy?" Chuck asked when they'd moved out of earshot of the crowd.

"I don't know his last time," Colt said. "I met a boy named Mike. I was out for a walk and he was getting the crap beat out of him by some other kids. He came to my apartment to wash up and then left. Seemed like an alright kid."

They entered into Colt's apartment, which was still sparse. A few days of staying in it hadn't changed that, but Colt supposed that a part of him wished to see the space transformed and full of furniture. Perhaps after months of travel, he was craving something more permanent. The summer was getting along, and winter would be upon them in less than a handful of months.

"Bathroom's through there," Colt said, pointing. "There's a bedroom too, but I haven't even been in there. Feel free to nose about."

"I believe you," Chuck said, his tone even more weary now. "Mrs. Botts is well-meaning, but a little paranoid since her husband died. He read up on a lot of conspiracy theories, and much of him seems to have rubbed off on her."

Colt got a second plastic cup from his bag, just like the one he had been drinking from the day before, and filled it with water from the sink. As he moved, he stepped over the pouch that had fallen onto the floor the first night. He'd left it there, not quite daring to pick it up again.

Chuck was the one to spot the pouch as Colt moved around it. "What's that?"

"My knives." Colt nearly left the explanation at that, as he filled the plastic cup at the sink before handing it over to Chuck, but he'd just been accused of kidnapping a kid. All he needed was to appear more like a psychopath.

"My chef knives." He corrected. "I don't know why I still carry them around - habit, I guess? I've had them since I was sixteen."

"Will you ever use them again?" Chuck sipped at the water, and Colt wondered how he managed to get anything past the facial hair, and into his mouth.

"No. I left my career back in the city." Colt felt himself shrugging his shoulders, as though he had a twitch or could dislodge the weight that pressed down on him, making it difficult to breathe.

There was pity in Chuck's eyes, and even if the angry mob earlier hadn't already confirmed it, Colt knew that it was time to leave. Who cared if he had two more days left in the apartment? That look was the same look he'd gotten from countless strangers over the past few months. It was a look that made an ugly uncomfortable sickness gnaw at his stomach.

Chuck left, saying that he was going home to wait for a call from Abigail. She'd likely want him to pick her up. 

As soon as Chuck was gone, Colt went back outside the apartment, to the place he'd seen the figures. He wasn't quite sure what else he was looking for - bits of fur, or any sign that he wasn't simply losing his mind.