Innocence, Stolen {Mature/Werewolf}

Prologue

12 January 2018

THEY SAY that some things are meant to be. That when certain events happen in such a way, in such an order, the result is inevitable. A man misplaced his keys, making him exactly seven minutes behind his usual schedule. As a result, he misses his 8:11 am train and had to wait exactly fifteen minutes for the next. He'll now be late for work and he has an important meeting that could change his career. So, when he gets off, instead of walking the 20 minute walk from the station, he gets into a taxi.

On that day, one motorist who had newly acquired his license is going the opposite way. A series of events on that particular day sees that they collide and the man who misplaced his keys can never walk again. He later becomes the man who invents groundbreaking technology to improve wheelchairs. He makes millions and changes lives forever.

This would never had happened if he had not misplaced his keys that day.

For me, it was my own stupidity. I had grown up with my father's cautious tales ringing in my ear. Don't accept drink from strangers, don't walk home alone in the dark, don't draw attention to yourself, don't have your earphones in.

I would scoff each time, quick to argue that I should not have to be afraid of the men lurking in the dark. Why should I look over my shoulder because there are monsters out there? Why should I live in constant caution just to avoid a maybe?

Later, I would fixate over my chain of events. The way I had agreed to stay behind after work to help clear up. The way my supervisor had convinced me that we could share a sneaky bottle of wine for our efforts. I was tipsy when she had rung me a cab and when she offered to wait outside with me, I had waved her offer away.

I promised her I would be fine. I told her I would see her tomorrow.

It was a bitter January night, the kind that held frost in the air - biting cold that almost felt like a burn. My nose stung and I knew it was red and though I knew they weren't, I had the paranoid feeling that my fingertips had caught frostbite.

The car park was empty, pitch black at the unholy hour. Lone street lamps cast an artificial orange glow as if they were spotlights showcasing works of art.

The wine he made my lips feel numb and I chewed my bottom one to reassure myself it was still there. I could see no approaching cars and I wondered how much longer I would have to wait. I told myself that if my taxi didn't come in ten minutes, I would go back inside. I even checked my phone and saw that it was 12:49.

12:59, I promised myself.

The road next to the carpark remained empty and though I promised myself, at 01:01, a silver car slowly drove down the road. I had felt proud of myself that I had waited those extra two minutes. See? I told myself. I would have missed it if I had gone back in.

At first he didn't see me, but I raised my hand half-heartedly to catch his attention. I watched as the car reversed and slowly came into the lot. The silver car stopped in the middle, waiting.

I hugged my jacket closer to my body and walked over, my converses crunching on some loose gravel. The driver's window ease down as I approached, and the driver looked up at me almost blankly.

"Taxi for Kelly?" I crouched a little so that my face was level with his. "I know a girl called Maggie called it in?" I watched as he slowly nodded and I smiled gratefully, moving for the back seat.

The inside was warm and after I relayed my address, I settled in.

"Busy night?" Same question, different cab. I wondered how many times he had been asked that.

"It's been... surprising." His voice was nice, deep. The kind that could tell a story and suck you in. I glanced over at him again and found his eyes watching me from the rear view mirror.

They were a pale grey, in contrast with his chestnut hair that had the barest hint white-grey. A bit of stubble that had a copper hue lined a sharp, angular jaw. His nose was also angular as were his cheekbones. The two hands on the steering wheel were long and slender - I'm not sure why I noticed his hands, or why they sparked the first ember of unease within me.

It wasn't his eyes, which were intense, relentless. It wasn't the fact that we weren't going in the direction of my home, but the opposite. Further and further away from town.

It was his hands. They don't look like a taxi driver's hands, I thought as slowly reached into my bag, blinding searching for my phone. They looked too soft, aristocratic hands. Skilled hands that would play a piano or paint. They just didn't seem like hands that drove for a living.

I flashed him a tight smile as my heart gave it's first lurch. Panic began to bubble inside of me, though I willed it at bat. Don't be paranoid, it's probably just wine-thoughts.

I looked at my phone, hoping I could call my dad. Why? I wasn't sure. Maybe I just needed to hear his voice, for him to know. I needed him to know.

No service.

My heart gave it's second lurch and I could see my sweat coating the screen of my phone.

"Everything alright?"

"Hm? Yeah I-," I looked up for my phone and glanced around. It was dark, but I could make out the lining of trees from outside. "Wait, I think you're going the wrong way." I couldn't keep the high note of hysteria out of my voice.

He gave a deep, throaty chuckle that made the hairs on my neck stand on end.

"Just the long way, pet. There's been a closure."

But even as he said it, the sharp click of the car locks sounded.

"You can let me out here," a part of me knew, knew, that this was it. I was going to be one of those people on the news.

26 year old store assistant Kelly Reid has gone missing since the early hours of Friday morning. She was last seen leaving her place of work, where her supervisor had called her a cab...

I wonder if my body would be found or if my family would never know, never have closure.

He didn't answer me but instead, he sped up.

I wanted to be wrong, so wrong. I wanted him to stop outside my house. I wanted this to be all just a bad dream.

I almost escaped that night. When I couldn't prise open the door, fingernails bloody, I reached for his throat. The car spun as he lost contact and toppled over. I had crawled out of the broken window, glass sinking into my palms, my knees - but I didn't care. I must have made it about a hundred yards when he hit me over the head. With what? I don't know. Something hard, metal. Maybe a part of the car. The last thing I remember seeing was the open stretch of road, mocking me as the world went dark.

Somethings are meant to be, they say. I say that no one is meant to go through what I or the others did.