Lupine

4.

A shorter chapter. After this the story will begin to pick up a little.

***

Lawrence had only been gone several hours before the urge to shift and run and follow began to overwhelm Oleda. She slammed the lid of her laptop with a growl and grabbed the keys she'd broken to throw in the garbage bin, her own claws from half shifted fingers biting into her skin and scratching at the desk as she did.

It had been years since she struggled so much to contain it and six years since she began living in normal society again. She could almost feel the wind on her fur, dirt under her paws, a whisper of blood on her tongue, and memory of meat and sinew in her teeth.

Oleda threw up into the bin.

What was happening? First she seeks out a werewolf, invites him into her home, and then there was that strange howl. Her life had been mercifully clear of the creatures for almost as long as she'd been one and not everything was coming at her all once.

Then she thought of the murders. She didn't really know much of what had happened aside from bits picked up in passing conversations; humans were eviscerated by knives and torn to bits, some found in such small pieces they could only be identified by DNA. It had been months since they started and only now were humans beginning to think the different cities were linked. A lot could change in a week—Oleda certainly had.

She could almost hear the howl in her mind, giving words to the haunting noise. Danger it seemed to call. Run.

And while she knew a howl couldn't have words behind it, she still want to listen.

To follow its orders.

Oleda's claws retracted and teeth dulled before she was conscious of her decision. Her growl turned into a wine before it was nothing at all leaving her standing over the stinking garbage can in resignation. It was, apparently, time to move on.

She began packing a small bag. The canvas was worn beneath her fingers and the simple pink backpack held together by roughly sewn patches and sheer will. There were the remnants of a few melted stickers still clinging to the fabric and she tried to recall what they once were as she shoved her phone and broken laptop in but came up blank. The memories from before faded more every day, so Oleda had only made it a point to remember the important bits: her mother Anna and father Richard, the way they'd hold back from yelling when she frustrated them, the first time she snuck out.

She ran her fingers across the dark stains that refused to come out of the fabric.

What would happen, Oleda wondered while shoving deodorant and toothpaste on top of the crumpled clothes, when the memories faded completely? Would the creature consumer her?

Shivers wracked her body and slung the bag across her back hastily. She was human first and foremost, it wouldn't happen.

Her wallet and a hastily written check were the last things to go as she grabbed stuffed it into her smaller cross-body bag before she locked her window and pulled up the Greyhound schedule on her phone. A few quick searches and she settled on Denver as her final destination before rushing out her door into the main house. Her boots sank into the plush carpet and the heavy scent of too many candles—always cinnamon—wafted over her.

Eloise was in the kitchen, busy over an array of paper and photos strewn across the island. She was always doing something crafty and Oleda's chest hurt at the sight of the elderly woman.

"Eloise?"

She looked up in surprise and covered it up with a quick smile. Oleda forgot to make sound while entering again, but bit back an apology.

"Oh darling, good to see you. Help me with this. I can't write as good as I used to." Everything Eloise said turned up at the end like a question and Oleda loved it. The older woman probably used it to cover up how much she failed to notice most things.

"I can't. I actually need to talk with you about some—"

"Oh, about your friend from last night?" interrupted Eloise without looking back at Oleda. Maybe she didn't miss as much as Oleda hoped. "Bill and I left for a while in case you needed privacy, we all know how thin this house is."

She looked up then to see Oleda wasn't blushing or tittering and stopped. "What is it?"

"I'm..." Where to start?

Oleda had lived in this house for as long as she'd been in Minneapolis, taken in like a stray when they found her in the park six years earlier. The irony at finding Lawrence and bringing him home there wasn't lost on her, but it was overwhelmed by a blue feeling she couldn't name and she stumbled over her words. "I'm leaving. I'm going west for a while and I- I don't know when I'll be back."

Eloise looked at the younger girl critically, but her expression otherwise didn't show much. "How long is while?"

"It could be a few days; it could be a few months." A few years. "I'll leave you a check for rent in advance for the next couple of months just in case."

And Eloise was suddenly in front of her with a soft hand on Oleda's shoulder and she withheld the urge to lean into the other woman's touch like she wanted.

"Did something happen?"

"No! I'm fine." Lie. "Nothing happened." Lie. "It's not like I'm in danger or anything." Lie? "I just have to go."

Those words sat between them for a minute. Oleda had never been great at lying and both of them knew it, but she watched as Eloise took a step back and, like every time before, accepted what Oleda couldn't say.

"Well, so long as you keep in touch the room will be yours whenever you return." And at that, Eloise smiled and turned away to putter about her kitchen gathering this and that from the cupboards.

Oleda began to offer the check but was stopped with a stern tut. "Put that away, you can pay when you get back Oleda," Eloise said tossing her a plastic bag of snacks tied neatly. "Just remember to call dear."

The younger woman stared at her for a moment until it looked like Eloise may try to convince her to stay and turned to the door. "I will."

With that she made her way outside, the door shutting firmly behind her. Minneapolis was covered in a near constant layer of clouds this time of the year, the promise of a storm on the horizon. Oleda stopped on the porch to look call a Lyft, not enough time left until the last Greyhound left at noon to hoof it to the stop. As she waited, she worried over the weather a bit but shook off the mood quickly—she'd be gone soon enough and Colorado shouldn't be as bad.

A small silver car pulled up to the curb and honked. She made her way over and climbed in with a curt greeting to the driver before staring pointedly out the window. The Victorian home kept her gaze as they pulled away until she couldn't see it out the rear window any longer. Oleda righted herself and idly opened the bag Eloise had given her to grab a snack out when her fingers skimmed soothing strange on top. She pulled out a polaroid.

A younger Oleda sat at the dining room table with a cake and a single candle set in front of her, Eloise beaming at her side, and Bill reflected in the mirror with the ancient camera and a grin of his own. Her expression was stiff, smile a little underused, but she could still remember the joy. It had been exactly one year after the elderly couple had taken her in and they'd dragged her down to celebrate in lieu of not knowing Oleda's birthday. She caught her own gaze in the rear view mirror. Oleda didn't feel she aged a day since the photo was taken while she could count the missing lines in Eloise's face.

Carefully, she tucked the photo away in her cross-body bag where it all but burned a whole in the fabric. Oleda surveyed the snacks Eloise had given her and mentally rationed them for her twenty-four hour bus-ride while trying to keep herself calm.

Maybe it was time to move on for good.