Engines and werewolves

Victoria glanced at the front door to her left. Her father stood beside the entrance. His palm lay on the hollow wood and he hung his head. In his other limp hand he held his aged briefcase, a gift from her deceased mother ten years before. Her father's slumped shoulders and light grasp on the suitcase warned her to trouble. She rose from the chair. "Dad?" Robert O'Hara started and spun around. The suitcase cluttered to the floor. His spectacles were askew and his face was pale. "Victoria?" The middle-aged man fumbled with his lenses and set his glasses right. "I-I didn't expect you back so soon." His glasses slipped to one side. She walked over to him and adjusted his glasses so they stayed straight. "My lab got out at four, but what's wrong? What are you doing home from work so early?" Her father pursed his lips. "I-there's something I have to tell you." He set his hand on the lower part of her back and led her over to the old dining set. They sat down so they faced each other and he grasped her hands. He stared down at their joined hands rather than at her quizzical eyes. "I. . .I lost my job today." Victoria's eyes widened. "Your job? How? Why?" He closed his eyes and shook his head. "It was foolish of my really. I challenged an employee, a man more connected than I, and I lost." "But nobody knows the finances of the company like you do!" she argued. Her father sighed. "I know, but this young man is a-well-a-" She frowned. "A patronizer?" she guessed. He pursed his lips. "We'll say he's very well connected. I was late with my report and my supervisor took that as an excuse to fire me so he could get my position." She shook her head. "That can't be the end! You should complain! You should-" "There's nothing that can be done." He raised his tired eyes to hers. His face was pale as he squeezed her hands. "We must make the best of it." Victoria pursed her lips and stood, breaking their connection. "You're not feeling well. We should get you to bed." He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. "I don't think I can, not with so much this is going to effect. The apartment rent, your college tuition, the phone bills." He groaned and slumped in his chair. "Only a miracle can save us, or Grog interceding on my behalf." The old man shook his head and sighed. "But that, too, would be a miracle." Victoria set her hands on his shoulders and smiled down at him. "We don't need a miracle, Dad. You can just get another job." He clutched his head in his hands and groaned. "That's the worst of it. My supervisor fired me with prejudice and refused to give me a referral." He raised his head and threw up his arms. "How am I supposed to get a new position with another employer after they've called up my former one?" Her father's face was white as a sheet and his hands shook. Victoria tugged him out of his chair and towards his room. "Why don't you go rest, and we can think of something to do tomorrow?" He shuffled along beside her with his head downcast. "Yes, perhaps that would be best. I'm. . .I'm not feeling too well." Victoria tucked him into bed and didn't leave his side until he had fallen into a fitful sleep. She closed the door to his room and retreated to their small living room. The dreary night outside the dingy windows reflected her mood as Victoria sat down in her father's chair. Victoria fought back tears as the full weight of her father's firing hit her. She was now the sole provider of their small family, and he and Victoria knew her meager salary as a cafeteria worker at the college wouldn't be enough to cover their expenses, much less her college tuition. Only a miracle can save us, or Grog interceding on my behalf. The words echoed in her mind. Victoria's eyebrows crashed down and she sat up. She'd make them a miracle before the chance passed them by. She pulled out her phone and searched the internet for an address. His address. Victoria's search turned up a home address along the old bay road. She jumped to her feet, but paused and glanced at the short hall and her father's closed door. "I'll be right back, Dad, and with that miracle. . ." she whispered. Victoria grabbed her coat and the car keys. She hurried to their old red clunker that sat on the curb outside their apartment building, a Volkswagen that saw better days ten years before she was born. The neighborhood was a little dirty, but the people there were the good sort to help out when trouble arose. Unfortunately, Victoria knew none of them could help her out with this problem. She slipped into the car and drove through the myriad of streets eastward toward the large bay. The night cast the blue waters as black as she bumped onto the old bay road. Victoria slowed down and flicked on her phone screen. The words on the screen represented an article written in one of the local newspapers about five years ago. Victoria put down the phone and glanced at the road. The weak headlights of the car revealed a winding road with sparse houses. On her left was a mess of woods that stretched northward. On her right was the infamous bay and the cliffs that led down to the waters. The crash of the waves against the rocks wrecked the otherwise peaceful night. Victoria counted the house numbers along the road. "560. 562. Five-" She paused and frowned. Each of the previous house numbers were more or less evenly spaced apart, but where the next house should have been was empty. There was a driveway overgrown with weeds, but no number or mailbox. The same was true for the other parcels leading up to the address she sought. They were all unoccupied.