Tracking the Wolf

Evie sat on the dock, her legs dangling out over the edge. The water of the harbor glistened, reflecting the brilliant orange sunset overhead in between the dazzling white sails of the boats. Gulls mewled as they wheeled through the air. A breeze stirred Evie's curly hair and brought the mingled Maine scents of sea salt and the pine trees on the edge of the beach to her nose. Behind her, Evie could hear the girls she had come here with laughing as they splashed in the surf. Evie didn't turn to look. In fact, she barely even noticed the sunset. Her leg fidgeted restlessly, and every few seconds she pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, furrowed her brow, and glanced down at her phone, which lay on the wooden planks beside her. Suddenly, Evie's phone started buzzing. Her heart leapt, and her face lit up like the sky. She snatched the phone up off the dock. When she read the text message on the screen, however, her face fell. Come play! Stop moping! Evie turned and looked back towards the shore. The author of the message, Jen, grinned and waved, standing beside two other girls from their school, Patricia and Veronica, on the beach. Evie sighed. After checking her phone one last time, she shoved it in her pocket and walked back down the dock to the beach. Jen bounced up to Evie, Patricia and Veronica trailing in her footsteps. They were all in their bikinis. Jen elbowed Evie playfully. "What's eating ya, Evie? It's the last week of summer vacation! You should enjoy it!" Jen looked Evie up and down. "But you're still wearing your coat and scarf and boots, and you haven't even dipped your toes in the water!" Evie looked away. "I've got stuff on my mind." "She's always got stuff on her mind," muttered Patricia. "Space cadet," whispered Veronica. Patricia and Veronica snickered. Jen shot them a look, and the two girls fell silent. Gently, Jen laid a hand on Evie's shoulder, smiling. "Wanna come in the water with us just once, Evie? Before the sun goes down?" Evie stared down at the sand at her feet. Tears welled up in her eyes. "N...no, Jen. Sorry. I have to go home." Not meeting the eyes of the other girls, Evie ran past them and across the beach. She heard Jen calling after her. "Evie! Evie, wait!" Evie did not pause to catch her breath until she reached the sidewalk between the beach and the parking lot. For a few seconds, she stood beneath a streetlamp, gasping, as the sky darkened into the indigo hues of twilight. Then, with shaking hands, she pulled the picture of her father from her pocket and held it to her chest, painfully aware of the silent stillness of the phone in her other pocket. Wiping her tears away with her sleeve, she headed for home. # Evie stepped through the yard cluttered with junk towards the dingy trailer she reluctantly called home. As she walked up the steps to the front door, she did so warily–tensed, alert, like a wild animal that could sense a trap nearby. Sure enough, before she even opened the door, she heard the muffled sound of shattering glass on the other side, and her mother's harpy-like screaming. "Goddamnit, Paul! Damn you all to hell!" Evie winced. She took a deep breath and silently counted to five. She pressed her ear to the door; it sounded like her mother had stomped to the back of the room. After another deep breath, Evie slowly started opening the door. Evie's mother, Samantha, was curled up on the floor behind the moth-eaten couch, sobbing. Shards of a plate lay scattered across the carpet in front of her. Evie stood watching her mother from across the room. As always, Evie yearned to go to her mother's side and comfort her. As always, Evie was too afraid. "I'm home, Mom," Evie said stiffly, shutting the door and locking it. Samantha emitted a hoarse bark of a laugh and sprang to her feet. "You are. Finally!" she spat. "Unlike your no-good, son of a b***h father." Samantha swayed and took a few lurching steps towards Evie, who backed away. Suddenly, Samantha's glare melted and she started sobbing again, falling to her knees amidst the fragments of the plate. "No, Mom! You'll cut yourself!" Evie hurried over and lifted her mother out of the shards, setting her down on the couch. Evie frowned as she looked down at her mother. "You forgot your meds again, didn't you?" Samantha gulped as if drowning, her eyes red and wet, her nose dripping. "You aren't my f*****g doctor," she sniffed, wiping her snot on her sleeve. Evie went to the kitchen, opened a drawer, and pulled out a plastic container. She removed three pills of different shapes and sizes from the compartment marked "W," for Wednesday. "That son of a b***h Paul was supposed to be here three days ago," snapped Samantha. "He hasn't even called. Bastard!" Evie set the pills on a saucer. "Mom, you know he usually calls us every night. He must be really busy, that's all. He still loves us. He's working hard for us." Evie worked hard to keep her voice even and calm, to stifle the tremble of worry in it. Samantha laughed bitterly, and her voice took on a high-pitched, hysterical edge. "Sure he is. Sure he is! He's probably off having an affair with some redheaded floozy at a truck stop somewhere!" Evie filled a glass of water from the tap. "Maybe he's waiting on a late shipment of cargo. Maybe he's out of service in Nebraska or something." Samantha started tearing out the stuffing in one of the cushions with her fingernails like an angry cat. "He's a faithless husband!" she shrieked. "Cargo my ass!" Having torn the cushion to bits, Samantha started tearing at her own skin until it bled. Swiftly setting the saucer and the glass on the table by the couch, Evie grabbed Samantha's wrists, holding them firmly. "Stop, Mom!" Still gripping her mother's wrists tightly with one hand, Evie used the other to pop the pills into her mother's mouth, tilt her head back, and pour water down her throat. Samantha struggled, coughing and sputtering, but Evie pressed a hand firmly against her mouth and stood over her. "Swallow." Reluctantly, Samantha swallowed. She had been breathing like a frantic wild animal, thrashing and fighting with her daughter, but now, as Evie put an arm around her gently, her chest started to rise and fall more slowly. Awkwardly, Evie slid onto the couch beside her and embraced her. Samantha started crying again, murmuring under her breath in a singsong babble, "Oh, sorry, Evie baby, I'm so sorry, your mommy don't deserve to be a mommy, she belongs in a mental home, far, far away from you." Samantha laughed again, a sad, broken sound. Evie patted her back. "Shh. It's okay, Mom. I love you. It's not your fault. I know. I know." Samantha curled up on the couch and closed her eyes, all of the strength knocked out of her by her manic episode. Evie tucked a quilt from the closet around her. Then she went to her bedroom down the hall and grabbed her computer. Quietly, she pulled the table beside the couch and the rickety lawn chair that was the only other piece of furniture in the room across the room from her mother. Setting up her computer on the table, she sat on the chair and checked her emails, keeping a watchful eye on her mother all the while. As she had expected, Evie had an inbox full of back to school emails from her teachers. The emails contained a list of textbooks for the junior year, various course outlines, necessary supplies, and recommended reading to prepare for the year ahead. There were a few readings her new English teacher, Mr. Huffman, had already posted online for the class to view. Evie opened the first one, Plato's "The Allegory of the Cave," and started to read. She was only three sentences into it when her phone rang. She answered quickly. "Hello?" "Hello, this is Dave Richardson,”said a gruff, drawling voice. "I have this as the family number of Paul Witkins?" "Yes," said Evie. "Yes. This is his daughter." Evie heard the man spit and grimaced. Aside from Evie's father, it had often seemed to her that every man in the trucking business was unable to go more than a few minutes without spitting on the ground. "Well," said Mr. Richardson, "I was gettin' in touch to ask if you knew where your dad might be. He didn't show up at the warehouse six days ago like he was supposed to. He won't pick up his phone. We can't get him on the radio, and the tracking unit in his truck seems to have died. Been making calls all over and haven't heard hide nor hair of him from the DOT in any state. He seems to have just gone missing." Evie's heart sank. "Missing?" Mr. Richardson spat again. "Yep. Such a reliable guy, too. Don't know what could have—aaugh!" Out of nowhere, the man emitted a bloodcurdling scream that made Evie's ears scream, too. There was static, and then the line went dead. Evie's heart pounded. "Mr. Richardson? Mr. Richardson, are you okay?" The house was silent and dark. Evie's mother still lay motionless on the couch. Evie felt more alone than she ever had in her life. Suddenly, footsteps crept up the front stairs to the mobile home, stealthy as a cat's paws. Evie's eyes widened. "Who's there?" she gasped. Someone slipped a sheet of paper under the front door, then walked off into the night, just as quietly as they had come. Off in the distance, Evie heard a low, mournful howl. After taking a deep breath and counting silently to five, Evie walked over to the note and looked down at it. It was covered in dark red droplets that could only have been one thing. Evie shuddered. Slowly, she picked the piece of paper up. A faded black-and-white photograph of a wolf was taped to the top of the note. The bottom of the note contained only one word. "Run," it said. Just then, Evie heard pounding on the front door. Samantha startled awake and leapt to her feet. "What's going on?" she cried. "I don't know!" Evie cried back. The pounding continued, keeping time to Evie's throbbing heart. In a rush of adrenaline, she raced through the house, gathering her computer, her wallet and her mother's wallet, the documents and extra money from the safe, some food, and a few changes of clothes for her and her mother. She shoved all these items in a suitcase, along with her phone and the cryptic note, and then hurried to the kitchen to grab her mother's pills. Evie's mother spun in circles in the living room, crying. The pounding continued on the other side of the door. Evie heard the hinges squeal beneath the strain. "Open up!" hissed a raspy voice. "Open up, or we're breaking in!" Evie looked frantically out the back window. There she spied the rusty, dented camper her mother had bought during an impulsive fit ten years ago but had never driven, sitting behind the house in the dark. Evie pulled the key out from between the remaining cushions of the couch. "I hope to God it still works," she breathed. Evie yanked her mother and the suitcase out the back door just as the front door burst open. The two of them hurried into the camper. Evie slammed the door, locked it, and revved the engine. She cried out with relief as it roared to life. Stomping down on the gas pedal, she smashed through the flimsy fence around the backyard, tearing down the street into the night. She heard a few gunshots fired after them, but never hesitated long enough to look back. She had no idea what was happening, but she planned to do exactly what the note had told her to do: run.