In Love With The Wild

Neve Whitmore “Let it go, Whitmore. It’s nothing more than a mere animal attack.” My editor was starting to feel like an impenetrable wall I couldn’t get through to. I hugged the case file so tight against my chest, as if it could protect me from the evil that was out there lurking in the dark. I didn’t notice when the victim’s picture in the file slipped out. Her name was Helen. She was my age. It could have been me. “But you don’t understand. The river… the full moon… the pattern…” My voice was a whisper, lost in the newsroom’s clatter. “There was no blood at the crime scene. It’s like her body was just…mysteriously drained of blood .” “Coincidence,” he said, without looking up from his screen, his fingers flying across the keyboard, intent on finishing a piece about a new downtown art installation. “Look, I need you on the mayor’s story ASAP.” He finally looked up at the woman who had thought it wise to bother him with her inanities. Then picked up the picture from where it lay on the ground. I snatched it from him before he could toss it in the trash like he did the last time. “For the last time, Neve Whitmore, you’re a junior reporter, not some detective uncovering some mystery.” “But…” “But nothing. If you’re tired of working here, feel free to drop your resignation letter on my desk tomorrow morning. Shut the door on your way out.” The landline on his desk rang. He picked it up. “Hello Mr Mayor…” That was the end of our conversation. His dismissal felt like a punch in the gut. Once again, I was just the overlooked orphan girl no one believed in. Weak. Timid. Foolish. The one they’d hired out of pity, after the demise of both my parents. My work space was in the back, beneath the fluctuating fluorescent light that left people dizzy. It was the undesignated spot relegated to people they hoped would quit someday. But for some strange reason, I couldn’t let this case go. Helen’s cheerful smile haunted me, even in my sleep. She had no one else to avenge her murder. That night, the rain went with me to a part of the city I always avoided, where the buildings were too close to each other like inseparable lovers. My destination was a bar known as The Glass Den. The name, written on a napkin, was found tucked away in Helen’s pocket. I got access to it when I was told to cover the story for the crime news segment. I could be tampering with evidence the police could use to find Helen’s murderer, but I’m way past caring about protocol. So far, they haven’t been able to find the killer behind the recent gruesome murders in the city. The police needed help. They just didn’t know it yet. In the dim lighting, the place looked like a typical bar sparsely filled with unassuming, ordinary-looking folks seated on low stools, some drunk, others on the verge of being drunk. The air was tinged with cigarette smoke and liquor. Loud music blared from the speakers. I wasn’t sure what I’d hoped to find here. Maybe more dead bodies? Or suspicious looking criminals? I don’t know. But I knew if there was a serial killer on the loose hunting down innocent folk, he wasn’t in here. I tried my best to be inconspicuous about scanning the whole place as I walked to the counter. So far, nothing looked out of place. I took off my drenched coat and sat on the stool as I turned my attention to the man behind the counter. And that was when I saw him. He moved with a liquid precision that was hypnotic, even though he was simply...polishing a glass. It wasn’t until he cleared his throat that I realized I’d been staring at him. Now he must think I’m a weirdo. “You’re lost,” he said. His voice was calm, but somehow it cut through the music. “Aren’t we all?” My ability to speak was back. “I’m looking for the truth. Can you help me?” I said finally when he said nothing. He smiled a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “The truth is dangerous, you silly woman. It tends to bite the hand that holds it.” Into a glass, he poured an amber liquid I hadn’t ordered and slid it toward me. “On the house. For your courage. Or maybe… your foolishness.” As I reached for the drink, our fingers brushed. A jolt, electric and hot, shot up my arm. I gasped in shocked disbelief and immediately withdrew my hand. “What was that?!” Suddenly the air felt heavy and charged. Within a split second, his irises shifted from silver to molten gold. “You should leave,” his voice was low now, almost a growl. But his gaze left me trapped in the unrelenting hold of his stare. “Why?” I asked, intrigued by how all of this was possible. I was the proverbial curious cat that could get killed. My heart hammered in my chest with uncertainty of what would happen next. As he leaned over the counter, I caught his scent of ancient cedar. “Because it is listening,” he whispered, “my wolf is listening.” *****