Chapter 4
1265 Words
Palmer knew he couldn't run the cop in his truck, he needed to think of a way to outsmart him.
Maybe stop and talk his way out.
He looked at Rosa, still knocked out cold beside him. He's definitely getting arrested if he stops.
But he still would get arrested if the cop eventually caught up to him either way.
When he passed the first house, he parked and waited for the cop to pull up behind him.
To his surprise, the cop went past him like he didn't see him.
Rosa bulged and opened her eyes.
She lifted the coat and saw she was naked.
Oblivious of her environment.
Palmer rested his head on the car's steering wheel, still processing the scenario.
He wondered why the cop didn't pull him over.
He turned to check on Rosa only to see her staring blankly at him.
They held their gaze for minutes, 5 minutes of awkward silence and tension.
"Hi", Palmer said, his voice tired and furious.
Rosa couldn't reply, she held the coat tightly against her breast. She felt cold and scared.
"It's nice to meet you," Palmer added.
"Where am I?" She asked softly.
"It's a long story," Palmer said, while trying to start the car.
"I suppose it's a long journey to wherever we are going?" She replied, her voice a bit louder than before.
Palmer stopped what he was doing and stared at her. Shocked that she expects him to take her with him.
"I'm dropping you at the police station" He answered dryly.
"What's a police station?" She asked, genuinely confused.
Palmer's face was mixed with disbelief and confusion, and something in his mind tells him he hit a wolf, not a woman, but how did a wolf turn into a woman?
"I'll take you with me if you can tell me how you ended up on the highway."
"I..." her voice trailed off.
"Don't even try to lie to me" He shot her a glare.
She sat back and tilted her head to the side, resting it on the closed window. She closed her eyes, thinking about what was next.
She had been struck with fear because she thought it was Chris but somehow this strange man seemed calmer and taller.
She dozed off.
Rosa woke up in a room filled with books and cassettes, it smelled of dust and rats.
She was alone in the room, which looked like an attic, also abandoned. Maybe a storage space as there are lots of books in sight.
She could hear someone moving around the floor beneath her. He seemed to be cooking; she guessed that was the man who had hit and technically saved her life.
She tried to get up, thinking it was going to be hard as a result of the injury from the hit, but she was surprised she was completely healed, which is strange.
Female werewolves take a lot of hours to heal from fatal injuries especially if it involves dislocation.
She tried to walk, but she felt no pain.
And it got more confusing because she remembered not feeling pain when she woke up in the car.
Rosa's stomach growled softly as she wandered through the unfamiliar house, the faint echo of a voice pulling her forward.
“Come grab some food; you look like you might need some.”
How did he know she was hungry? The thought nagged at her as she fumbled through the dim hallway, her fingers brushing against the walls for guidance. For a while, she was lost, the layout of the house a maze of doors and corners.
How do they manage here?
She wondered, frustration creeping in as she finally located the door the voice had come from. The staircase loomed ahead, its wooden steps creaking and sagging like something out of an old, forgotten place.
Rosa hesitated, her brow furrowing. How was she supposed to get down without tripping or falling?
Was she expected to sprout wings and glide over it? These humans and their strange ways, she thought, shaking her head.
Palmer turned just in time to catch the confusion etched across her face. His lips quivered into a faint smile as he approached, his steps steady but unhurried.
“Need a hand?” he asked, his voice low but kind. Without waiting for an answer, he gently took her elbow, guiding her down the rickety stairs to the dining area.
“I… thank you,” Rosa mumbled, her cheeks warming as she glanced at the sumptuous spread on the table.
Plates of steaming food roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and a vibrant salad beckoned her, the aroma making her stomach rumble louder. They sat down, and just as they were about to dig in, Palmer cleared his throat.
“I’ve got to head out soon,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact.
“You’ll be by yourself for a few hours. I’m going to work.”
Rosa’s fork paused mid-air. “Work? What’s that?” she asked, her voice soft but genuinely curious. Palmer chuckled, though there was a hint of surprise in his eyes.
“Right… I forgot, he said, hitting his forehead slightly. He leaned back in his chair, wiping his hands on a napkin.
“Work’s where I go to earn a living. You know, make money to put food on the table, keep the lights on. You get the idea?”
Rosa nodded slowly, though her expression betrayed her lingering confusion.
“Yeah,”
She said, her voice barely above a whisper.
The words vaguely made sense, but the concept of work felt as foreign as the creaky staircase.
Palmer tilted his head, studying her for a moment.
“You’ll be fine here while I’m gone, right? You can show yourself around, maybe get a feel for the place. I’m sure you can manage on your own.”
“Yeah… I guess,” Rosa mumbled, her fingers fumbling with the fork as she poked at her food.
She wasn’t entirely sure she could manage, but admitting that felt too vulnerable. A brief silence settled over the table before Palmer spoke again, his tone lighter.
“By the way, what’s your name? I figure I should call you something other than ‘hey, you.’”
Rosa blinked, caught off guard.
“Huh?” She looked up, then quickly lowered her gaze, her fingers tightening around the fork. “It’s… Rosa,” she said softly, almost as if testing the sound of her own name.
“Rosa,”
Palmer repeated, letting the name roll off his tongue like he was savouring a favourite treat.
There was a warmth to his voice, a playful edge that made her heart skip inexplicably. She glanced up, meeting his eyes for a fleeting moment. Somehow, her name sounded right when he said it, like it belonged in his mouth.
The thought startled her. How could something so simple feel so… significant?
Palmer pushed his plate aside, standing up.
“Alright, Rosa,”
He said, emphasising her name again with a teasing grin.
“I’ll head out soon. We’ll talk more when I get back, yeah?”
“Oh, yeah,” she replied, her voice steadier now, though her thoughts were still a jumble.
He was almost at the door when he paused, turning back to face her.
“Oh, and in case there’s an emergency, hit me up.”
He gestured to a small, rectangular device on the counter.
“That’s a telephone. Just… press anything, and it’ll call me.”
Rosa’s brows knitted together.
“Hit you?”
- Writer
