Hair in All The Wrong Places (11 page)

“Okay, I'm moving, I'm moving.”

Apparently satisfied, she shuffled out of Colin's room.

Colin sat up and rubbed his face with his hands, clearing the sleep away. What he encountered was far from usual. Scrambling over to the mirror, he was met with a changed reflection. His body had become even more defined, still lanky but far more angular than
before. Strangely enough, that wasn't the weird part.

I have hair!

Colin had the kind of hair that a Canadian lumberjack would be proud of. The hair on his head felt thicker, and he had a beard! Okay, not a beard. But he definitely had a thicker shadow. Pulling his T-shirt off, Colin noticed definite muscle definition. If this is what being a werewolf meant, maybe he could overlook the eating people thing.

Loser. You can't eat people.

Colin still had so many questions. What did Silas know about Elkwood? Why did the twins throw up in class? Why was the crime scene being staked out? Who were the people hunting Silas? Where was the other werewolf Silas had been tracking? Why did Becca—

Becca!

He'd completely forgotten about her. She had said they would talk yesterday. Had she called while he was asleep?

Colin rummaged around in his desk drawer and pulled out an old flip cell phone that might have been popular in the late nineties. He didn't carry it with him for fear of embarrassment, and no one ever called him anyway. It was pre-paid, however, so he could at least use it without his grandmother listening in. He flipped open his laptop and searched for the Emerson's number, punched in the digits and waited.

“Hello,” answered a male voice. Colin assumed Mr. Emerson.

“Uh, is Becca there?”

“Who is this?”

“Mr. Emerson?” asked Colin.

“That's who I am. Who are you?”

“Oh, sorry, Mr. Emerson. This is Colin Strauss. I was wondering if Becca was home.”

“The Strauss boy. Hang on a moment.”

Like he was standing in the room with him, Colin heard Mr. Emerson sit down in a chair, maybe leather, and type at a computer; someone else in the room shifted their weight and took a drink of something.

Mr. Emerson whispered under his breath, “Ordinary.”

“Mr. Emerson?”

“I'm sorry, Colin, but Becca isn't feeling well today. She's resting.”

“Is she okay?”

“I'm sure it's nothing. Thanks for calling.”

“Could you let her know I—”

But he'd already hung up.

Ordinary?

Colin stuck the phone in his pocket; maybe he'd try again later. He pulled on a shirt and jeans and wondered whether he should shave. He knew nothing about being a werewolf. A few Google searches showed that the Internet didn't have a clue either. Lots of speculation and stories about vicious mythical beasts that terrorized villages, stole livestock, and tore people limb from limb. He found some information about a European cult that worshipped wolf-like creatures, and there was a ton of North American mythology centered on people turning into werewolves, but nothing really useful. What he really needed was to speak to Silas Baxter.

He pulled on a sweater and rain jacket and headed downstairs. His grandmother was asleep in her chair,
so Colin tiptoed into the kitchen and ate two bowls of cereal and some leftover pasta. Still hungry unwilling to hang around long enough for the old bat to wake up, Colin stepped out of the house into the pounding rain.

Colin felt anxious but couldn't figure out why. Knowing he wanted to find Silas Baxter, he decided to head for the Baker farm, hoping Silas would still be around. Maybe he could sense him? Smell him? Anything was worth trying at this point.

He set off walking, his runners getting damper with every step. There it was again, that anxious feeling. Then it came to him.

Walking is too slow! I want to run!

The thought had barely crossed his mind before he was sprinting down the street. It felt good!

He ran fast, faster than ever before, faster than most Olympic athletes. The streets were quiet, but Colin didn't want to attract attention. He headed out of town and then broke south before the city limits, hopping over the stone walls that separated the farm fields, sprinting across the rolling grassy hills, never losing pace. His world melted into a blur, and Colin lost himself in the simplicity of running, his worries disappearing as he ran.

Every time he jumped a wall, he felt like he could go higher. Increasing his speed, his feet thundering across the ground, he crouched before reaching the next fence and threw himself up with all his might. Colin flew into the air, ten, twenty, thirty feet and landed lightly in the middle of the next field, knees bent to absorb the impact. He stood up slowly.

I'm strong. And fast. I've never been strong or fast.

He felt amazing, and it wasn't just his newfound strength or speed. Every raindrop, every blade of grass, was crystal clear, and the smells! The smell of the earth, the trees, the rocks. He wanted to roll in the fields and take it all in.

I have to find Silas.

Recalling his purpose, he took off at a run again. Five minutes later, the Baker farm came into view with two memorable black cars parked nearby. Colin ducked behind one of the field walls and peeked over. The perimeter of the house had been cordoned off with yellow warning tape. There was no chance of Silas being there, and Colin wasn't willing to get any closer. Not with those people hanging around.

His cell phone chirped. Colin flipped it open.

“Hello,” breathed Colin.

“Colin, you're okay?”

It was Becca; she sounded tired. Maybe even sick. He could hear her heartbeat through the phone. It was slow.

“Am I okay? Are you okay? You don't sound good. Not that you're not good, I'm sure you're fine. I don't know what I'm saying.”

Becca laughed weakly. “You do sound like you. I'm fine, just tired. I'm sorry I didn't call you. It ended up being a busy weekend.”

“That's okay. I was busy catching up on my sleep. The police did drop by yesterday though, wanting to know if I'd been out at the crime scene.”

“What did you tell them?”

“I told them to get out of my house and to go chase a donut.”

“You did not.”

“No, I didn't. I told them I was in bed the whole time. I got the impression they were questioning everyone. Did they visit you?”

“No. But I'm the farthest thing from a criminal.”

“Says the girl who breaks into people's houses in the middle of the night.”

Becca laughed again. “Are you going to the memorial service for Sam Bale today?”

“I didn't even know it was today. I wasn't planning on it. You?”

“No. Need to rest up before school tomorrow. I should let you go. You're probably busy.”

“It's true, I'm planning my next crime. This interruption is going to set me back a ways.”

“All right, evil genius. I'll see you tomorrow. Try to stay out of trouble.”

“I'll do my best.”

“Bye.

And she was gone. Colin was getting good at this talking to girls stuff. He peeked over the wall again as a black van pulled in the drive, joining the two black cars already there. Colin watched as two men in hazmat suits got out of the van and entered the house.

Who are these guys?

The high-pitched, whining sound ripped through his skull again, but it unexpectedly morphed into a dull drone, finally settling into fuzziness, like static in the background. Colin dropped down behind the wall and closed his eyes. Why did this keep happening? Was his werewolf-sense kicking in again?

Ha! Werewolf-sense.

That's a stupid name,
said the voice of Silas Baxter inside Colin's head.

“Silas?”

Colin, can you hear me?

“Yes, I can hear you. Where are you?”

Colin, are you there? Hello?

“I can hear you loud and clear.”

You idiot, I can't hear you because you're talking out loud, aren't you?

What?

I knew it. Remember, I said we're connected? Your gifts are developing, but your change is erratic. It'll come and go. Sometimes you might even hear other people's thoughts, or they might hear yours. You and I can communicate this way. Until you've gone through your first real change, it's probably not going to work all the …

Silas?

What?

You cut off.

I told you it won't work all the time.

So we can think to each other, just like this? You can hear my thoughts, I can hear yours?

Yes.

So anything I think of, you'll know.

Yes, anything.

Anything at all?

Yes, Colin, even when you think about girls.

Don't think about girls, don't think about girls.

I can still hear you.

It seems like this sort of arrangement wouldn't give either of us much privacy?

It's part of being a werewolf. I bit you, so now we're a pack.

A pack of two?

Still a pack.

Unless you have to kill me?

That's right.

Well as long as we're on the same page.

Where are you?

I came back to the Baker farm looking for you.

You're at the Baker farm?

Yeah, those people are still here.

Get the hell out of there, Colin! Get far away fast!

Colin was running before he gave it any real thought.

This is why I was looking for you. Who are these people? What's going to happen to me next? What's so special about Elkwood? Who is the other werewolf you came here to hunt? When are we
…
Silas?

Colin effortlessly cleared the next wall with a long leap and continued running.

Keep … low profile. B … sure t … shave. Will contact whe … able. R … mber, kee … low profile.

Silas? Come in, Silas?

Nothing. His brain was back to being as empty as always.

With Silas's warning he realized, he hadn't fully considered the ramifications of his hair growing abnormally. People would surely notice at school tomorrow.

Colin changed his course, heading south so he could
slip over to the corner store/gas station/tire centre/hair emporium to pick up some shaving supplies.

Lost in thought, Colin caught the sound of a droning voice and the smell of sadness. It was hard to describe how he knew it was sadness, but it smelled like a large room with nothing in it.

Standing at the edge of the vast Elkwood Cemetery, Colin could just see the fresh grave and Minister Fairchild delivering a eulogy to a large group of people dressed in black.

Sam Bale's funeral.

The funeral was coming to an end. Colin caught the smell of fresh roses and watched as the attendees dropped the flowers into the grave, saying their final good-byes.

Colin wanted to pay his respects but, following Silas' advice, decided to wait until everyone had cleared out. A familiar stench hit him, and Colin looked over to see the bulky frame of Gareth Dugan hiding behind a large angel statue. It was the same smell from the other night. Gareth's personal odor wasn't like other humans. There were also traces of sadness there, and a lot of anger. Anger smelled like burned food. It was distasteful and almost made Colin want to throw up. Colin made a mental note to write down the different smells associated with each emotion. Gareth saw Colin watching him and walked over.

Oh, great. This is all I need.

As Gareth got closer, Colin noticed something else about the bully who normally made his life miserable. His eyes were red and glassy, like he'd been crying. Was he crying because he was guilty, hurt, or sad?

Colin's mind whirled as he searched for answers.

“Hi, Colin,” said Gareth.

“Gareth,” nodded Colin politely.

“Listen, sorry about the other night. I was angry and upset and …”

Gareth trailed off, and Colin was too stunned at the apology to say anything.

“Anyway, did you and Becca get away okay?”

Colin blinked a few times and worked to make his mouth move.

“Uh, yeah. We did. You too? Well of course, you're here. And the cops didn't mention anything.”

“Yeah, they came to visit me too. Angered my dad something rotten.”

Is he sharing with me? Is this a bonding moment?

“Well, don't think this makes us friends or anything,” assured Gareth. But there was no punch behind it, no sneer. Colin actually smiled.

“Of course not. Wouldn't dream of it.”

Gareth turned and walked away.

Was Gareth Dugan the other werewolf? Had he killed one of his friends and now the guilt was tearing him apart? Or was Colin looking too hard for a suspect other than himself?

Colin shook the feeling off; it wasn't a road he wanted to go down right now. Heading to the now-empty gravesite, Colin closed his eyes, allowing his senses to open as he sniffed the air and listened to his surroundings. The cemetery workers would soon come to fill in the grave, but for now it was just Colin and the corpse.

In his mind, he could picture the world around him
in vibrant colors. The same way he had at the crime scene, and then again in the basement at the Baker farm. The fragrance from the roses on the grave were overpoweringly strong, as was the polish on the coffin. The dirt was damp; he could hear people in the parking lot leaving. Concentrating hard, he could pinpoint individuals. Perfume. Bad breath. Cigarette smoke. Chinese food. Sweat. So many different smells defining different people.