Trust: A Twisted Wolf Tale (2 page)

Several hours passed without much incident. I spent the time reading my book, putting it down when a stray customer came in to browse the selection of literature on the shelves. Only one or two people actually bought anything, so it was pretty quiet, my book being the only thing saving me from complete boredom. I waited for my father to return, thinking he should’ve been back already, but no sign of him emerged even when the clock struck quarter to four in the afternoon.

“Damn,” I sighed, checking my phone. I had to head in to work at the arcade in fifteen minutes, and my dad wasn’t answering my calls.
Where the hell could he be?
Even if he were perusing the stacks of books the other bookstores had, he would still shoot me a text to let me know what was going on. But I wasn’t getting a thing.

Without any other choice, I swung the sign to read
CLOSED
on the door. I needed to hurry, or else risk being late for work…
again.

After double-checking to make sure the door was locked, I jogged away from the bookstore in an attempt to reach the arcade before my shift started.

I swear that in a past life, I must’ve been a serial killer, because it felt like the gods were out to torture me. As soon as I made the first turn away from the bookstore and onto the street, I ran into Gabriella.

With long, dark hair and honey-brown eyes, Gabriella was the idealistic vision of beauty… on the outside. After dating her for almost a year, I knew better. She was probably the most shallow, self-absorbed person I’d met, and she didn’t bother hiding it from me either. Her personality made me realize just how ugly of a person she really was, outward looks be damned. When I dumped her several months ago, she was insistent that I’d made a mistake—that no one left Gabriella Reece without living to regret it.

The holier-than-thou attitude was exhausting, and her persistence even more so.

“Beau, darling!” she cheered, holding her arms out for me as I approached her on the sidewalk.

“Gabby,” I said, a curt nod my only response as I dodged her embrace and kept my stride even. Without fail, she turned and walked alongside me, her heels clacking on the sidewalk as she kept up with my pace.

“I haven’t seen you in nearly two weeks. It almost makes me think you’re trying to avoid me,” she said, a disbelieving chuckle leaving her lips at the mere thought that anyone would dare evade her charms.

“I’ve just been busy.” Noticing my head was bowed, the submissive stance almost automatic around this woman, I lifted my head up high, making sure she was well aware that I wouldn’t be subconsciously bullied by her. “Sorry to rush off on you, but I have to get to work.”

“Still working at that stupid arcade? Figured you’d get a grown-up job by now. With your looks, you could easily make more money on tips alone tending bar at the saloon.” Her voice rattled around in my head like an annoying pixie. It irked me to no end that she thought a job as a bartender was more
grown up
than working at the arcade. I’d much rather surround myself with kids out to have fun, than drunks who only wanted to get laid or cause shit.

“I’m sorry you disapprove. But as I’ve said a thousand times, I love my job,” I said while pulling her against my side to dodge a little guy on a skateboard, the forced kindness an involuntary trait of mine.

In response to my touch, Gabriella wrapped one arm around my bicep, flicking my book with her other hand. “Still have your nose stuck in a book, huh?”

With the gentlest reaction I could muster, I peeled her fingers from their death grip on my arm and bit down the snide words that were bubbling up in the back of my throat. I wanted so badly to tell her that the literary worlds I loved so much were a hundred times more interesting than she would ever be.

But I was a gentleman. And gentlemen kept their mouths shut. I had to remind myself that she wasn’t even worth the words.

“I’m sorry, Gabby. I really do have to run before I’m late again.” Without waiting for her response, I began to jog the last two blocks to the arcade.

With the doors closing behind me, I puffed out a sigh of relief as the sounds of the games assaulted my ears. Thank Christ Gabriella wouldn’t be caught dead in this place. The arcade was my sanctuary when it came to that woman.

Setting my book down behind the counter, I made quick work of clocking in, realizing it was already one minute past four.

“Oh, cool! You’re finally reading it,” Barry exclaimed, leaning on the counter with his elbows as he took my book in his hands. The dude had been my best friend since before we could walk and had been begging me to read this particular novel for months now. “Considering you’ve already devoured over half of it, I’d say you’re enjoying it? I could definitely relate to some of the shit this guy went through, not to mention the new cover kicks werewolf ass.”

His enthusiasm had me chuckling as I yanked the paperback from his hands. “Yeah, you have decent taste in books. It’s probably the one trait you have going for you.”

“Bullshit. I’m awesome and you know it.” His toothy grin was contagious.

“Yeah, yeah. So, has it been this dead all day?” I asked, looking around and seeing only two kids in the rather large sea of game cabinets. The one thing I really loved about this place was the slew of vintage arcade games the owner managed to collect over the years. It was a fresh breath compared to the ever-changing, expensive world of console gaming.

“Pretty much. But we do have that two-for-one token deal going on tonight, so I’m sure things will pick up pretty quickly in about an hour or so,” he explained as he made his way around the counter to face me. “In the meantime, wanna play?”

I grinned. I wouldn’t be Beau Shapiro if I dared to turn down a gaming challenge.

Barry and I spent a good hour competing in every game available to us. From
GRID
to
Street Fighter
, we played to see who was the best. Of course, he kicked my ass in almost every one. Except
Galaga
. Nobody could’ve beaten my high score in
that
game.

Unfortunately, we had to stop our friendly competition once the crowd started coming in. Barry wasn’t lying when he said things would pick up quickly. Once the children were done with their homework, they swarmed into the arcade to play the plethora of classic video games that were only available at our humble little gaming area. It warmed my heart to see so many little tikes clamoring to play classic
Mortal Kombat
and
Mrs. Pac-Man.
There was hope for the next generation yet.

My shift lasted until around nine. After clocking out and waving good-bye to my best friend, I made my way back toward the bookstore to check in on my pop. I knew that there was no way he could spend
all
day out of town… at least when he had a business to run. On a vacation day, he could’ve spent
forever
in other bookstores—although the same could’ve been said about me—but since he had no choice but to return to work, I figured he’d be back.

I was expecting to find him locking up the shop when I turned the corner, but instead, all I found was a dark, empty street. Frowning, I made my way to the entrance to find the sign in the same position I’d left it in before heading to the arcade. The store was pitch black inside, no signs of life within.

Something odd was going on. I tried to ignore the nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach, the sense of urgency coursing through me in waves of panic. There had to be a sane explanation for his odd behavior.

Did he close up early today?
I wondered as I pulled out my phone and hit the speed dial button. My stomach dropped as I listened to my father’s voicemail chiming in my ear.

“Hey, where are you?” I said after the beep, my voice shaking with adrenaline. “I’m at the store, and I don’t see you around. Call me back and let me know what’s up.”

I hit the end button and placed the phone back in my pocket, scanning the street one more time before turning and making my way home, kneading my thumb against the spine of my book the whole way.

Since we lived in such a small town, the walk home never took me long, my lengthy stride able to close the distance of a few blocks within a matter of minutes. I hardly ever drove anymore. My poor Jeep looked sad and lonely sitting by itself in our cobblestone driveway. Some found it odd I still lived with my father, but in all honesty, the man needed me. Well, we needed each other, especially after Mom passed. So I didn’t care if others thought it was strange.

My brow furrowed in confusion as I passed his empty spot next to mine, worry clearly riddling my insides at the fact he wasn’t home yet. Over the past few years, he had stopped driving after dark, saying the road was so much harder to see in his old age. He was never afraid to admit he was getting older, especially when he often made fun of his rather eccentric and senile blunders.

Eccentric or not, the man would never stay out this late without at least touching base with me.

Unlocking the door, I set my book down on the table with a plop and flinched when my keys clanked on the wood next to it. Checking my phone’s screen again, I willed for there to be a missed call or some sort of message from him.

Nothing.

The time glared at me menacingly, as if it were laughing at my absurdity that I was so worried about someone who’d lived thirty years longer than myself. I wasn’t sure what time the larger bookstores closed, but that didn’t stop me from calling anyway, crossing my fingers someone would be there to answer.

Finally, on the fourth ring, someone answered. “Mount Ivy Bookstore, this is Claire speaking. How may I help you?”

“Hey, Claire, this is Beau Shapiro… Bill Shapiro’s son? My dad picked up a new order from you guys today, and I was just wondering what time he left.”

Silence met me on the other end, and I was beginning to worry our call had dropped. Just before I blurted out several curses, she spoke. “Beau, I don’t remember seeing your dad today. We’re just now closing up, but maybe my manager knows more. Just a sec.”

Claire was usually the one running the front desk. If she didn’t see Pop, then something was seriously wrong. I could hear my own rapid breathing as I listened to some muffled voices, unable to make out what was being said.

“Yeah, Beau. Your dad never came by for his order today. It’s still sitting here behind the counter. You sure he didn’t just get held up at his store?” Her voice seemed distant to me, though she sounded concerned. Everyone there knew my father, and the prospect of him missing didn’t settle well with her either, I could tell.

“Nah, I said goodbye to him just after breakfast. Thanks for letting me know. I’ll get back to you about the order,” I said, hanging up before she could respond. I didn’t need anyone fueling my already active imagination about the possibility that something terrible had happened.

My grip tightened on the hunk of metal still clutched in my hand as I pressed the tip of it to my forehead.
Where the hell could he be?

Glancing around the small house, I stared at the empty recliner, the silence of the night causing my skin to crawl with uncertainty. The quiet was eerie, and I knew with every fiber of my being that he was in some sort of trouble. Call it intuition, or senseless paranoia, but the little voice in the back of my head howled with worry.

“Something’s not right,” I muttered, grabbing my keys and heading out of the door toward my Jeep, not even bothering to lock the house before revving the engine and speeding away.

The night was dark, the moon’s glow reflecting off the fog being the only illumination on the gloomy, winding mountain road as I headed toward the neighboring town. It was an optimal night for someone to get in a damn accident, and my heart couldn’t seem to calm down at the fact my father was out in this mess.

Squinting, I strained to see the darkness beyond the embankments, trying desperately not to miss any abnormalities or skid marks that would tell a story. I contemplated calling the local police, but knew they’d just write off my dad as being the crazy old book man who decided to stay out past his curfew and forgot to call. One of the town deputies was a guy I went to school with, and I knew from experience that he would give zero fucks about my pop. It didn’t help matters that he had a thing for Gabby back when she was following me around like a lost puppy. People tended to hold onto grudges like bad habits.

I made sure to take things slow, each turn a painful reminder that Pop probably wasn’t as careful. After about an hour of creeping around the curves of the mountain, I thought I spotted something and pulled off the shoulder. My headlights could barely cut through the fog, but as I inched closer, I could tell it was a Wagoneer. My heart leapt into my throat at the implication. There weren’t very many of those around these days.

“No. No, no, no!” I stammered, throwing my Jeep into park and swinging the door open without a care for what was around me. Nearly tripping over my own feet, I hopped to the pavement and ran to Pop’s car. His door was wide open, the keys still in the ignition, the engine having given out at some point. It must have run out of gas just sitting there on the side of the road.

My pulse hammered in my ears at the realization that something had happened to him. But what? The car was intact, yet he was nowhere to be found.

Frantically, I whipped my head around, searching the area for any sign of him.

Should I call out? If he’s hurt, will he hear me and respond?

A million and one scenarios played out in my head, all of them ending in a horrified fashion. I couldn’t think like that. I had read way too many horror novels to know that panicking was never a viable solution. Shaking my head, I cleared the bleak thoughts from my subconscious and continued to search for my dad.

Rounding the car to look at all the tires, thinking maybe he stopped because of a flat, I noticed something strange. Scratches—three neat claw marks—littered the hood of his car.

Seeming to loose all sense of self-preservation, I let my guard down and reached out to touch the scratched paint, the rigid feeling beneath my fingertips an odd sensation of both fear and wonder. The harshness of the grooves were hypnotizing to me, the feeling of my soft fingers feathering over their surface making me forget about the dangers that could be lurking in the shadows.

What could’ve caused such a pattern? It was almost as if the scratches were more of a warning than actual viciousness—as if the beast who caused them was cautioning their prey instead of gutting them. It seemed almost… tamed.

A shiver ran up my spine as I remembered that the
prey
was likely my father.

Glancing toward the forest, I immediately noticed a trampled path, the brush obviously disturbed by someone or something. Then, I noticed something else rather odd. There, at the dense tree line, was Pop’s red baseball hat. It was instantly recognizable. He always wore that hat whenever he drove out of town, a habit he couldn’t seem to break—or rather, didn’t want to break.

My limbs shook as I slowly approached the dense underbrush lining the thicket of trees. What was even more eerie was where the hat was placed. It wasn’t as if he’d dropped it in some sort of struggle, or threw it on the ground in a haste to get away. No. Instead, the hat was hung nice and neat on a tree limb sticking out a few inches from a rather robust tree trunk—as if placed on a coat rack—a vision of normalcy in this otherwise screwed-up scene.

Either he put it there for safekeeping, or it was a sign—a breadcrumb of sorts to let me know he had ventured into the forest.

That was it. Seeing that hat sealed my fate.

I had to go in after him.

Standing on the embankment, I stared into the forest, wondering what could’ve possessed my father to fly off his rocker and go traipsing around in the wilderness by himself. The night was unnervingly quiet—almost too quiet. With the moon casting harsh shadows throughout the thick woods, I thought for sure my dad must’ve lost his marbles to want to go in there unprotected.

A rustle of leaves out in the distance broke the silence and made me jump like a skittish kitten. Immediately thinking it could be Pop, I ran to my Jeep and snatched up the bag I kept in the back. I usually stashed a small keychain flashlight in the sack, among other unnecessary items, and I knew the light might come in handy in the dark, dense forest.

Running while rummaging through the bag, I followed the matted leaves—clearly the path my dad also took when he lost his ever-loving mind and decided to go for a random hike. I didn’t make it but a few feet past the tree line before I realized there was no damn flashlight in the sack. Frustrated, I swung the backpack over my shoulder in one swift move and pulled my cell from my pocket.

The small light from my flashlight app did little to alleviate the darkness surrounding me, but it was better than nothing, allowing me just enough illumination to watch where I was placing my clumsy feet.

There were a plethora of bells ringing in my head, warning me not to go into the darkness of the wood. But my father was in there, and he could be in danger. I ignored the cautionary voice screaming at me that this was a mistake and trudged on through the brush like the madman that I was.