Chương 13: Mark's Theory

Lunchtime bled into the heart of Lantern City High, sunlight slicing through the cafeteria's high windows as Crimson and Churro wound their way through the clatter and chatter, trays balanced like shields.

"Dreams aren't memories," Crimson murmured, voice low, almost reverent.

"Then it wasn't a dream," Churro shot back, eyes sharp.

"Something happened last night. And I can't remember a damn thing." They slid into seats across from each other, plastic trays clattering down like dropped evidence.

"How do you know Autzee holds all the pieces?" Churro asked. Crimson leaned forward, voice dropping to a whisper that tasted like secrets.

"Because during the full moon, he didn't lose himself. He was awake. In control. Meanwhile, I'm out there in the dark, claws out, tearing into some innocent guy."

"You don't know that."

"I don't not know it," Crimson countered, the weight of unwritten horrors pressing behind his eyes.

"I can't go out with Willow. I've gotta cancel."

"No. You don't get to vanish. You can't erase your whole life. We'll figure this out." Then, like a storm rolling in uninvited, Scara plopped down beside him, tray in hand, as if she'd always belonged there.

"Figure what out?" she asked, all innocence.

"Uh… homework. Just… homework." Churro froze, a French fry suspended mid-air, an inch from his lips. She was here. On purpose. He leaned over, breath hot against Crimson's ear, "Why is she sitting with us?" Crimson just shrugged. Then Willow arrived, and Crimson yanked his backpack off the seat he'd been guarding like treasure.

"Thanks," she said, sliding in. The fry still hovered. Then more bodies appeared, Scara's friends, one a teammate of Larch's, then Danny, the goalie, claiming space like it was theirs by right. Churro watched, stunned, as the invisible walls of the social hierarchy crumbled around him. He flashed a grin at the girl now on his left, she smiled back, warm and real. He turned to Danny on his right, same grin. Danny stared back like he'd just suggested juggling live grenades.

Finally, Churro bit the fry, savoring the crunch. The popular table had come to them. A small victory. Until Larch arrived. He loomed over his teammate, eyes like flint.

"Get up."

"Why don't you ever tell Danny to move?" the boy grumbled.

"Because I don't stare at his girlfriend's coin slot." Tray snatched up, the boy fled. Larch took the seat, wedged between Scara and Danny, but his glare locked onto Crimson, burning with silent fury. This kid didn't belong. Not here. Not among his people.

"So they're saying it was an animal attack," Danny offered, breaking the tension like a stone through glass.

"Probably a cougar."

"Heard mountain lion," Larch replied, never blinking away from Crimson.

"Same thing," Scara said, glancing up at her boyfriend.

"Isn't it?"

"Who cares?" Larch snapped.

"Guy's probably some homeless tweaker. Won't live past winter anyway." This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

"Actually," Churro said, lifting his phone like a summoning sigil, "I just found out who he is. Check this out." Heads bent toward the screen, drawn like moths. Only Scara stayed apart, untouched, her disinterest a quiet rebellion.

"Victim of the possible animal attack has been identified as Garrison Meyers…" the news anchor intoned. Crimson stiffened.

"I know him. Used to take his bus when I lived with my dad. He was the driver." Scara sighed, flipping her hair.

"Can we talk about something fun, please? Like where we're going tomorrow night?" She turned to Willow.

"You said you and Crimson were hanging out, right?" Alarm bells screamed inside Crimson's skull. He glanced at Churro, head shaking violently, a silent SOS.

"We were thinking… uh… what were we gonna do?" she asked, turning to Crimson, lost.

"We hadn't decided."

"Well, I'm not staying home watching lacrosse highlights again. If the four of us are doing something, let's make it fun." Crimson's stomach dropped. Four? Since when was this a group outing? He and Willow, supposedly alone, now hijacked by Larch and Scara like uninvited ghosts at a wedding.

"Hanging out?" Larch echoed, the words ash in his mouth.

"The four of us?"

"When were you gonna tell me?"

"You want to hang out? All four? You and me… and them?" Crimson looked at Willow, searching for betrayal.

"Sure," she said, bright and breezy.

"Sounds fun." Crimson turned to Churro, still shaking his head, palms pressed to temples. Larch smirked, fork poised like a weapon.

"You know what sounds fun? Stabbing myself in the face with this."

"Oh, come on," Scara said, undeterred.

"Bowling? You love bowling."

"Yeah. With people who can actually play."

"How do you know we're not competition?" She turned to Crimson.

"You bowl, right?"

"Sort of..."

"Sort of? Or yes?" Larch cut in, voice like gravel.

"Yes," Crimson said, the lie blooming bold and reckless. Churro buried his face in his hands.

"In fact… I'm a great bowler."

In the school hallway, Crimson bangs his head against his locker door. Churro approaches from behind, still blushing from the obvious fib his buddy had just told.

"You're a terrible bowler!" he said to Crimson.

"I know! I'm such a fool."

"It was like witnessing a crash. First, it turns into the group date. Then, out of nowhere, that line comes..."

"Hanging out."

"You don't hang out with a hot girl. It's fatal. Once it's hanging out, you might as well be her gay best friend. You and Danny can start hanging out." He clarified.

"How is this going down? I either nearly killed a bus driver. Or I didn't." Oddly, that wasn't on Churro's mind because he was stuck on the thought that someone didn't like him.

"I don't think Danny likes me."

"I ask Willow on a date. But now we're hanging out." Crimson reminded him, but Churro felt a bit hurt.

"Am I not attractive to gay guys?"

"I made first line. But the team captain wants to destroy me. And now?" He paused, glancing at the clock, then muttered, "Now I'm going to be late for work." He yanks his bag from the locker and dashes down the hall, leaving Churro behind.

Crimson bursts in to discover Dr. Octavious Mark busy in the animal clinic's examination area.

"My apologies, my apologies! I just don't want you to believe I'm being lazy." He mumbled, yet his boss didn't appear to care.

"You're merely two minutes late. But, Crimson, I assure you, you're the least idle kid around here." However, Crimson has stopped paying attention. Instead, he looks past the half-door into the waiting room, paralyzed with dread. Sheriff Valentine strides up, his jet-black aviator shades hiding every emotion and purpose. This is it. They've come to take him away. But when the lower section of the half-door swings open, a German Shepherd hobbles in.

"Seems like someone's ready for that cast to come off." Crimson looks down at the police canine, a cast on its front leg, then shifts his focus when he hears "Staying out of trouble young man?" Finally able to breathe, he manages to nod at the Sheriff. A few moments later, as Mark tends to the dog, Valentine pulls out a digital camera to show him pictures.

"Just take a look, Mark. Sacramento can't figure out the animal."

"I'm hardly an expert..." He said, glancing at it.

"Huh. Curious. This one got attacked on a bus?" Crimson steps closer, stretching his neck to see, but he only catches fragments of jagged wounds.

"We did find wolf hairs on Laura Tale's body."

"A wolf?" Mark and Valentine turn toward Crimson.

"I mean... I think I read somewhere that wolves haven't been in California for like sixty years."

"That's true. But wolves travel far. They might have come from another state, driven by instinct or a powerful memory." Mark said, disproving the fact Crimson had just mentioned.

"Wolves have memories?" He asked, moving nearer, trying to catch another glimpse of the camera's screen, but it's always just beyond his reach.

"Long-term memories, yes. If tied to a primal urge." Mark paused, turning to Valentine, "See this one here. Those are claw marks. A wolf would've aimed for the throat or the spine with its teeth." He mimicked the attack, scratching his own neck without causing any real harm.

"So probably a mountain lion? But I'm not sure. A wolf could chase down its prey and cripple it, biting at the ankles. Then the throat."

"The ankles?" Crimson said, recalling that in his dream he grabs Willow by the ankles, pulling her down in that same bus. With a unsettling grin, Deaton hands the camera back to Valentine.