I don’t usually eat bacon, but was feeling particularly low while at the grocery store and decided to go for it. Mike hadn’t answered my texts for almost a week, and even though I’d camped outside his house every night, I hadn’t seen him once. I was beginning to wonder if he’d picked up and moved, but a peek inside his living room window proved all their stuff was still in place, exactly as it always is. Maybe Mike and Zoe changed their schedules, just to avoid me.
It was an upsetting thought, to be sure, and it still gnawed at the corners of my mind when I headed for the grocery store. So, when I saw the bacon, I threw it in my cart without pause. It had been a tough week.
Now— as my hands trace the ripples of the sliced comfort food— seeing Mike’s face on the TV doesn’t feel like such a surprise. I see him everywhere. Someone with Mike’s broad shoulders gets on the bus? I do a double-take. A friendly barista passes me coffee, flashing a kind, wide smile? For a second, he’s Mike, too. They’re all Mike in one way or another, aren’t they? Unattainable.
My head whips back around to confirm that my first impression was wrong, but Mike’s face is still on the screen. He looks terrible. Two black eyes, a busted lip— it can’t be him, but it is. Blinking doesn’t help— Mike won’t disappear. He’s wrapped in an aluminum blanket, sitting on a stretcher as an EMT takes his vitals. He looks angry. He’s yelling at the EMT, but I’m not sure why. He glances over his shoulder like he’s waiting for someone.
A female talk show host with big lips and wide eyes— God, I envy those eyes— is commenting on the original news footage, which plays on a floating insert. The remote clicks as I turn up the volume, still holding the bacon in one hand.
“Two campers were rescued from Yosemite backcountry last night,” she says, her dark hair perfectly shiny as she whips it over her shoulder. “Reports state that the couple was pursued through the wilderness by an unknown attacker.”
Another panelist— a man in his late forties wearing a bland suit— laughs, tagging onto the discussion. “I’ve had some bad vacations,” he adds, sounding too pleased with himself, “but this is something else!”
The panel continues their roasting, but I’m laser-focused on the insert, which is still blasting footage from the original news story. Ambulances surround the scene. The cameraman zooms in on a woman— Zoe— laying on a second stretcher, being wheeled into one of the trucks, its red lights flashing. Mike tries to stand— to follow her— but the same EMT he yelled at earlier holds him down. Mike pushes the EMT away, practically ripping the stethoscope off his chest, then follows Zoe into the ambulance.
Her face is obscured by the angle, but as they wheel her inside, her hand falls over the edge of the stretcher, reaching out for someone.
Mike.
He intertwines her fingers with his, holding onto her like he’ll never, ever let go.
But you do let go, don’t you Mike? As soon as things get hard— that’s when you disappear.
“Yosemite personnel have requested that all hikers stay away from the area until further notice,” the male talk-show host continues.
“A murderer on the loose and the worst snow-storm in a decade? You don’t have to ask me twice!” The female host adds, practically patting herself on the back.
Sorry, Yosemite Personnel. No dice.
Staying away is the last thing on my mind. A desperate, urgent need to see Mike churns in my stomach. Even though I know he’ll be upset. I just need to see him with my own two eyes, to confirm he’s okay.
The bacon drops on the kitchen floor, sticking to cheap linoleum tile. The stove clicks as I turn off the gas, commencing a search for my keys. They’re not on the hook, not in the fridge. Finally, I find them under a cushion on the couch. Typical.
I’m double-checking that my bus pass is still in my wallet when an unfamiliar sound emanates from my entryway: three loud, urgent knocks at the front door.
Placing the noise makes me pause, if only because no one ever knocks on my door. I don’t have many visitors. Slowly, tentatively, like a cat greeting a stranger for the first time, I undo the security lock. The door creaks as it opens, revealing a man I’ve never seen before.
He isn’t very tall; maybe 5’6” at most. There’s a youthfulness about his round face, even though faint lines by his eyes hint that he’s not in his twenties anymore. His energy is that of an object in motion— he’s invigorated, cheeks flushed like someone who just came back from the gym. Something about him reminds me of the frat guys that used to wander the classrooms of UC San Fransisco. They always looked plush and alive, despite bleary-eyes that hinted at a party the night before.
He holds out his hand, waiting for me to do something with it. He tries to put weight on his right leg but cringes, shifting to the other side instead, making me wonder how he hurt it. There’s a long, uncomfortable silence, and for awhile, neither of us fills it.
“Well?” I ask, trying not to sound too defensive or too inviting.
“We have some friends in common,” he says. When he smiles, his teeth shine at me, and I don’t like how pointed they are. His mouth makes him look like he has a secret he won’t share.
“Who are you?” I say, hating the way my voice shakes at the end of the word “you.”
His smile gets bigger, like he’s about to tell me a joke even though he knows I won’t understand the punchline.
“You can call me Logan.”
The story continues with the second book in the “Animals We Are” series!
BOOK TWO:
The Wolf & the Bee
Coming 2020!
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Acknowledgements
To my Mom, Sharon Lennon-Mehlschau, for teaching me what a courageous woman looks like by being one. Thank you for your endless support, and for encouraging me to listen to the still, quiet voice within.
To my Grandma Valentine Lennon, one of the three musketeers. We miss you, but we know you’re still with us, and we think about you everyday. To my Grandpa, John Lennon, for making me feel like I’m part of a pack, even from the other side. And to the rest of my family, with love, unconditionally.
To Dr. Sayil Camacho, my chosen sister, for talking me off the wrong ledges and onto the right ones. To Hope Jaymes, for always being there, not just with words, but with actions. To Abbie Steckler, for your kindness, warm heart, and passion. To Sitara Abraham, for happy hours and talking about relationships, which certainly helped add authenticity to the book (you see it, right?). To Kimberly Distel, for the same, plus eyelashes and game nights. To Jillian Davis, for friendships and Krav days. To Andrew Merenbach, Elizabeth Cheney, Aunt Irene Mckinney, and Gina Tamburro Viecco, for your unwavering support.
To all the girls and guys in Krav. Every one of you inspires me to push harder. Please try not to punch me in the face.
To Steve Bacca and Eartha Bacca, for creating Noho MMA, a place that empowers. Much of what you’ve taught me is in this book.
To Linda Triol, who graciously proofread an early version of this book.
To Hayes Robbins and the rest of my team, for working tirelessly to get me jobs writing movies.
To all the producers and development executives I’ve worked with this last decade, who have taught me how to ask the right questions about story. I’m obviously a very lucky person, because there’s too many of you to name individually.
Finally, to God, for guiding me in difficult times and speaking to me when I need it most. Thank you for the Great Everything. Everything I do— and everything worth doing— comes from you.
About the Author
Valerie Brandy is a writer, director, and actress based in Los Angeles.
She began her writing career by selling a feature length screenplay at just 20 years old, becoming one of the youngest members of the WGA west at the time
. She’s since written for numerous film studios and television networks, most recently serving as a full time staff writer at Walt Disney Studios live action feature department, where she continues to develop new projects under a first look deal.
Her directorial feature film debut, Lola’s Last Letter— which she also wrote and starred in— was released in 2016 by Random Media and Sony’s “The Orchard” after a successful festival run, premiering at the historic Chinese Theatre in Hollywood. The film received a five-star review from the Examiner, a special feature in Huffington Post, and a Best Principal Actress nomination from Los Angeles Film Review. Valerie shot the film in seven days with a cast and crew of just seven people. In their review of the film, Huffington post stated that, “… the key word in describing Brandy is unflinching…” Starpulse called the film, “… breathtakingly real and raw… Brandy is an important voice for her generation.”
Lola’s Last Letter is currently available OnDemand at iTunes, Amazon, Vudu, Googleplay, Comcast, Youtube, and many other platforms.
As an actress, Valerie recurred on FX’s Emmy-winning show “Justified” as the manipulative Trixie. She received her B.A. from UCLA in three years, graduating as a prestigious Alumni Scholarship Recipient. Brandy’s feature script “Dying with Daisy” was a quarterfinalist in the Nicholl Fellowships in Screenwriting that same year.
Brandy lives in the greater Los Angeles area with her smush-faced dog and snow-white cat. “Animals We Are” is her debut novel.
To reach out to Valerie, follow her on:
Instagram
Twitter
Facebook
Copyright © 2019 Little Leo Media, Inc.
Dedication
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The story continues with the second book in the “Animals We Are” series!
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Animals We Are Page 22
