With the car back on the highway, it was just a short matter of time before he arrived at his destination. Speed limits didn’t matter. Simon was well on his way.
* * *
Claire hadn’t expected another late night phone call, but she really hadn’t expected the caller to be Rose. She was shocked, relieved to find her alive and well. She was even more surprised to find her on her way to the PRDI safe house. Offering no explanation, Rose hung up before Claire could ask why.
Now, she sat in her office, working at her computer. The files Glen had dropped off were proving very interesting. So far she had discovered Simon as a common factor in over ten werewolf related deaths, his own parents included. She shivered uncontrollably. Simon was more psychotic then she could’ve ever imagined.
Occasionally, she broke from her research to glance at the security monitors on her right. Rose would buzz for Claire to open the door, but she was anxious. She waited to see Rose’s familiar form at the door, but there was nothing so far. She went back to her research.
She opened a folder and stared at the photograph within. It was a woman with dark hair and gray eyes. She wasn’t smiling. Instead, she looked sullen. Claire brought her eyebrows together as she studied her. She recognized the name immediately when she read it.
Brenda Slater. This was Davis and Slater’s mother. This was the woman Simon had Davis kill all those years ago. She caught the resemblance immediately. Davis had her hair and her eyes, but Slater had her chin and nose, the same face shape. She closed the folder immediately. She didn’t want to think about Davis killing her. That horrible thought always seemed to pop in her head at inappropriate times.
She slipped the folder beneath the others and grabbed the one on top. The name, Joshua Conner, was also familiar. It was Simon’s father. She opened it to the first page. After studying the photo of the angry, but somewhat familiar looking man, she began to read.
She jumped nearly out of her skin when the door buzzed. Her heart thudding, she turned to the monitors, slipping the folder back onto the top of the pile. She saw the blurred image of Rose standing at the door, her arms around herself to combat the cold. Claire quickly overcame her surprise and hit the buzzer to let her in. She watched Rose disappear beneath the camera. A moment later she heard her footfalls in the hall. She left the room to greet her.
Rose met her halfway up the staircase. Claire had never seen her so pale.
“It never gets any easier,” Rose said before Claire could say anything.
“What doesn’t?”
“Walking past the monuments.”
After the raid on the PRDI, it was decided that memorial monuments should be placed on the front lawn, to honor those of the Institute that had died. Claire had never met any of the individuals, save for a brief encounter with Aidan Marks, a young psychic boy ruthlessly killed by Simon’s goons. Claire had to admit the six monuments were a bit ominous and unsettling, but she could tell that wasn’t what spooked Rose. It was just an excuse.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, concerned. Rose was shaking and Claire had a feeling it wasn’t just from the cold.
“Something horrible.” Rose looked up at Claire, her eyes wide and bright blue.
“What is it?” she asked, breathlessly. There was something about the way Rose looked at her, how pale her skin was, how shaken she was that made Claire anxious and frightened.
“Oh God, Claire, I’ve done something horrible. I need to talk to you.”
“Sure.” Claire stepped aside, letting Rose lead the way. She knew the house better than she did, having lived here as a child after her parents, and Glen’s, had passed away. She walked back to the office and sat down in one of the cushioned chairs. Claire sat across from her, turning her back to the monitors. “What is it? How did you get away from Simon? What happened?”
Rose took a few shallows breaths and closed her eyes. There was a long silence before she was able to talk. When she did, her voice trembled and her eyes began to water.
“There’s no easy way to say it,” she began. She let out one more breath then spilled it. “Simon did it.”
“What?”
“Simon did it. He—” She hesitated. “We had sex.”
Claire’s mouth dropped open in shock and her voice scaled high. “What?”
“Yes, I know.” Rose defended herself quickly. “It was horrible. I couldn’t control it. It was like—like I wanted it. Oh God, I feel sick.”
“So do I,” Claire agreed. Her stomach made a funny lurch. She didn’t want to know any more. She shook her head, but Rose didn’t seem ready to say anything else.
Fresh tears had begun to fall and her cheeks were wet already. She sniffled a few times. “It was the lust, the heat—”
“No, don’t say any more,” Claire stopped her. She was baffled. She couldn’t believe it. Simon and Rose? It didn’t seem real. “I don’t understand much about being a werewolf or anything about controlling instincts or whatever but Simon?”
“I know.” Her voice cracked. “I know. I feel so dirty, used. I couldn’t control myself. I—”
“Stop. I’m going to be sick, seriously.” Claire jumped up from her seat and crossed the floor.
“What happened—please leave out all those…details. Just give me the facts. What’s going on?” Claire turned back to look at her.
Rose nodded. “I can do that.” She wiped her eyes and nose with the back of her hand. Claire sat back down, scooted her chair closer to Rose and waited for her to continue.
“Well, as you know, Simon kidnapped me. I was out cold, didn’t know where the hell I was when I came to.” Her eyebrows furrowed together at some unpleasant thought, but she kept it to herself. “He talked some shit about that stupid master plan of his—”
Claire made a scoffing noise. “He’s still on about that?”
“Yeah,” Rose said. “Same old shit as before, only he was more adamant about it.”
“I can’t imagine Simon being any more obsessed about something,” Claire said, thoughtfully. She had a sudden image of Simon with Rose again and she shuddered. It didn’t seem like Rose to give in to something like that, but as she explained, she knew very little about werewolves and their instincts and actions. She shook the thought away and refocused her attention on Rose.
“Oh, he’s more obsessed than ever. He wants to kill Jason so badly. And he wants me—”
“Obviously.”
Rose ignored her. “He’s never going to stop. I’m scared.”
“How did you get away?”
She let out a deep breath and dropped her eyes. She stared at her hands a moment, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “I snapped, I guess. No other way to explain it. He came at me and I broke free and choked him. I don’t think I killed him.”
“Why didn’t you?” Claire asked.
“I was scared, I guess. I wanted to get away. I don’t like killing, Claire. I’ve only had to do it a couple times.” She stopped talking and lifted her eyes. Claire saw the pain in them, but she couldn’t help but press the issue.
“But it’s Simon we’re talking about.”
“I was scared,” she repeated. “I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
At that, she dropped it. She stared at Rose for a long moment, their eyes locked. Rose seemed genuinely frightened. She couldn’t remember the last time Rose had seemed so anxious and afraid. She sighed.
“I understand, Rose. I’m sorry for pushing it.”
“It’s all right.” Rose brushed a strand of long dark hair behind her ear.
“That still doesn’t explain why you came here,” Claire resumed, once more thoughtful. Rose’s face blanched. Spots of red flashed on her cheeks and she broke the eye contact.
“Oh, that. I was hoping we wouldn’t get into that.”
“There’s more to this, isn’t there?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“What is it?”
Rose hesitated then said it in a small voice, so soft C
laire could barely hear her. “I went home to Jason.”
She stared at her, confused. Rose closed her eyes, fighting back more tears.
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Jason smelled it.”
Again, Claire was confused. “Smelled what?”
“He smelled my heat-scent. He smelled Simon. He smelled…it…”
Then it hit her like a ton of bricks.
“Oh God, he knows?” Claire stared at Rose, even more shocked. Jason was known for his anger and jealous possessiveness when it came to Rose.
“Yes, he knows.”
“Oh God.” It was all she could say for the moment. When the initial shock wore off she asked, “What happened? What did he do?”
“He was pissed, you can imagine.” There was a bitter tone in Rose’s voice, a tone Claire had never heard from her before. It cut like a knife through the waterworks now cascading down her face. She sniffled and wiped her face angrily. “He tried to hurt me. He did hurt me, in more than one way.”
“I’m sorry.” She didn’t know what else to say.
“It’s not your fault.”
“I know, but still, I’m sorry to hear it.” She paused, “I know you two were having problems.”
Rose turned her golden-tinted eyes to Claire angrily. The look disappeared and Rose once again looked vulnerable and scared. She nodded.
“I came here because it would be the last place he’d look for me.”
“Are you hiding from him?”
“Not really, I just want to be away from him.” She sighed and then confessed it all. “I’ve been planning on leaving him, for a short time, until this whole vigilante hunter killing spree came to an end and he forgot all about his revenge on Simon. Cheyenne thought it would be a good idea. So did Glen, after some arguing, but now, I don’t know. Now that Simon’s really alive and back, Jason’s as hateful as ever.” Fresh tears began to fall. “I didn’t know where to go. I don’t know what to do.”
Claire felt compelled to wrap her arms around her suddenly and comfort her, but Rose wasn’t the hugging type. They were never really that close. Instead, she moved closer and patted her gently on the back.
Rose broke down, burying her face in Claire’s shoulder. A bit surprised by the action, Claire nonetheless wrapped an arm around Rose and soothed her. She rubbed her back gently, letting her cry it out.
“I’m sorry,” Rose said when she was through. She pulled away.
“You don’t have to apologize. You have the right to be upset. Hell, if it were me, I’d be bawling.”
Rose didn’t seem comforted by her words because she still looked glum. She wiped the last of her tears away. Claire handed offered her a Kleenex box and she took several of the pink tinted tissues. She wiped her eyes, blew her nose and sighed.
“I don’t know what to do,” she said, wadding up the tissues and throwing them in the trash bin. “I don’t want to be hurt any more, in any way. I think it’s best if I just stay away from him.”
“I know Jason’s temper,” Claire began. “Do you think it would be wise to stay away? It would just make him angrier.”
“I know, but what can I do? Besides, he won’t come here. It’s the last place he’d think I’d be.”
Claire didn’t have to ask why. She knew it was because of the air of gloom and death around here. Rose didn’t come here often because it brought back memories and Jason, hopefully, wouldn’t think to follow her here.
“I understand,” she said after a moment. She thought for a moment before speaking her next words. “You’re going to have talk to him about it sooner or later. You can’t just stay away from him all your life.”
“I could try,” Rose said, bitterly. She sighed, attitude changing. “You’re right, but I hope it’s later and not sooner. I just can’t face him now.”
“I know. It’ll probably take some time.” Claire tried to smile, but it faded. “For now, let’s try to get some rest. We can talk about it more in the morning.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Rose agreed. She stood, yawning and stretching. She was tired, exhausted. Claire could relate. In light of recent events, she had to admit a good night’s rest sounded like the best medicine to cure their upset.
For now.
She didn’t look forward to waking up, however. Things had a way of looking worse in the light and she had a feeling it was going to get much, much uglier.
Look on the bright side, she told herself as she followed Rose out of the office, maybe I won’t be able to sleep at all and I won’t have to worry about it. It was a hopeless thought. Claire had a feeling, that sleep or no, there would be worry enough.
Chapter Eighteen
His bottle of whiskey was empty but his pain had not subsided. If anything, he felt worse. He left the cabin as it grew darker. Only a few stars dotted the sky. He drove fast, recklessly. The bar was just a few miles away.
When he arrived, the night was still very young. The bar was filled with patrons, laughing raucously and drinking. There was a thick haze of cigarette and cigar smoke. He made his stumbling way through the crowds and found a seat in the back. Jason sat there at the dirty table, watching the people party the night away. If only they knew true horror and true pain, they wouldn’t be here.
Or maybe they would.
He ordered a beer and a shot of whiskey straight. He wanted to get drunk. He wanted to forget everything, even if for a little while.
The waitress that took his order was a short young woman, with dark hair. She looked somewhat like Rose, except thinner, longer-limbed and she had darker eyes. Jason stared at her for a long while, without really seeing her. He saw Rose. He smelled Rose. He snorted. Her scent, something he had always loved, now sickened him when he thought of it.
Simon had tainted her. She had betrayed him. He gripped his scalp, digging nails into his head. He groaned aloud, but the sound was lost in the music and noise of the place. It was just as well. He didn’t want to be noticed anyway.
He thought of Rose with Simon. He thought of him grinning, teeth showing menacingly as he stood above him, ready for the kill. He thought of the good taste of the whiskey. He thought of his mother, long dead, and his father, the no-good deadbeat. He went through anger, confusion and hurt, all within the span of a few minutes and he was understandably even more upset by the time his drinks were ready.
The waitress returned shortly with his drinks and he downed the whiskey in a single gulp. The waitress, smiling, left unperturbed with his order of two more. He opened the beer and gulped half of it down thirstily. His thoughts returned to Simon and Rose.
Damn her and damn him, he thought heatedly. He couldn’t shake it. She had smelled of him, because she had been with him. There had been something in her eyes, a fire that hadn’t been there before. And the tone in her voice…
There was no doubt she had liked it.
Jason felt the sickness rising again. He drank the next shot of whiskey just as quickly as the first, trying to quell it. He felt a warm, comfortable sensation beginning in his belly. He felt a bit drunk. It took a lot to get him that way, but it was just what he wanted.
He drained the last of his beer and took a long look around the bar. Dancing couples bumped into one another. The laughter was loud, shrill to his sensitive ears. His vision began to blur, the people becoming faceless shapes. They moved toward him, then away, like dancing shadows in the darkness.
He knew it wouldn’t be long now. Already his problems with Rose were becoming a faint concern. The alcohol was working its strange magic. Less and less he thought about Rose and more and more about when his next drink would arrive.
Jason’s attention drifted back to the waitress. He caught her scent. It smelled something like flowers and vanilla, a sweet combination. He didn’t look at her.
“Here you go, hon,” she said, setting down the next beer. He didn’t even remember ordering it. He stared at the bottle, watching water bead off the sides. He nodded his thanks. The waitress lin
gered, as if expecting more from him. He finally looked up at her.
She stared at him, the previous smile faded from her face. Her features were darkened. She didn’t look so much like Rose, now, he realized. Must’ve been a trick of his mind.
“What?” he asked gruffly, slurring slightly.
He saw her eyebrows come together and the compassion wash over her face. She pitied him.
The lonely drunk, the nagging voice told him. She thinks you’re a lonely drunk and she’s lonely. How he knew this he didn’t know. He listened to the voice while staring at her and soon he realized it wasn’t really a voice at all. It was that psychic premonition. He could feel her emotions.
Jason let out a shuddering breath, pushing it all away. When he had cleared it as best he could, he realized she had spoken to him.
“What?”
“I said, will there be anything else?”
Jason just stared at her. The girl was scared now. There was something about this man she didn’t like. He could feel it from her. He sighed heavily.
“More whiskey,” he said. He didn’t need all this now, not on top of everything else. Now he had something else to forget about.
She began to walk away, a little too anxiously, and he held up a hand to stop her. “And no more shot glasses. Just bring me the damn bottle.”
* * *
He followed the same path to the cabin as he had before. The stolen Taurus was parked away from the road, hidden behind an outdated billboard and some bushy trees. He returned to the same overgrown path, tracing through the dense woods and finally reaching the meadow overlooking the cabin.
Simon paused there on the hill. The cabin looked dark, small. He narrowed his eyes, sniffed the air. He caught a faint were-scent but nothing more. He made his way through the tall grass and stepped up the back porch.
Now, he smelled the strong sting of alcohol and immediately spied the empty bottle lying near the broken door. He stooped and picked it up, feeling its weight with his hands. He touched the opening. It was still wet.
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