The morning continues on the way it always does.
The same people coming in around the same time, ordering mostly the same things time and time again, so I’m taking the orders, serving the food, pouring cups of coffee, wiping down counters, cleaning up tables, mundane and repetitive, nothing has changed. By the time 10am rolls around the diner has quieted down to just 3 elderly gentlemen sipping coffee and eating apple pie while talking about their glory days, what-ever a neighbor did or said recently and expressing how the whole world is going to hell, based on a half read article in the newspaper.Knowing it wont get any busier until around noon I walk over to Linda and ask if it’s ok to take slightly longer break than usual. With my truck out of commission I’ll have to walk over to the repair shop and hope Joe or mister Jackson, who owns the garage, is willing to drive out to my place and tow the truck into town for repairs.Maybe I should ask her if I can work the evening shift as well tonight, lord knows I need the money, but I already know the answer. As grumpy and unapproachable as mister Mason seems, he is also extremely protective of us girls. He would never let a woman work the evening shift.With Linda’s okay, I move through the swinging doors into the kitchen and empty out the trashcans on my way out the back door. Sam, our chef, is leaning against the alleyway wall across from the door, a cigarette between his lips. With the bandana tied around his head, the tattoos covering both his huge forearms completely and the large scar that runs from the left corner of his mouth all the way to his ear, he looks more like a dangerous criminal than a cook. If I didn’t know him, I think I’d avoid walking down this alley altogether. I have no doubt that he has a motorcycle stashed away somewhere, he just looks like the type you’d expect to ride a Harley Davidson all across the country, sleeping under the stars and getting in fist fights in dingy dive bars.But instead he’s standing here, wearing a dirty apron with the name of a diner in a small town no one has ever heard of printed on the front, a black t-shirt that strains against his biceps and a pair of black slacks, giving me a half smile with the right side of his mouth. He probably had a lovely warm smile at one point in his life, I think to myself while I toss the two stinking and dripping garbage bags I’m carrying, into the dumpster.“I’m heading over to Jackson’s garage, my car broke down this morning.” I tell him. “yeah I heard” he replies, which kind of surprises me, he wasn’t anywhere near when I told the Masons what had happened.
Seeing the surprised look on my face he continues, “the sound carries pretty well into the kitchen, there isn’t much that goes on up front that I don’t hear.”“oh,.. “ is all I can think of to say, feeling pretty stupid, I guess I never noticed that, but it seems logical enough, he needs to hear us call out the orders right? And there is a cutout in the wall behind the counter where he puts the orders when they’re ready, of course he can hear what’s going on! “Well, I better get going, Linda is handling the orders ‘till I get back and I don’t want to burden her too much. I’ll be back before the lunch-rush!” I half yell while turning and making my way out onto the main street. “Don’t go making any wrong turns now ya hear?” I hear Sam hollering back.Wrong turns, right.. out here? There’s only other 3 streets in this town and all of them lead back to Main street eventually. Well, unless you count the route I took this morning and there’s no road there anyway, heck, I wouldn’t even call it a path, I shudder just at the thought of my early morning track through the woods. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so relieved to set foot on regular pavement.
After about fifteen minutes trying to get the events of this morning out of my head and convincing myself I’m just conjuring up things that aren’t really there and driving myself nuts due to lack of decent sleep, I step into Jackson’s auto-repair shop where I’m met with the smell of gasoline, oil and stale cigarettes. The shop is dimly lit and the main focus of the space is a car lift positioned in the center. A large sedan perched atop, held in place by the big sturdy looking metal arms, the car is halfway disassembled, revealing it’s inner workings like a mechanical puzzle waiting to be solved. Around the shop, tools of various sizes and shapes are scattered across workbenches. Grease-stained manuals and repair guides line the shelves, testament to the knowledge and expertise mister Jackson demands, several sets of tires are stacked up in a corner, but I don’t see Joe.
Making my way to the door that has office written on it in big bulky, bright red letters, I suddenly hear an god-awful ruckus coming from out back. Metal against metal, shouting, screaming, cussing and.. growling?? It sounds like a rabid dog going absolutely nuts! Is Joe being attacked by a rabid dog? Oh no!!I rush towards the rusted metal door at the other end of the garage, it seems to be somewhat bent out of shape and slightly ajar, the sound of fighting coming from that way. Thinking on my feet, I grab a large metal bar, it looks to be the crank part of a car jack, the rubber handle giving me the ability to hold a nice firm grip ‘cause if it’s indeed a rabid dog that’s attacking Joe I can hopefully use it to fend the animal off long enough to get Joe out of harms-way. Since I’m not entirely sure what I’m dealing with or how far away this fight actually is, I peek through the gap first, hoping to catch sight of what’s going on.“Can I help you miss?”
I practically jump 15 feet up in the air, my heart pounding so hard I’m afraid it’ll jump right out of my chest, still holding on tightly to the metal bar I quickly turn around ready to strike, only to be met by a questioning look plastered on mister Jackson’s rugged face. Just like most men in this town, mister Jackson is built like a tank, tall and muscular, and just like Joe, his physique probably comes from working hard.He seems to be in his mid to late forties, sun-kissed skin with just a few lines around his eyes, light brown hair and deep set hazel eyes, his high cheekbones and rounded eyebrows nearly give him a feminine look, were it not for his square jawline, thick whiskers and full mustache.“Mister Jackson!!” I squeal, “Joe is being attacked by a rabid dog! We need to go and help him!”
“Nonsense, Joe is on his way to the city to get parts for that heap of Japanese plastic” he says while pointing behind him towards the car hanging halfway up in the air. “But the banging, the shouting, the growls, someone needs help” I say while turning and sticking out my hand to push open the banged up metal door, but mister Jackson places his hand on my shoulder and steers me away from the door. “we need to help whoever’s out there” I shout frustrated.
“There’s no one out back, you probably just heard the echo of the tv show I was watching, now tell me, what can I do for you miss?”**authors note: The chapters will get longer, I promise. This is my very first attempt at writing so please be kind. **
I can’t believe mister Jackson refuses to check out back, there is absolutely no way that was just an echo, there’s no way the sound of a tv could carry in a way that it sounds like there’s a battle going on just outside the door I was standing at, even if he had the windows open and the volume at it’s maximum, it just can not be, the shouting, the cussing, the sound of that angry dog, that was undoubtedly real and it was close!The firm grip on my shoulder made it almost painfully obvious he didn’t want me to know what was going on, if it really had been his TV, he wouldn’t have had such a firm grip on me, he wouldn’t almost have dragged me away, would he? Maybe he’s hosting illegal dogfights, I think to myself, could that be the reason he’s trying to make absolutely sure I am kept away from the back of the garage?I’ve been in his office for at least 20 minutes now, being asked all kinds of questions about the make and model of my truck, what’s wrong with it, if I had done any mainte
Jack’s P.O.V.I can’t believe it, for the past five years, the young woman that served me my breakfast with a kind smile, is the one we’ve been searching for.In all honesty, most of us gave up hope about a year after she disappeared, Christian never did though, he kept searching, convinced she was out there somewhere. He put us all at risk by leaving, especially for so long, but I understand, I would’ve torn the world apart had this happened to me, unfortunately not everyone is so forgiving. After we took up residence in the abandoned human town, we all did our best to create a life for ourselves. I think deep down we all still long for the home we lost and that’s why nothing ever really got updated, still believing this is just temporary. Years came and went and eventually, a lot of our people just packed up and left, a few humans moved in, mostly drifters and outcasts, though they usually leave relatively quick, a year, maybe two before they realize that this place will never be an
Tara’s p.o.v.I know I should probably eat something, but with the way I’m feeling I lost all desire. Hoping my favorite streaming service will take my mind off of today’s strange events, I settle on the on the sofa and wrap myself up in the soft comfortable blanket that I always drape over the back of the cushions. Scrolling through all the different movies, series and documentaries, nothing catches my eye and with the yearning to be outside growing, I just can’t seem to wind down. With a sigh I untie myself from the fluffy fabric, maybe a nice hot shower will do the trick. The bathroom is simple but functional. White subway-style tiles line the walls all the way up to the ceiling, a simple glass shower wall and a dark oak vanity with a wash basin on top, a plain white toilet bowl and just a single ceiling lamp, nothing to boast about, the water pressure is really good though, so the small showerhead usually does the trick of relaxing my tight muscles just fine, but not tonight. Wit
** authors note Okt. 20th 2023: dea readers, I have rewritten chapter 6 and added parts that will be absolutely crucial to the story line, if you’ve already read chapter six, please re-read it before starting chapter 7. My apologies for the inconvenience**Tara’s P.o.v. Did I really just dream that whole thing, did I actually fall asleep on the sofa last night and have my mind just conjure up the entire part of barely sleeping, the walk, that strange voice that came from seemingly nowhere and the horror that ensued after? It would explain why I thought I saw a black bear further south than those animals have ever been reported and why I heard that voice without anyone being near,… it doesn’t explain the splitting headache or how bruised my back feels though. Maybe I hit my head too hard when I fell and this is actually the delusion, that would make some sense, but then again, the whole thing in the woods is just too weird to be real, heck, even mister Mason giving me the day off
Christian’s P.o.v. I can’t believe she has been living in the old Devereaux’s place all this time, How did I not notice that every time I caught whiff of sandalwood, jasmin, coriander with a touch of cinnamon in the air, the wind had been blowing from the east. Why did I not check the boundary on that side of the barrier more often? When Joe suggested I go there and wait, I thought he would bring Linda there, maybe check if she would have another vision, rattle up a second prophecy on what would come next or something, anything really.. I never expected to see Tara come walking down the path hours later. I had contemplated leaving several times, to run back to town and tear those traitorous Jackson brothers a new one, just for being near my sweet girl, purely for being a possible threat to her and admittedly also for the hand they most likely had in my misery of the past two decades, but Jack was right. If his son hadn’t stopped me when he did, I certainly would have done more dam
Christian’s P.o.v.At some point I must’ve shifted back, but I don’t recall how or when, was it during Linda’s revelation? Did it happen when she rested her hand on top of my wolf’s head or maybe when she finished speaking the words that still play through my mind like a broken record, over and over again? All I know is that I felt weak, my legs didn’t seem to work and my arms were like puddy. The world around me seemed to be covered in a thick layer of mist, making it hard to distinguish what was right in front of me. I think I heard voices in the distance, but couldn’t make out what they were saying, I’m assuming it was Jack, David and Linda, but I can’t be entirely sure, the sounds were too muffled to recognize. By the time I finally came out of my dazed state, I was laying on the moss covered ground, covered by a layer of leaves, that retched barrier mere inches behind me. I think the three of them brought me here, they must have, I sure as hell wasn’t able to walk here by mysel
Christian’s p.o.v. It’s still the early hours of dusk when I settle down beneath a tree, I have a clear view of Tara’s home, but I’m concealed enough to remain out of sight. Although I haven’t seen any sign of her Wolf on her, I make sure I’m up wind from the cottage, just to be on the safe side. I’m not sure if she remembers my scent or knows anything about the life we had. Does she have any recollection of being snatched away from her home and the horrendous manner in which that happened? She was so young, even though it pains me, I pray it has all been erased from her mind. Sitting there, wandering what her life had been like, time passes. Questions about which school she attended, if she had any close friends, hobbies, it all remains unanswered of course, oh how I would’ve loved to know her through all those years, through her first day of school, a first love or broken heart, her graduation, getting her drivers license, I missed it all.The cold of the morning dew is starting
Tara’s p.o.v. The animal on my lap seems content, but my legs are going numb under the weight of its head.As I try to wiggle out from under him, he softly grunts and whines, I don’t want to hurt him, but if I don’t get the blood in my legs flowing again, I might never walk again. Just as I manage to free one leg without waking up the gentle giant, a small car pulls up and in an instant the Dog is up on all 4’s, growling with it’s hackles raised, almost seeming protective of me. I scramble to my feet, the tingle of blood reaching my extremities again making it more difficult than it should be and place my hand comforting on top of the animals head, recognizing Linda’s bright orange AMC Gremlin, yet another relic this town seems to have an abundance of. As she steps out of her car and through the little gate her eyes are locked on my new friend, a silent understanding seemingly passing between them. “good morning Darlin’ Linda calls out. “who do we have here?” she asks while walkin