CLARA
Jason
I need to talk to you.
My mind immediately jumped into the hamster wheel of spiraling thoughts, wondering what necessitated the most anxiety-inducing combination of words in the English language.
Seriously, has anyone ever gotten that particular message and ~not~ felt sick to their stomach? Just tell a person what you need to talk about!
Clara
Thatâs the single most annoying text message you can send to someone, Jason.
Jason
Sorryâ¦I need to talk to you about Elias?
Clara
Thatâs only a little bit better.
Jason
Well Iâm not going to try to talk to you about this over text message. So will you meet up with me after work tomorrow?
Clara
I guess so.
And thatâs how I ended up agreeing to see Jason after work.
He wanted to go to a restaurant, but that felt ~way~ too much like a date for me. And considering Elias had practically declared us life partners, I didnât need to feel like I was sneaking around on him.
Instead, we would be meeting at the library in the little room in the corner. It was fairly private, but also a place I felt comfortable.
I really hoped that he wasnât going to do something like profess his undying love and ask me to leave Elias. Because that straight up wasnât going to happen.
The thought caused my mouth to pull down into a frown of annoyance, which must have spread to my hands because when I attempted to open a can of sodaâ¦I squeezed it so hard that it exploded all over me.
I didnât think I was holding it that tightly, but apparently I was wrong.
And sticky.
I tried to work on my article about the local high schoolâs big basketball win to distract me, but thoughts of Elias and Jason continued stampeding around my brain like opposing herds of buffalo.
By the time 9 p.m. rolled around, I gave up and put myself to bed. As I snuggled up in the comforter Elias had bought for me, a smile finally managed to break through the clouds on my face.
Everything would be fine. If Jason was trying to make a move, all I had to do was say no. Heâd never actually been in the running, as much as he seemed to want to be.
With that resolve set, I fell into an uneasy sleep haunted by black and silver wolves howling at each other in the moonlight.
***
The next morning, work somehow both dragged and flew by at the same time.
I never saw Jason in the office, though he must have been through at some point, because Iâd arrived to find my daily coffee delivery sitting on my desk.
I questioned Perkins about it, and Mr. I-Must-Sit-on-Your-Desk-Corner told me that Jason was out doing interviews.
That suited me just fine. I was able to get my article finished and escaped the office an hour early, giving me some time to do more research before Jason was supposed to arrive.
I had half a dozen books mentioning Melvilleâs werewolf legends sitting on the small table open to various pages when I realized Jason was late.
Clara
Hey Jason, Iâm waiting at the library. Did you get held up at an interview?
But instead of a reply from Jason, Perkinsâs name showed up on my phone screen. âHello?â
âParks? Oh, thank everything! Where are you?â
âIâm at the library waiting for Jason. Have you heard from him?â
There was a long pause, and my stomach began to tie into knots. The feeling only intensified when Perkins spoke again.
âMeet me at the police station. Donât ask questions. I canât answer any. Just hurry.â
I almost dropped my phone in my haste to get out of the little room.
âIâm sorry I couldnât put the books away. An emergency has come up,â I whisper-shouted to the librarian as I ran past the desk and out the doors to my car.
I definitely broke the speed limit on my way to the station. But what were they going to do, put me in their cruiser and take me where I was already going?
I slammed my little shitbox into park next to the front door, ignoring my terrible parking job, and burst into the office.
The receptionist looked up, startled, as I babbled incoherently about Perkins and Jason. Thankfully, an officer heard and knew why I was there.
âMs. Parks, follow me,â he said, gesturing to a room just off the main lobby.
Inside were two more officers and the boss man. Perkins was white as a sheet and grabbed my hand when I sat in the seat next to him.
No sooner had the door closed than the officer on the left launched into his questions.
âMs. Parks, Mr. Perkins tells us you were supposed to be meeting Mr. Foster for something. What were you meeting for?â
âI donât know for sure, officer. Jason and I have been working together on the possible serial killer case, and he texted me yesterday that he had some information he didnât want to discuss over the phone. So we were going to meet at the library to talk about it.â
âI see. And when did you last speak to Mr. Foster?â
âYesterday, sir. He wasnât at work all day because he was out doing interviews. Did something happen?â
The officerâs face remained stoic and professional, but my breath caught in my throat before he even spoke.
âYes, Ms. Parks. Mr. Foster was found deceased at 4:05 p.m.â He opened a folder and slid a photo across the desk.
Perkins let out a low moan, and I had to fight back the urge to vomit.
There, in way too much detail, was Jason.
He was lying on the ground with his shirt shredded and his face slashed open. Blood coated the ground around him and pooled beneath his body. In one hand, he clutched his phone, and in the other, a pen.
Just like the other victims, he looked like heâd been mauled.
âNo,â I whispered, one hand over my mouth and the other over my stomach. âNo!â
âDo you know ~anything~ that could help us figure out who did this, Ms. Parks? Do you have any idea who he might have been interviewing?â
I shook my head as bitter tears began flowing down my cheeks.
âNo,â I sobbedâthe only word I seemed capable of speaking.
The officers frowned more deeply, and another picture slid across the desk.
âWhy would the killer leave this note, then?â
This photo showed a bloodied and crumpled piece of paper.
Written in what looked like blood, it read, âStop putting your noses where they donât belong and stay away from Clara. Sheâs mine. E.â
The bottom corner of the page had a partial pawprint, definitely made of blood.
My shock and despair ran into cold terror and denial. Surely the âEâ couldnât be Elias?
âMs. Parks. Clara. We know youâve been involved with Elias Franke. But were you and Mr. Fosterââ
I shook my head vehemently. âAbsolutely not! Weâre just coworkers. Maybe friends at this point, but nothing more.â
âHeâs been bringing you coffee every morning for weeks, Clara,â Mr. Perkins chimed in. âAnd you still insist thereâs nothing going on?â
He looked at me with suspicion thick in his lips and eyebrows. The accusation hurt as much as the loss of literally half of my support system in this godforsaken town.
âThere was nothing between Jason and me. And I donât know who wrote the note. I think Elias is smarter than that, but what do I know? Weâve only been together a few weeks!
âPlease, just let me go homeâ¦I was at work when he was found, so you know I have nothing to do with it. Please let me go!â
The officers nodded, and I sprinted out of the police station back to my car.
Once inside, I locked the doors and allowed myself to cry. Deep, ugly sobs rocked my body from my very core. I gripped the steering wheel like a lifesaver as my wails filled the car.
***
Darkness had already fallen, and the winter chill had reached my bones by the time my anguish had started to subside. More as a self-soothing measure than anything, I began clearing out the notifications on my phone.
Three spam emails deep, I paused.
Jason had sent me an email at 3:15 p.m., and it had gotten buried. My fingers trembled as I opened it.
~Clara,~
~If you get this email, something has gone terribly wrong. Hopefully, weâll be able to talk and I can delete this before itâs sent. But just in case, Iâve scheduled it to go to you tonight. Please make sure my body is found, yeah?~
~I was doing some research the other day because something just seemed off. I found out Elias is descended from the original inhabitants of the area. Andâ¦well, heâs definitely a werewolf, Clara, just like you said. The native people here have been caught turning into wolves multiple times through the years.~
~Surely youâve come across the same thing reading all of these local history books? There are so many mentions of Eliasâs ancestors being protectors of the land, able to transform into wolves and keep out threats. But also so many legends about how theyâve been at war for centuries.~
~Doesnât it make sense that these bodies covered in knife and tooth wounds would be casualties of a werewolf war?~
~Heâs dangerous. Do your own research on the local werewolf legends, and youâll see that Iâm right. Even if these people arenât after humans, theyâre violent toward each other at the very least.~
~I donât want you getting in the middle of something you have no way to get out of. I donât want you getting hurt.~
~Iâm going to go ask him myself and hope that I make it out alive. Iâll see you when I get back. If I donât, you have proof that you need to get away from Elias as fast as you can. And proof that he needs to be locked up for murder.~
So he was going to go confront Elias.
I almost went back into the police station to give them the email, but my muscles wouldnât listen. If Elias was a murderer who had killed Jason to cover up the fact that he and Xavier were destroying each otherâs packs, the police needed to know.
But I loved him.
It hit me like a sack of bricks to the head. I ~loved~ Elias. But he was dangerous, and I wasnât letting another man I loved hurt me. Not again.
Out of love, I wouldnât turn him in to the police. However, I pulled out my phone and sent a single text.
Clara
I know what you did. Never contact me again.