“It’s crazy to think I’ve only known you for two months. It feels like two years.” Moira linked elbows with Nif and dragged her into the beating heart of the University of McGlade. Exams were only a week away and the uni was packed with stressed and highly caffeinated students cramming an impossible amount of information into their heads, all at the last minute. A pang of nostalgic anxiety from her own years at uni, so many years ago now, surged through Nif’s stomach and for a very brief moment she thought she’d be sick.
The car parks were overflowing even this late in the afternoon so Moira had come out to meet Nif while Oliver did laps to find a decent parking spot. Nif suspected Moira would be done for the day before that even happened. The support group was meeting at Clinton’s house again and it would be well and truly dark before they’d even leave the university. The Winter Solstice was just around the corner and the days were getting shorter and shorter.
“It does feel like we’ve known each other longer,” Nif said. “A lot’s happened.”
“Yeah.” They shared a silent moment, arms tightening around the other’s, Morris a sad haunting that would linger perhaps for the rest of their lives, and then a student with far too many books and a precariously balanced laptop came charging around the corner and almost barreled into them.
“Sorry! Sorry!”
Laughing, they helped right the poor boy, sending him on his way, and slipped into the ancient elevator, all brass and copper cage. A small metal plate warned:
HERITAGE LIFT
NO MOBILE RECEPTION
“Thanks for waiting with me,” Moira said as the elevator shuddered and groaned to the basement level. “I just need another hour or so to finish up my supervisor’s suggestions and then I’ll be free as a bird. You sure you won’t be bored hanging about?”
“Nah. I’ve always wanted to see where you do your research. This place must be a second home for you.”
“More of a first home to be honest and I suspect in a few months when the submission deadline gets closer, I’ll move in permanently. I’ll become one of those urban myths of a PhD student starving to death in the depths of the university in her attempts to complete her thesis. I’ll haunt classrooms, maybe even teach a few and see if the undergrads notice.”
“I doubt Oliver or I will let you starve. We’ll deliver supplies once a week at least.” Nif nudged Moira’s elbow, teasingly. “I doubt you’ll last long down here without chocolate.”
“It’s what my brain runs on. Without it, the ticking stops,” the younger woman laughed, rapping her knuckles against her forehead.
The elevator shuddered to a stop and they stepped out into a surprisingly bland hallway. The carpet was a mustard yellow, two threadbare tracks running down either side from years of foot traffic. Cork boards lined the walls covered in faded brown newspaper clippings and book announcements, none any later than the 90s and featuring black and white photos of supervisors with dubious hair cuts. People’s names were thumbtacked on the doors, some no more permanent than a post it note and scrawled letters in pencil.
“Not what you were expecting, huh?” Moira said. She tapped a finger against one of the articles of a man with a full head of hair, a mane any lion shifter would be proud of. “This is my supervisor, Professor Dennis McGowen back before his hair fell out and his eyesight went. Wouldn’t recognise him now wearing his toupe and bottle thick glasses. This whole floor was last renovated in the late 80s when brown and orange were all the rage and windowless boxes were considered the best spaces to work. No distractions apparently.” Moira led them down the corridor and stopped at a corner office, the hall shooting off down to their right, lit dimly by flickering fluorescent lights.
“Does it work?”
“Hell no. What I would do for a window.” She unlocked her office, switched on the light and stepped back with a sweep of her arm. “Welcome to my cell!”
All things considered, Moira had done exceptionally well with the space she’d been provided. Bookshelves lined one wall and the other was covered in massive posters of blue skies and snowy mountains that made the place feel twice as big than it actually was, which was no mean feat.
A small canvas, the size of an A4 page, had pride of place, directly in front of Moira’s work desk where she only had to look up to be able to see it. The art piece was of a moon, somehow evoking a sense of calm and peace, like a dozing cat in the sunlight. Nif would recognise Morris’s artwork anywhere.
“Oh, it’s beautiful,” Nif said, taking a closer look. It was rougher than his final pieces, more raw, but all the more stunning for it, and a pang of grief spiked sharp in her throat.
“Yeah. Apparently he’d actually planned to give it to me all along. They found my name scribbled across the back and Officer Nolan -- you remember the one, he had the angry face and kind smile -- forward it on to me since it wasn’t needed for the investigation.”
“Do you know what happened to the rest of his work?” Nif hated to think they’d be stored away, forgotten and unseen.
“It’ll be awhile until they sort it all, but he had a Will and so they’ll eventually get where they need to be. Most, I think, he donated. To retirement homes and hospitals.”
Of course he would’ve. Nif was beginning to realise Morris had an emotional depth as deep as the ocean hidden beneath rough awkwardness, like leaf litter floating across the surface of a deep pond. She wished she’d known him longer.
“I’m glad. His paintings should be seen.” Nif dragged her eyes from the softly curved lines of the painted moon and instead took in Moira’s desk. She expected it to be chaotic. Pens and papers everywhere. Books piled as high as the ceiling. An uncontrolled mess to match her boisterous personality.
The desk was actually as neat as a pin, her laptop squared with the desk edge, a printed copy of her current thesis to the right of it and books piled neatly to the left, spines easy to read and coloured post-its marking important sections. Nif was tempted to run her finger along the neat little tabs, like petting the spine of a cat.
“I’ll just be a little while. There’s a kettle in the corner if you want to make some tea.” Moira waved over to the tea making supplies – an impressive amount of flavours organised by colour – and settled down at her laptop.
“That’s okay. Don’t mind me at all,” Nif said. She fixed herself a cup of peppermint tea and checked her phone. Was Oliver still trying to find a parking spot? He didn’t respond to her message so he must’ve still been circling the university like a shark. Her attention was drawn back to Morris’ painting. It didn’t quite feel real that he was gone and all that was left of him were these artworks.
Her phone buzzed and she glanced at her screen. Her skin erupted into goosebumps as she recognised the user from Tender. She must’ve made a noise, a small cry of distress, because Moira stopped typing and called her name.
“It’s Baskerville.” Nif swallowed hard. “They sent another message.”
“What’s it say?”
The room suddenly was too small, and Nif just wanted to run, get outside under the sky heavy with clouds and just breathe deeply until all the tension drained away. Nif shuddered and read the message out loud, each word like a stone weighing her down.
“I know you’ve read my messages. Why haven’t you replied? You’re on a dating site so the least you can do is accept a date. Let me make this easy for you. How about I come to you? It’s about time we meet.”
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
“Shit, Nif. Shit!” Moira slammed her laptop shut and lurched to her feet, jamming it and her printed thesis into her satchel. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
“I’ll call Oliver. Surely he should be here by now.” Nif glanced out into the hallway. Was it just her, or did it look darker. More ominous? She dialed Oliver’s number and pressed her phone to her ear as Moira packed the last of her stuff. “He’s not picking up.”
“Call Thea then. I’ll send a message to the group.” Once Moira had her satchel slung over her shoulder, the two left the office, Moira locking the door behind her, and they headed for the elevator.
“Jennifer?” Thea’s voice was a lifeline, steady and strong. “Is everything okay?”
Nif was breathing heavily, like she’d been running, and she took a deep breath, drawing comfort from Moira’s hand in hers.
“I got another message from the Hound of Baskerville. They say they know where I am and are coming. I’m with Moira at the University of McGlade. Oliver’s nearby, parking, so we’re heading to him. What should we do?”
“Stay together,” Thea said, and Nif could hear the sound of something thumping and then a crackle of a radio. “I’ll send officers your way now. Get to Oliver and head to my place. Clinton will be waiting for you.” In the background Thea shouted out orders to her team and Nif felt a wave of relief wash through her.
Nif’s phone beeped as another call tried to get through.
“I think Oliver is trying to call me.”
“Okay, Jennifer. Keep to crowded areas and once you get to the car, lock the doors and don’t stop for anyone. We already know this person is prepared to hurt people who get in their way, so you need to make sure you and Moira stay safe.”
“Thanks Thea.”
Nif hung up, but she’d just missed Oliver’s call. Instead Moira’s phone rang just as they reached the elevator.
“Oliver! Where are you?” Moira pounded the up button while Nif kept an eye on the corridor. It was quiet down here. Had all the other students and lecturers gone home? It was not quite six yet so surely there were still people about?
“Nif got another creepy message so we need to get out of here. We’re leaving my office now.” The elevator opened and they piled in, closing the cage door behind them. “Here, I’ll hand you over to Nif.” Moira’s phone was an older smartphone model, small enough to fit into the palm of Nif’s hand and she almost fumbled it while she shoved her own phone in her back pocket.
“Oliver! Where the hell are you!” Nif hissed.
“Look, I’m on my way. Parking was a pain.”
“I called Thea and she said back up was on the way. We’re going up in the elevator now so we might...yup, lose reception.” Nif looked at the phone in frustration.
“It’ll be okay, Nif,” Moira promised, but fear was settling into the hollows beneath her eyes.
“How does the Hound of Baskerville even know I’m here? Do you think they’ve been watching us?” Nif wobbled on her feet as the elevator shook and groaned, but slowly heaved its way to the ground floor.
“They could just be trying to frighten you,” Moira said, slipping her hand into Nif’s and squeezing tightly.
“But the messages they found on the other victims’ phone were similar,” Nif pointed out. “Thea said that there were even texts on Morris’s phone.” The elevator shuddered to a stop and Nif yanked open the cage to only come face-to-face with the same student who’d been carrying all those books earlier. Except now he was bookless and the smile he wore was sharp like broken glass.
“Hey there, Jenny. I was hoping I’d be able to catch up with you.”
Nif stepped back, pulling Moira behind her, but the only place they could go was back into the elevator.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know you,” Nif attempted. “You must have confused me with someone else.” She tightened her grasp on Moira and then shoved her back inside, reaching for the cage door, hoping to barricade them both safely inside.
Moira screamed as the man lunged forward, the cage crushing against his weight as he fought to keep it open. Nif had no breath to cry out. The tendons in her fingers pinged painfully as she clung to the metal grating and pushed with all her might. Moira was already slamming the buttons, hoping the elevator would start up even without the door shut.
“Hey now, don’t be like that.” The man’s eyes were a watery blue, lashes dark, and if it weren’t for the scowl carving up his face, Nif would’ve considered him handsome.
“Let go,” Nif hissed. “Moira, smack his hands!”
But as Moira swung her bag at his fingers, the guy roared, feral, and slammed his shoulder into the wire cage and the whole thing buckled. Nif tumbled backwards, knocking Moira behind her into the elevator corner. She dug through her bag for the pepper spray Sapha had given her.
She’d just gotten the lid off when Oliver came out of nowhere, slamming into their attacker and both disappeared beyond the elevator opening. Nif peered around the warped metal edge, Moira clinging to her arm.
“Go!” Oliver grunted, his voice guttural. The back of his shirt had begun to split, fur bristling as he started to shift. Nif didn’t need to be told twice. She grabbed Moira’s arm and hauled her out of the elevator and towards the exit.
“We can’t leave him!” Moira dug in her heels, her gaze on her best friend who was mid-shift and still fighting to keep his arms wrapped tightly around the other man. The Hound of Baskerville was turning into a wriggling, twisting mass of grey fur in Oliver’s bulging arms, almost too big to hold and moving so quickly Nif couldn’t figure out his shift form. Something with teeth.
“We’re not much help being what we are. Come on, the police are coming. We can get help!” Nif dragged the frightened younger woman along as they headed towards the building entrance, students lingering on the steps watching curiously as the two women crashed through the double doors and spilled out onto the lawns. Behind them, two eerie howls filled the building. Both men had shifted, though Nif had no idea what shift Oliver had and if it would be strong enough to hold off whatever the Hound of Baskerville was.
In the distance, Nif could make out sirens.
“Come on, Moira. Head for the main exit!”
The two dashed across the chilled grass, the warm glow of the path lamps casting their shadows to windmill across the lawns.
They could hear screaming behind them now and more growls. Students were fleeing or shifting, a few took wing and began circling the campus. A long eared, brown hare leapt past, and Nif wished she could shift into something useful. To be able to fight or at least flee so no one had to fight her battles for her.
“What form does Oliver have?” Nif panted, glancing behind her to see if they were being followed.
“He’s a…”
CRASH! The building doors flung open, glass panels shattering, as a grey and black wolf launched itself across the footpath. It had blood on its muzzle and made a beeline straight for Moira and Nif with barely a pause to sniff the air.
“Go! Go! Go!” Nif shouted, but Moira was flagging and if Nif didn’t do something, her friend wouldn’t make it to the exit. “I’m right behind you. Don’t stop!” Nif fell back, giving Moira time to pull ahead, and changed directions, heading for the law buildings running perpendicular to Moira’s faculty offices. Relief washed through her when the wolf followed, giving her an extra boost of adrenaline and leaving Moira to run freely towards the flashing blue and red lights of the arriving responders.
There was no outrunning a wolf.
He ate up the ground, graceful and lean. But Nif still pushed on, praying she’d reach the law building’s front doors in time, her lungs burning as she inhaled sharp icy breaths. Where was Oliver? Was he injured? What could take on a wolf and survive?
Then another wolf appeared looping around from Nif’s left and she automatically swerved, heading now towards the student carpark. It was already starting to empty out for the day. She couldn’t shout for help – she could barely keep her legs pushing her forward as it was – but people were watching. Some were laughing and pointing, thinking it was all a big joke, while others had their phones out, concerned expressions as they called for the police. That wouldn’t help her. The police were already here, but they wouldn’t get to her in time.
When a third wolf appeared, Nif realised they were actually herding her, the first wolf not so much gaining on her but making sure she kept going the direction he wanted. Who was the actual Baskerville stalker? The man she’d bumped into or one of these others? How many were there?
She almost slid over when her boots left grass and instead kicked up sharp, grey gravel. A roar, not a wolf’s howl but something bigger, caused her heart to race even faster as it echoed across the campus. Nif risked a look back. A massive grizzly bear was moving at quite a clip towards them (she knew from growing up with one that a grizzly could manage over 60 kilometres per hour if properly motivated). Oliver’s blue and grey check shirt trailed behind like flags from where they were wrapped around the bear’s massive, bulging shoulders.
One of the wolves darted in close, nipping at Nif’s calf and she squealed, lurching away and slamming up against a van. The door slid open and she tumbled inside and for a brief moment she thought she was being saved, except the three wolves jumped in and the door slammed shut.
“Hurry it. She had an apex friend with her and he’s pissed!” yelled a person in human form to the driver.
“Let me go!” Nif shouted, kicking one of the wolves in the muzzle, causing them to yelp, and making a break for it. She reached the handle to the door before hands and paws pulled her back.
The van revved its engine and shot forward, before the whole thing rocked to one side, almost rolling, but then the van was picking up speed, smashing through the carpark barricade and out into the city.
Another monstrous roar followed them, but no matter how fast a bear was, it could not outrun a speeding van.