“Still watching cartoons, I see!”

Oh great. Nancy. Nothing good ever happens with Nancy.

I wish I could ask to have her replaced too.

“Well, there’s not much else to do. Since I can’t see or talk to anyone.”

She gives me a tsk tsk and a ‘look.’ “Now, now. It’s all protocol, dear. Besides, it’s just one more day and then you can have as many visitors as you like.”

I swear to god woman; I will invite my entire 10th grade. And you’ll have to bring them all apple juice and pudding. I’d do it just to spite you.

“And, I have a surprise for you!”

She’s smiling again and doing her trademark syllable extensions, but this one time it feels forced. Shit, what now?

“What surprise?”

“Well, there is a detective here and he wants to talk to you. Because he’s with the APD, he’s on the approved visitor list. Isn’t that great?”

I hate you. I hate you more than soggy pizza.

“I don’t really know if I’m up for it.”

She frowns, quickly says, “well you don’t have a choice he insists,” and then leaves me here. She just leaves me here to die.

You’re a fucking NURSE.

Keeping me alive is your fucking JOB.

Ugh.

And I am going to die. Again. I know that the second this horror-flick monster walks through the door.

He’s a gothic era nightmare on legs. The man is at least seven feet tall, probably more. I’m not even kidding, he cranes his neck and turns slightly to the side because he’s too tall and too wide for the freaking door. And he’s wearing a dark brown trench coat.

Yes, an actual trench coat, no joke, and my senses go haywire detecting all kinds of deadly odds and ends hidden inside the dozens of pockets on this thing. He has like twelve knives. And I don’t even know what half of the other shit is. And half the pockets look like he’d sewn them on himself. The color is slightly off, and the stitching is obvious. Clumsy even.

Like what, the original didn’t have enough room for all his death traps?

But that isn’t as creepy as the stains on his jeans and coat. They’re red.

The scent of blood and death enters the room with him.

I don’t know where the ‘scent thing’ came from.

I’ve gotten used to the whole ‘sensing the emotions in the air’ gambit, but that smell thing is new. I don’t like it and crinkle my nose.

My first instinct is that this cannot possibly be a police detective. My second one, felt the second I lock eyes with this man, is to get the hell out of there. Now. Is this what Fintan has been trying to warn me about?

My entire body freezes like I’ve seen deer or moose do on the nature channel when a wolf or hunter is nearby. Eh, come to think of it, some of the cougar’s prey reacted this way too in my dreams. Fuck, does that make me the prey? And he’s the hunter…

Air abandons me and I forget how to breathe, and I need to force my lungs to move. Breathe, dammit! Show no fear.

But I am afraid of this man. If you can even call him a man. He can’t honestly be real? Is he a half-giant? Are there Shifter giants?

He hasn’t shaved for a couple days, and to my guess he probably hasn’t changed either. Which means he has probably been here since I was brought in on Saturday. He’s been here all this time, and if he is the detective on my case then that blood on him is probably mine.

Is that why I reacted? Is that what caused this new scent thing to activate when it didn’t before? But that doesn’t answer where this scent thing came from. Only why it’s here now.

“I’m sorry for my attire, I haven’t had a chance to change up.”

Bingo.

I can’t take my eyes off his face at first. It’s a handsome but harsh face. One of a rugged man, with his wide jaw and strong nose, and a pale pink scar across his left cheek. It’s not a nice-looking scar either, like you see cool guys in movies have. It’s all lumpy and stretched. I can see the tip of another similar one poking out from his left sleeve, stopping just above his wrist, and going up who knows how far. Who knows how many others are covered up with that ridiculous coat of his?

This guy fights. Seriously fights.

His eyes are brown, but not the nice, warm brown Chayla has. His are coffee without cream. Or sugar. There’s a bitterness in his gaze. Almost world weary. Resigned? And why can I tell this so easily?

I mean I was always gifted in the domain of observation, but it’s like that got a super-power-up after I died.

His gaze is hard and burrowing into mine, sending shocks of panic through me I don’t understand. My stomach hurts with fear and anxiety. Why am I so scared? I have to lie to this man, but this isn’t that kind of fear. This is the feeling of a mouse trapped in a corner with a very hungry cat.

“I am Detective Michael Owens.” He points to the badge strapped to his belt and my stomach does flip flops. If this is the Owens those two idiots were freaking out about, I get it now. “And I have a few questions fer you, Miss Lowe.”

“Miss Lowe is my mom. I’m just… just Kara.”

My voice is so quiet I can barely hear it. I check out his badge and it looks pretty legit. It’s official. He is a real cop. Just not like any cop I’ve ever seen.

This guy isn’t called to get cats out of trees.

The detective ignores the chair beside the table and sits on the metal stool directly beside my bed. The dude can’t fit into normal chairs. Literally physically can’t fit into normal chairs. He’s fucking massive.

His steps make the room shake. Not a lot or anything, but I feel it. This is an immensely powerful man. His aura is so strong that my mind is actually blocking me from checking it, at a subconscious and instinctive level.

If that Evil Monk gave me that massive headache and Spencer made me sick through the T.V screen, I’d probably die or at least almost die if I checked this guy’s real strength. I’m getting a headache and nauseous just being in the same room.

If he wanted to, he could probably rip my arms off. He’d probably have broken my hand just introducing himself if both of mine weren’t bandaged.

I pull my hands close to me instinctively and look at my sheets. I don’t feel like a victim when he looks at me. I just feel like prey.

“Miss Kara, then. Are ye up to answerin’ some questions for me?”

I realize I haven’t agreed or anything, so I nod. “Not like I have a choice.”

“No, you don’t.”

His voice is low, and I was right about the Scottish accent. I have always been good at guessing those right. But aside from a few ‘slips’ he sounds more British. Perhaps he’s spent a lot of time in both countries, or maybe he’s trying to soften the Scottish side?

Honestly, I’d find it attractive if I didn’t find him terrifying.

He takes out a notebook and a pen from one of his many pockets. The only non-lethal things he has on him, I’d bet. Unless he shoved that pen into my eye socket or something. Or tortured me with paper cuts.

Dear god, I’m not helping myself here.

For the first time in a while, I attempt to rein in my wayward thoughts.

“Let’s git to it then. Do you remember anythin’ from your attack?”

My mind is going crazy. Is this really the Owens they were talking about? Is the name a coincidence? If he is that Owens, then why would he need to ask questions? Shouldn’t he already know what happened?

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

They really are trying to bait me, aren’t they? If I answer him wrong here, the jig is up. I won’t go home after discharge. I’ll be sent to an asylum.

He looks a little impatient. “Anythin’ at all?”

“Not really.”

“Your first doctor, Dr. Ringleson, said that you told him you were attacked by a wolf.”

“Um, yes. I remember seeing a wolf.” Damn that Ringleson. Replaced and still causing trouble. I bite the inside of my lip. “But I don’t remember much else, that’s what I meant.”

“And this wolf attacked you?”

“I think so.”

“But you don’t know fer sure?”

“I told you I don’t remember much.”

Just take my answers and leave already. I’m shaking and it’s getting more and more difficult to speak my words properly. Is this to get me to slip up? These fucking monsters really aren’t taking me seriously at all.

My anxiety is almost tearing my poor stomach apart. There’s no way this asshole doesn’t know this, either. The seed of rage inside me, that appeared when I discovered the issue with mine and mom’s memories, grows yet another size. I suppress is back into the depths of my mind, but the effects are still evident. Those can’t be concealed completely.

“Yes, you did. So, you don’t remember anyone else bein’ there?”

“No, there was no one else.” I lie.

He looks away from his notepad for a moment and looks directly at me. I don’t return the gaze, but I feel it burning my cheek. “Are ye sure about that, Miss Kara?”

“I said I didn’t see anyone else!”

My panic boils over and I lose a hold of myself for a moment and my breath shakes. I’ll die again before I give you monsters what you want. You want to play me like a fiddle? Treat me like a puppet? Fuck you. I’ll prove who the real pied piper is here. I can manipulate circles around arrogant pricks like you.

Don’t believe me? Go ask your spy René how much he really knows about me. Watch him sputter like the fake ass bitch he is.

I’ll show all of you.

Suddenly I briefly lose control of… something I wasn’t aware I was controlling in the first place, until it slips out of my metaphorical grasp. My fear and anger radiate out of me like a mini explosion, and it makes the lights flicker.

Yeah, just like in the movies. I’m living the dream. I yell and then the lights blinked.

He looks at them. I take the chance to look at him. His expression is inquisitive. Interested. But he doesn’t look surprised.

Either he doesn’t suspect that was me... Or he was expecting me to- No, that’s crazy.

Or is it?

He sighs and goes back to his pad. I wish I could see what he was writing, but that would mean risking locking eyes again and I’m already trembling. And my heart monitor is betraying me and beeping like it’s on the fritz. I want to shoot the thing.

“We have video footage from the Stuff-Mart security cameras. They’re quite old and only caught a few minutes o’ film but it appears to show you followin’ a young man outta the store.”

Right. Followed. Not dragged. Like it was a willing interaction. You freaks have already started your cover up, eh? You think I’ll let you get away with this so easily?

Keep dreaming, idiot.

I was silent too long, so this annoying slug continues his drivel.

“In the video you sell him some cigarettes and then it appears as though you follow him.”

Appears. Che. Nice choice of words. How very bureaucratic.

“I don’t really remember.” Hm, so how do I get out of this one?

“Kara, if this boy hurt you in any way, you can tell me.”

It takes most of my remaining strength not to burst out laughing at this guy’s obvious lies. Just how naïve do they think I am? This is just insulting.

Not that laughing in his face wouldn’t feel good in theory, but with how taught all my nerves are laughing would be physically painful for me right now. Not to mention my neck injury. Well, there will plenty of times for me laugh at these freaks in the future, I’ll bet. This isn’t a retreat, just a postponement.

Yeah, that feels better.

I turn away from him and look out the window. There’s a grey cement building right outside, and I focus on it like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. Oh hey, look at that. The dead girls get the best views, don’t they?

“It is my job to protect you.”

Something about the way he says that- something about the word ‘protect,’ feels genuine. Like he really means it. But then why do I fear him so much… Ah, because the protection is temporary. I get it now. They sent this fucker to watch over me until they’re done dealing with me the way they want to. He’s not protecting me at all, he’s just prolonging the inevitable.

Good thing I figured that out. A dumber girl than me might have actually been touched and then revealed everything, dooming herself.

Hm, not that revealing things is bad in every situation. But logically, when they’re maintaining the act, then I need to play along. But if they slip up themselves, then anything is fair game. I almost wish he would slip up so I could give him a piece of my mind fair and square. Hmph.

Anyways I won’t be tricked. I’m in no position to allow sentiments, unfortunately for you idiot giant man.

You can’t fool me with your nonsense.

“I heard a noise.”

“A noise?”

“Outside. Like someone was in the dumpsters or something.”

“I see. So, you heard a noise and decided to investigate?”

“Yes, I don’t know where the other guy went. He bought his pack of Pall Malls and left. He was gone when I got out there.”

“You said someone. You didn’t think it would be a wolf?”

Seriously? I almost can’t hold my expression back from giving a sneer that René would envy.

“Who the hell would think that?” Moron. “I didn’t know what it was. Maybe a raccoon or something. If I knew there was a wolf, why would I go out there?” Idiot.

Stupid dumbass.

“Fair enough.”

This guy’s dumb as a doorknob. All brawn and no brain. If you’re going to ask ‘leading questions,’ which is against the law for officers by the way, then at least ask smart leading questions.

Underneath the fear, there is something about him that gets on my nerves. Maybe it’s that I don’t understand him, or his intentions. What is his game here?

There aren’t a lot of things I hate more than a chess piece on the board that doesn’t move the way I expect it to.

Maybe just salad. And being cold.

I take a deep breath and try to calm myself. My fear and my anger are storming in me and it’s making my stomach hurt even more. But my anger, it seems, is winning. It seems it usually does of late.

Slowly, Detective Idiot is losing his ferocity. My anger is beating my fear.

What was that old story Jordan’s grandma told me? About the two wolves inside your soul and food. I know there was food involved. Argh whatever, it’s probably not important.

“What did the wolf look like?”

“What?”

“The wolf, what did it look like?”

Seems he’s finally given up on that. Good.

Uh… wait, not good. I panic. I know I saw a wolf, but it was just for a second and my vision was so blurry by that point I…I don’t really remember what it looked like. “I…why do you need to know that?”

“If there is a wolf in town maulin’ people, we need a way of distinguishin’ it fer its capture.” And then under his breath, “obviously.”

“Right.” Obviously. I literally bite my tongue to keep myself from laughing. Zeke in a cage. Now that would be a riot.

It’s no time to laugh though, this guy’s eyes are burning into me again. Like he’s trying to read my mind or something. Oh my god, could he be a psychic giant? Are there psychics?

He needs an answer. If I can’t even describe this thing, then no one will believe I saw it. I think back past all the weird, to that image in front of me, a second before my first death.

The last thing my old self saw.

And I bite my tongue again and my eyes get watery as I try real hard not to laugh.

It’s not the place, it’s not the time. It’s not the place…

Hooo…

“It was red.”

“A red wolf?”

“Well, like a brown red. Like your hair. And it had white on it.” He is a ginger wolf. That’s hilarious. Clifford totally fits. Clifford the big red dog.

I’m never going to call him anything else.

“I see.” He’s still writing on his pad. I chance a quick look his way and see that he’s smiling. Like a full-on grin.

“Why is that funny?” I mean, I know why I think it’s funny, but why does a cop think that’s funny?

“They told me you’d be difficult.”

A chill runs down my spine and I freeze. Those words…they take me back to the beach. The smell of salt... and an annoying man in a suit. “You’re going to be a difficult one, aren’t you?” That’s what Mr. Spencer said.

“What…” Then this man, he could really be that Owens. Those two freaks had claws and fangs and they were afraid of Owens.

“They were wrong.”

I stare at him. He isn’t looking at me, too busy writing in his little book. I died for the second time in that ambulance. The first time I heard this man’s voice it killed me for the second time. That’s how scared I was.

That makes him my third killer, in a way. It’s not hard to see why I’d be terrified now, but back then I couldn’t even see him, and I still died of fright. It’s like this fear is an instinct. Who is this man?

“That’s not something a cop would say.”

He pauses in his writing, but then continues unperturbed.

“Hey! I think a real cop would be asking me a lot more questions right now.”

Still no response.

You can’t just break the fourth wall masquerade thingy and then go back like you didn’t, that’s not how this works, I won’t let you!

“You’re the Owens that made Clifford and Stupid Boy nearly shit themselves, aren’t you?”

I get a reaction, but not the one I wanted.

He’s laughing. My bed is shaking from his stupid enthusiastic laugh. Actually shaking. I almost topple over.

I wanted an answer not an earthquake.

“Well, well, aren’t you a smart lass.” He-he’s snarking me! The nerve. That’s my thing. Go find your own thing!

“I deserve an answer, Detective Idiot.” I’ll take your insult and raise you one.

That just makes him laugh more. He wipes his eyes.

My cheeks are burning, but not from his gaze. Oh no, he’s laughing at me and it’s embarrassing.

“Who are ‘they’?”

“I think we’re done here.” He stands, still chuckling. His head nearly touches the ceiling. Dear god…

“Wait, but who do you answer to-?”

“The Council will convene after your recovery to answer any and all questions.”

“But-”

“The Council will-”

“I don’t care about some stupid monster Council. And if you start repeating yourself like that creepy robot chick in Limbo I’m going to get really peeved off!”

A shadow of something crosses his face, pity, I guess? But there’s something more, something darker that I can’t pinpoint despite my increased ability concerning observation and emotions. And he sighs again.

Now I can’t read his expression at all.

“I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you.”

He’s heading for the door. I’ve got to stop him. I need answers.

I look around for something to throw. I had asked for a pudding and a scalpel earlier. My pudding is here. No news yet on that scalpel, so I throw my pudding cup at him. Which he easily dodges. With his back turned, I might add. It was a good throw, too. Hmph.

I grab my empty plastic cup and throw that as hard as I can, which isn’t that hard considering I could barely hold onto the darn thing. It doesn’t even reach him.

Next time Nancy comes around I’m asking for a brick.

“I can be difficult!”

I shout as loudly as I can, considering my wounds.

He just laughs again. I can hear his hearty bellows all the way down the hall. One thing’s for sure, if I ever see him again…pow to the moon.

What was even the point of asking me anything when this was all some sort of ruse, anyway?

Dammit. Now I just want my pudding back. “Nurse! Nurse!”

“What do you need, Kara?”

Ugh not Nurse Perky again. Seriously, it’s like she hangs around just waiting for me to do something stupid. “Nancy, I dropped my pudding.”

She looks at it and cocks an eyebrow, looking at me suspiciously. I guess it’s a bit of a stretch that it would have rolled that far. “Kara, are you throwing food?”

“No, I dropped it, I swear.” She doesn’t look convinced. “It rolled.”

“Mmmhm.” She picks it up for me and places it on the table, giving me another unimpressed look.

Someday, I’ll pow them both to the moon.