those moving magical pictures flickering in our young eyes.
Everything had seemed so much simpler back then.
Over the next few days I agonised over what I should do to help Pen. I thought about calling her, but I knew once I heard her voice, I wouldn’t be able to conceal my feelings and I would have to tell Pen that I knew. Therefore, I didn’t want to speak to her until I had formulated a plan. A plan that would reassure her and make her feel safe in the knowledge I knew what was going on, and a way to rescue her.
Almost every one of my waking hours and most of my dreams were spent going over and over different ways of helping Pen. I thought about telling my Inspector, but he would only want to know how I had become so close to a Lycanthrope. He would ask why I cared for Pen – a wolf – so much. He might suspect something that wasn’t really there – or perhaps it was?
Every time the phone rang, I leapt upon it, wondering if it was Annie with more news about Pen, as I hadn’t heard anything more from her since our last phone call.
Then on the fourth day after that call with Annie, I did receive some news. It didn’t come in the form of a phone call as I was expecting, but by letter. I’d discovered the envelope in the mailbox as I left home for work that morning. As I was climbing into my car, I pulled the envelope open to read the shortest letter I had ever received. It read: Pen’s gone missing!
Chapter Fifteen
Murphy
Whoever had written the note, I didn’t recognise their handwriting. It had been scribbled in black ink. As I turned it over and over in my hands and re-read those three frightening words, I realized that Annie had been true to her word and had contacted me as promised. I understood the reason why she wanted to do this anonymously, so she didn’t appear to be involved.
I contacted my work and lied to my Inspector. I told him my mother had taken a turn for the worse, and I had to go back into The Hollows to be with her. He gave me three days special leave. I threw some clothes into a bag and packed my cuffs and handgun. Before I left, I held Chloe tight and kissed her goodbye. I felt apprehensive, anxious, but most of all, scared for Pen.
I drove all day, stopping only briefly when I needed to fill the car up with petrol and top myself up with sweet black coffee. I reached Pen’s hometown just after dark and rented a room at the local hotel. Without even freshening up or stopping for food, I drove straight to Pen’s. I pulled up the short path and left the car parked next to an old truck that stood by the dense crop of trees which surrounded the side and rear of the house. I walked casually around the truck, which I had not seen before. I made my way up onto the porch and knocked on the door. After several moments, the door was slowly opened.
“Yep?” said the tall, stocky male who greeted me.
“I’d like to see Pen,” I said in a flat, dry tone.
“She’s not here.” The man eyed me suspiciously and stepped out onto the porch and pulled the door shut so I couldn’t see past him and into the house.
“I’ll wait then,” I said, moving towards the front door. The man stepped between me and the door, barring my entry.
“Who are ya?” he asked.
“I’m Jim Murphy, a friend of Pen’s. Who are you?” I asked, looking him up and down.
“I’m Steve, Marc’s brother.”
“The chef!” I said dryly.
Steve stood about six-foot-two with lank brown hair, it could have been blond but it was so greasy it was hard to tell. His two front teeth were missing and his tongue slid wetly between them as he spoke. He had about four days’ worth of beard covering his chin and his eyes were yellow and sore-looking, as if he had just got up after a night of heavy drinking.
“Look, what do ya want?” he questioned irritably as if he had a thousand better things he could be doing.
“I’ve told you, I want to see Pen,” I said.
“And I’ve told ya, she ain’t here!” he
Everything had seemed so much simpler back then.
Over the next few days I agonised over what I should do to help Pen. I thought about calling her, but I knew once I heard her voice, I wouldn’t be able to conceal my feelings and I would have to tell Pen that I knew. Therefore, I didn’t want to speak to her until I had formulated a plan. A plan that would reassure her and make her feel safe in the knowledge I knew what was going on, and a way to rescue her.
Almost every one of my waking hours and most of my dreams were spent going over and over different ways of helping Pen. I thought about telling my Inspector, but he would only want to know how I had become so close to a Lycanthrope. He would ask why I cared for Pen – a wolf – so much. He might suspect something that wasn’t really there – or perhaps it was?
Every time the phone rang, I leapt upon it, wondering if it was Annie with more news about Pen, as I hadn’t heard anything more from her since our last phone call.
Then on the fourth day after that call with Annie, I did receive some news. It didn’t come in the form of a phone call as I was expecting, but by letter. I’d discovered the envelope in the mailbox as I left home for work that morning. As I was climbing into my car, I pulled the envelope open to read the shortest letter I had ever received. It read: Pen’s gone missing!
Chapter Fifteen
Murphy
Whoever had written the note, I didn’t recognise their handwriting. It had been scribbled in black ink. As I turned it over and over in my hands and re-read those three frightening words, I realized that Annie had been true to her word and had contacted me as promised. I understood the reason why she wanted to do this anonymously, so she didn’t appear to be involved.
I contacted my work and lied to my Inspector. I told him my mother had taken a turn for the worse, and I had to go back into The Hollows to be with her. He gave me three days special leave. I threw some clothes into a bag and packed my cuffs and handgun. Before I left, I held Chloe tight and kissed her goodbye. I felt apprehensive, anxious, but most of all, scared for Pen.
I drove all day, stopping only briefly when I needed to fill the car up with petrol and top myself up with sweet black coffee. I reached Pen’s hometown just after dark and rented a room at the local hotel. Without even freshening up or stopping for food, I drove straight to Pen’s. I pulled up the short path and left the car parked next to an old truck that stood by the dense crop of trees which surrounded the side and rear of the house. I walked casually around the truck, which I had not seen before. I made my way up onto the porch and knocked on the door. After several moments, the door was slowly opened.
“Yep?” said the tall, stocky male who greeted me.
“I’d like to see Pen,” I said in a flat, dry tone.
“She’s not here.” The man eyed me suspiciously and stepped out onto the porch and pulled the door shut so I couldn’t see past him and into the house.
“I’ll wait then,” I said, moving towards the front door. The man stepped between me and the door, barring my entry.
“Who are ya?” he asked.
“I’m Jim Murphy, a friend of Pen’s. Who are you?” I asked, looking him up and down.
“I’m Steve, Marc’s brother.”
“The chef!” I said dryly.
Steve stood about six-foot-two with lank brown hair, it could have been blond but it was so greasy it was hard to tell. His two front teeth were missing and his tongue slid wetly between them as he spoke. He had about four days’ worth of beard covering his chin and his eyes were yellow and sore-looking, as if he had just got up after a night of heavy drinking.
“Look, what do ya want?” he questioned irritably as if he had a thousand better things he could be doing.
“I’ve told you, I want to see Pen,” I said.
“And I’ve told ya, she ain’t here!” he
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