Chasing Freedom

XXIII

Mira was on the lounge, sipping from an over-brewed coffee, when the doorbell rang. With the blinds pulled over, her view of outside was cut off. She hadn't heard a car pull up the drive and Myles hadn't told to her expect any guests.

Not that she'd been in recent communication with him. Since the truth had all come out and he'd dropped her back here, she hadn't seen him. Although she had his number, she'd made no effort to reach out either, not when it clearly wasn't wanted. So, she'd spent the last three days waiting for the message on his end to come through: to leave. Sit was, she felt like she trespassing in his home just by being here.

If she was honest with herself, the only reason she'd stayed was in the hopes that when he came how she was there. To talk—if he was willing to do so. There was a small part of her clinging to the hope that maybe, in the heat of the moment, she'd misjudged everything and read him wrong. The logical part of her knew that was all delusion.

Even then, ending it like how things stood felt... wrong. He deserved closure. Whatever that looked like for him. If that meant yelling his frustrations at her, then so be it. The satisfaction of kicking her out might well be enough, as well.

Her own closure would come with knowing that he'd be moving onto bigger and better things—without her weight holding him down. One less piece of collateral guilt on her conscious.

As the doorbell rang again, Mira got to her feet. Whoever was, they were insistent, likely looking for Myles. The least she could do was answer and let them know to look elsewhere. Approaching the door, she considered peeking through the window, but decided against that.

Mira was opening the door, just as the doorbell chimed a third time. "Hello. Myles isn't—"

Like Mira wasn't standing there, a woman pushed past her to get get into the house. Stumbling back, Mira stood still, rubbing at her shoulder where the point of impact had been.

The women, she had to admit, was other-worldly stunning. Older than Mira by a few years if she had to guess. Her sliver-streaked hair was half braided back and half-loosely curled over her shoulders. She was bare-faced aside from dark lipstick, her skin blemish-free. She wore tight jeans, healed boots and a nude sweater that moulded to her curved figure.

"I'm sorry," said Mira slowly, trying not to let her discomfort show. "Can I help you?"

Eyeing her with withering disdain, the woman took a step closer to Mira. "Oh, isn't this a nice surprise to see you again. And here—of all places."

Mira's brows knitted. "I'm sorry. Do I know you?"

Another step closer. "You don't remember me?"

If Mira backed up any further, she was going to hit the wall. "Why would I...?"

"I'm insulted you don't remember me. Let me introduce myself them. I'm Leanne. And you are?"

All of a sudden, Mira knew. Days ago, the woman's hair had been a deep red and her make-up head been applied on thick; unrecognisable to who stood in front of Mira now. She was the coyote, the one who had shifted.

Like flicking a switch, the panic of that evening came flooding back all at once. Mira opened her mouth but no words came.

Another step. Tapping her lip in thought, Leanne cocked her head. "I remember your name. Mira, right? Is that short for anything. Miranda? Mirabelle?"

Mira hit the wall. Flattening herself to it, she tried to calm her racing heartbeat. "Myles isn't here if you're looking for him," she managed on a cracked whisper. "I'm not sure where he is. I haven't seen him since Monday."