A Wolf's Pride

Of Parties and Questionable Tactics

Marcus walked me out of the shop, stopping by the door and hesitating, as if he didn't want to let me leave.

"Sophie." He said with a nod. I tried to raise an eyebrow at him.

"Marcus." It felt almost formal, as if this wasn't the man who practically broke into my grandmother's house, somehow knowing I was there, virtually accosted me and carried me up three flights of stairs to bed.

I watched him turn back and stalk towards Layla with a predatory stride. I almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

Grandma and Charlie were finishing up at a stall when I found them at the markets.

"There you are." Grandma greeted. "We were starting to worry."

Charlie was stuffing his face with cheese samples, so I highly doubted the concern was extended by him.

"I got lost," I lied. "Here, let me carry one of those." I took one of the green shopping bags out of her grip and we walked home together, the three of us. As we walked, I noted the location of the police station; it was at the end of Main Street, part of an older, sandstone building. I made a mental note of its location; if I wanted to investigate my past, I'd need to speak to Con or his father again.

"Who wants pancakes?" Sophie asked. I laughed as Charlie cheered.

* * *

I spent the afternoon preparing my questions for Con the cop.

His father, the Sheriff didn't seem to like me, or at least my family name. I wondered why. What did he know? And how much did Con know? He didn't seem to know who I was, or the significance of my name. If it even was significant. In fact, he seemed to want to introduce himself to me as a fellow neighbour, or friend, not an officer of the law. I tried to ignore the butterflies in my stomach that had appeared when he smiled at me, and instead focused on the next matter at hand.

I wanted to know what he knew about the accident. I wanted to read the police report, find the hospital records of that night. Maybe I could start to put the broken pieces of my life together like a jigsaw puzzle.

While driving back to town, the images came back to mind along with the usual migraine. There it was. I was sitting in the backseat of a beat-up car. Charlie was just a baby. Everything will be okay. Those words were what my mother said, as she turned and faced me from the driver's seat. Her strawberry blonde hair was tied up and her red lips were smudged. She smiled but her eyes looked sad, as if she had been crying. Then an incomprehensibly loud sound. The screech of tyres and the world spun around. And then a man, a dark man, reached towards me.

I parked Grandma's car outside of the heritage police station on Main Street and lay my forehead against the steering wheel, waiting for the migraine to fade. I hummed a tune to myself, a song I faintly remembered being sung by my mother's voice. The voice of an angel that would never reach my ears again.

Knock, knock. I sprang up, startled. When I looked out of the window, Con was leaning over the car. I rolled down the window.

"Sorry to startle you." Con's apology was authentic. His smile reached his eyes, crinkling the corners in an endearing way.

"It's okay. I was going to go in to find you. I was wondering if you could give me that information about the accident I had asked about earlier."

"I saw you pull up. That's my office window there." He pointed to the front of the building.

"Can I get in?"

"Of course." Con strode around the front of the car and opened the passenger door.