“Then we have to get back before they can do that!” He panics a little at the news, then pauses. “Why are you still here if they declared me dead?”
“What do you mean?” I am too happy to see him to fully get the question.
“I mean if they called the search off, and if they are going to declare me dead, why are you still here, in the parking lot?” He looks around at the back of the car, where the camping supplies I’ve used to look after myself on this long vigil are stacked somewhat haphazardly.
“Oh, Lydia,” he says, his eyes filling with emotion. “You never left?”
“Of course I didn’t leave. I knew you were probably running around out there in an animal form. I was going to start going further out into the woods soon, but, here you are, saving me that job.” I smile a little, wiping the tears of relief out of my eyes.
“I didn’t know you cared for me so much,” he says.
“To be fair, I didn’t know that either,” I reply.
He laughs, and I smile and everything just feels good for a moment.
Then I hear his stomach rumble.
“Sorry,” he says. “I’m a little peckish.”
“Oh, my god, you must be starving!” I realize he obviously hasn’t eaten well; hunting is probably harder than it looks, and the energy needed to sustain a wolf is kind of massive.
I get out of the car, open the rear door, grab handfuls of non-perishable snacks, and come around to him. He’s opened his door and is standing naked in the rising morning sun as I push fruit juice and jerky on him. He needs to eat.
I watch to make sure, then my eyes drift down a little, and…
“What the fuck did you do to my car!”
The outside of my car door looks like the world’s biggest German Shepherd spent an hour clawing at it. I don’t know how I missed him breaking in that way. I must have been absolutely exhausted.
“I was stuck in wolf form, and I couldn’t remember how the door worked for a bit.”
“I thought that might have happened.”
“You were right,” he says. “It did.”
“The search teams gave up because they couldn’t find your scent,” I add, because sometimes making obvious statements is just what conversation is.
“Makes sense,” he says.
“You should put some clothes on. You’re very naked.”
“Have anything that will fit?”
He looks down at me with a smirk and the implication that nothing I have will fit him is correct. What he doesn’t know is that I picked up one of his lab coats early on in case the dogs needed something more to scent. I thought that it might contain the compounds that he uses to transform, and that might lead them to a more accurate detection rate.
They didn’t use it because, in their words, they had ‘plenty of personal items.’ I let one of the dogs sniff it anyway, but it didn’t make a difference. I hand it to Simon now, and he puts it on.
He’s lost weight in these weeks. He’s lean. Very lean. He’s lost the softness that is usually associated with a healthy human man and become more wiry. I make a mental note that our first stop will be at a burger place.
He makes a face as he slides the coat over his shoulders.
“Do clothes always feel this bad?” he asks. “Just with the way they… touch you all over? Oh, my god. It feels awful. Like being lightly sandpapered.”
“You’re not used to it,” I say. “But, yeah, probably. To some people, that’s how they feel all the time.”
“I need something softer,” he says. “And probably pants. I guess.”
“We should call someone,” I say. “Let them know you’re alive.”
