lay limp, staring unblinkingly at nothing. He whined with every breath. Like a hurt wolf.
In a moment, the man was talking on the phone, and Kitty and David stood by the door. She had a weird urge to say “Merry Christmas” or something before they left. The woman was looking back at her, cradling her torn and bloody arms in her lap, gasping for breath. But smiling. Just a little.
Kitty smiled back, then pulled David out the door with her.
They trudged back to town, led by the sounds of cars on the freeway and the faint glow of lights through the misty air. Snow was falling picturesquely. Her feet, and the rest of her, were soaking wet. David was using the snow to wash blood off his hands.
He looked at her. “Why the hell are you smiling?”
Kitty was grinning so hard she thought her face would break.
“Why am I smiling? Because we totally saved those people. We’re werewolf superheroes! We’re Batman and Robin! That’s so awesome!”
Then again, that might have been the adrenaline talking.
David wanted to howl at the night sky in joy and triumph. He’d almost shifted. He’d almost gone over the edge. Attacking that guy had come instinctively. It had been like hunting. But he came back from the edge. With Kitty’s help, he’d pulled himself back and stayed human. And that felt powerful.
The glaring yellow sign of the Waffle House shone like a beacon over the snow-covered prairie. Like the Star of Bethlehem over the manger. David felt a surge of relief when he and Kitty came back in sight of it. Civilization. A roof and hot coffee. Glorious.
No telling how much time had passed since they’d left. They crept in through the still unlocked kitchen door. The cook was gone. Both of them were soaking wet from running in the snow. At least it made the blood he’d gotten on him less noticeable. Almost, he could think about the blood without wanting to turn wolf.
Kitty rubbed her arms and shook out her shirt, squeezing water out of the hem. “Not the smartest thing I’ve done recently,” she muttered. “The one time I didn’t bring a change of clothes…”
David resisted an urge to reach out and hug her. From affection. From happiness. How long had it been since he’d been happy? Despite the adventure, the running, tracking the killer, and the violence of what he’d witnessed, the urge to turn wolf had faded, a whisper rather than overwhelming thunder. He’d taken a step toward asserting his dominance over that part of his being. The world looked brighter because of that.
Jane, the waitress, came in. “There you are. I thought maybe you’d ducked out on me, but your coat and bag are still here, but you weren’t in the bathroom, and I was starting to worry…” She narrowed her gaze. “What are you two doing back here?”
David opened his mouth but couldn’t think of what to say. It was Kitty who announced, cheerfully, “Oh, you know. Looking for mistletoe.”
He blushed, which must have lent some truth to her excuse, because Jane quirked a smile and left again.
“Sorry,” Kitty said. “But people tend not to ask more questions if you tell them you’ve been fooling around.”
He wanted to burst out laughing. “Does this sort of thing happen to you a lot?”
“You’d be surprised.”
He had a feeling he wouldn’t.
Out front, they returned to their booth. Other customers glanced at them, but no one seemed unduly concerned. The TV was still tuned to local news. The same reporter stood by what looked like the same snowy roadside, speaking grimly at the camera. Similar text scrolled along the bottom listing details: five murders and two attempted murders at three different locations. But instead of “serial killer on the loose,” the text now read, “serial killer caught.”
Then David listened. “Police apprehended the suspected murderer just a little while ago. He appears to have been overpowered by his latest would-be victims, both of whom were injured in the encounter and have been taken to a local hospital. The police have made a statement that they cannot speculate on the exact series of events, and the lone survivors of these horrific events are not talking to reporters.”
Maybe they were safe. The witnesses wouldn’t remember them. No one would come looking for them. Just a couple more monsters in the night.
He and Kitty got refills on their coffee and made a little toast. “To Christmas,” Kitty said. He just smiled. He’d faced down a killer. Captured a killer, and kept his own killer nature locked inside him. Now that he knew he could do it, he wondered if it would become easier. Wondered if maybe he could go home again. He thought he knew what Kitty would say if he mentioned it to her: He’d never know until he tried.
Maybe it wasn’t too late to go home for the holidays.
“Thank you,” he said to Kitty.
She glanced away from the TV. “For what?”
“For helping me. For teaching me. For making my day a little more interesting. For giving me hope.”
She shrugged and gave a surprisingly shy smile. “I didn’t do much but get in trouble. As usual.”
“Well, thank you anyway. I think I’m going to go back home. See if I can’t get my old job back. See if I can’t cope with this a little better. I think I can do that now.”
“Really?”
He shrugged. “I’d like to try. Not much future for me waking up naked in the woods every couple of days.”
“Not unless you’re in an industry with a lot of
“Yeah.” He started to get up.
“You’re going right now?”
“I’m going to make some calls.” He gestured to the front door and the pay phone outside.
“Do you need money or something? For the phone.”
“I’ll call collect. This is the one night a year I know my folks will be home. It’s … it’s been a while since I’ve called. They’ll want to hear from me. I can get some money wired, then catch a bus for home.”
He really was anxious to get going. Anxious to test himself. She seemed put out. She really wanted to help, and it heartened him that people like that were still out there.
“Here, take this.” She dug in her bag and pulled out something, which she handed to him. A business card. “That has all my info on it. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Thanks.”
“Good luck.” Smiling, she watched him leave.
He was at the pay phone before he took a good look at the card. It was for a radio station: KNOB. Her name: Kitty Norville. And a line: “Host of
He hadn’t talked to his parents in months. Not since he’d run away. He’d done it to protect them, but now, dialing the operator, he found himself tearing up. He couldn’t wait to talk to them.
He heard the operator ask if they’d accept the charges. Gave him his name, and he heard his mother respond, “Yes, yes of course, Oh my God…”
He said, his voice cracking, “Hi, Mom?”
Thankfully, Jane turned the news off when the reporter started repeating herself.
The movie was long over. The carols were back, all the ones Kitty knew by heart. Jane must have had the same compilation album that her parents played when she was growing up. Funny, how it wouldn’t be Christmas without them.
One of her favorite tunes came on, a solemn French carol. A choir sang the lyrics, which she had never paid much attention to because she didn’t speak much French. But she knew the title:
She dug in her bag and found her cell phone. Dialed a number, even though it was way too late. But when the answer came, Kitty heard party noises in the background—her parents, her sister, her niece and nephew, laughter, more carols—so it was all right.
