June 28th, 2022
"Can I get something to read? Some music?" Laura asks one morning.
He's just placed her breakfast on the ground, plain oats and a pitifully small apple, and the question makes him look her in the eye for the first time in two days.
She's had time to think.
The first day she was fully awake, it took the better part of an hour for her to accept that screaming wasn't going to bring the cop back. That was two days ago, and he never lingers for a casual chat. In fact, he hasn't even said a word.
That's going to change today.
He purses his lips down at her. God, he's so weird with his mouth. "I'm not running a resort here."
Clearly. "I just… need a distraction. From my thoughts."
He exhales softly through his nose. "I understand that it must have been hard to witness for you."
"So you don't think I killed him," she says.
She nails it, and by the way his eyes shut for a moment, he knows what he just exposed. His mouth is a thin line. This is dangerous territory, but she can't afford to wait any longer.
"You know what killed him, don't you? I didn't imagine it," she says flatly. She hates the way her eyes burn in front of him. "Please," she adds.
The sheriff looks off to the side, working his jaw until finally, "This is bear country, ma'am. When I got there, it was too late for your friend."
Black and red mottled skin, the glint of eyes-
The thing is, Laura's always been too sharp. Too many teeth and edges, fast hands and eyes that never stayed in one place for too long. It's how she was raised. It's how she's survived for this long.
"Bullshit," she says fiercely, stepping closer to the bars.
"Oh, what? You think you know something because you're in some fancy school?" he says with a sneer, looking down on her like she's just a snot-nosed kid that happily waltzed into his life for the sole purpose of irritating him.
"So you've looked into me," she says with a grin that borders on feral. "You don't have to be an animal doctor to know that a bear can't just- do something like that. So what was it?"
"Young lady, you ain't got a clue about what can and can't happen."
"Try me. This doesn't have to be this hard," she tries a different route. Desperation laces her tone. "It was big, and thin. I didn't see any fur, so you can't tell me that it was some sort of fucking bear."
He snorts and steps away, calling over his shoulder as he goes, "Eat your breakfast before it gets cold."
"Hey!" Laura grits her teeth.
No response, and the door shuts closed.
It's later, as she's debating filing down the rusted spoon in her cell into a shiv, that the sound of 80's rock trails down the hallway.
While the town of North Kill lay sleeping, the hag in the woods started weeping…
The carved words mock her from their spot in the plaster. Whoever put them there wanted to make sure they'd stick.
It's the hundredth time she's read them, could probably recite it in her sleep, and yet she still studies each crudely drawn letter as if the answer to her predicament lies in their grit.
"As the bodies decay, the wolves hunt their prey," she mutters aloud, and the telltale creak of a metal door announces the arrival of dinner.
She glances up. Spaghetti again.
"And the sheriff continues his creeping," she finishes pointedly. The cop considers her there, and to her surprise, he takes a seat across from her in the old wooden chair. The soft drone of a commercial comes from the little radio at the end of the hall.
"You have a shit taste in poetry," he says, apropos of nothing.
"If you didn't want me to read it, you shouldn't have put me in this cell," she replies through a mouthful of pasta.
The edges of his lip curl. He changes the topic. "So you think you know what's going on here?"
"I think I know enough." She shrugs. "And I think that's why you're keeping me here."
"Alright, take your shot. What's your best guess?"
She wasn't expecting that. To be frank, she has no fucking clue what's going on. "Some sort of… government experiment? Like, a mutant animal that escaped," she trails off.
"Government experiment?" he repeats, amusement flavoring his voice.
Ugh, the bastard has the audacity to mock her. She scowls. "Yeah, sure. That's my guess."
He tilts his head to the side, mulling her words over. "It's a good guess, I'll give you that." The gel holding his hair in place isn't doing its job right; a few stray hairs pass over his receding hairline. He looks exhausted.
She hasn't really had the chance to stop and observe him. It's not the kind of tired after a long day's work; it's a bone-deep weariness that's the result of years of hard life. Being a cop isn't easy, she's sure, but this looks different. This is a small town that shouldn't see anything more than a rowdy drunk and maybe a petty theft or two.
She's seen her fair share of cops to compare.
"You don't know what you've gotten yourself into," he says. "Stop while you're ahead."
His words bring her out of her observation, and she blinks, putting her fork down. "What, so you're saying that if I just… stay quiet, you'll let me go?"
"No," he says bluntly. "You're in just as much trouble as I am."
Well, thank you, whatever the fuck that means. Laura narrows her eyes in consideration. "Trouble with who?"
His radio crackles on his chest, and he abruptly stands up. "Playtime's over."
"If not government experiments, what then?" she calls after his retreating back. "Some sort of chemical spill?"
He leaves just before the ad break finally ends on the radio. She doesn't really listen to Ozzy Osbourne, but the heavy metal and low, drawled voice is just as recognizable as Elvis.
'Howling in shadows, living in a lunar spell…'
On the other side of the building, a faint laugh devoid of humor rings.
June 30th, 2022
The longer I wait, the less likely I'm getting out of here.
It's a thought that bleeds panic through her veins. Her mom's voice continues to nag in the background to, 'Stay calm, stay low, you gotta be smart about this-' But she's seen the documentaries about people who get kidnapped, and she's fraying at the edges.
Laura knows it's only been five days, but each minute drags on with no end in sight. The thought of losing track of time terrifies her, so she keeps a tally in the North Kill Junior Officer notepad left behind with her lunch a few days ago.
A cartoon bear waves at her from the cover. She scribbles in its eyes.
There has to be a way out.
She sits up at the sound of the door opening, tucking away her sketch of Detective Dick Whippet getting mauled by a cougar.
He doesn't have to speak for her to know the drill. She puts her hands through the bars and he nods appreciatively, cuffing her with a solid click.
It's shower time.
Despite the awkwardness of stripping naked just a wall away, the change in scenery is worth it. She chances a peek in the one-second window afforded between the door and the dividing fence, and, yup. The rest of the precinct is still eerily empty, chairs stacked on tables and a thick, pervasive silence that covers them like a blanket.
The first and last time Laura was in a police department, she could only remember the faint edges of the front lobby. This one feels more worn down, regardless. There's a sense of neglect that goes far beyond the outdated desks and dusty office chairs.
If he's the only one here… maybe she could overpower him?
Between the soothing pressure against her scalp and her train of thought, it takes her a second to catch on when she notices the blood on her fingers.
"Shit," she mutters.
Her cycle had been bound to start any day, now. It just happens to be today.
"Everything good?" he asks, alert.
Oh, hell no. Not now. This is the last conversation she wants to have with a man, let alone the one keeping her hostage. But what's the alternative? Walking back to her cell and hoping she doesn't bleed through, then stuffing toilet paper down her pants for the next five days? Screw that.
Laura swallows her embarrassment. It's literally not her fault.
"So, uh, everything's okay…"
"...But?"
"But my period just started."
"...Ah," is his lame response.
God, men are so predictable. "Do you have any pads? Tampons? A diva cup?"
"A what?"
"I need supplies," she stresses over the sound of the rushing water. "Do. You. Have. Any."
Now it's his turn to mutter, "Shit."
"You know," she says, leaning up against the gross wall tiles, soap in hand. "You really should've thought about this before you decided to keep a woman jailed illegally."
No answer.
"Hello?"
"Yeah, I'm thinking," is his reply. If she didn't know better, she'd say the creepy cop sounded flustered.
I'm going to have to use toilet paper, she thinks with an edge of fatalism. "Do you… still have my bag? I have things there."
"Yes, I still- It's not that we don't have supplies. We have supplies here," he stumbles over his words defensively. Apparently, this is a sore subject.
"'Kay, so, could you get them?"
He seems to mull it over in silence, till finally, "Goddamn it." The water shuts off and a hand juts out with a towel. "Put this on and give me your hands."
Laura obliges, sticking her hands out just beyond the wall so her body is still hidden. The handcuffs rub uncomfortably against her wet wrists.
"Stay. Put."
… Huh?
"Yes, sir," she says, not quite believing what she's hearing. But his footsteps trail away, and the door of the showers…
Shuts closed.
She chances a look around the corner and her eyes confirm it. He said stay and expects her to obey him like a dog. Did he honestly think she was this complacent?
Maybe you should be, the thought crosses her mind, but adrenaline drowns it out. If she doesn't get out soon, then… what next? Who's to say that he won't put a bullet in her brain tomorrow?
Her feet make up their mind before the rest of her catches up and she pushes on the door, praying to whoever hears her that it stays silent. No sign of him.
Oh my god. Blood shoots through her veins and she's off, running as fast and quietly as she can into the large dim room. The red light of a fire exit shines like a beacon and she could almost weep, racing to the door. Except, when she tries to push it open, it's locked.
She presses again in her panic, and it still doesn't budge, the dull clack of metal a mocking sound.
Who the fuck locks a fire exit?
A door slams shut somewhere in the precinct and she swings her head up in time to catch Travis coming out of a storage closet on the other side of the room. An odd clash of emotions erupt on his face: fury, shock, shame, before finally settling on cold determination.
There's a breath of stillness, then both move.
Potential escape routes are categorized in a flurry: stairs leading up to the second floor, and a shorter staircase that leads to a formal set of doors that she can only hope is the main entrance. That's the one.
"Laura!"
Eyes on the prize! she thinks hysterically. Go, go, go-
She refuses to look back, tugging down chairs with her shackled wrists as she races forward. The muttered curses that follow are like music to her ears, but he's still too close.
He might have a good thirty years of wear on her, but he's surprisingly fit for his age. His hand catches the edge of her towel and she gasps, jerking free to let it fall. Dignity be damned.
"Hey!"
So close! Adrenaline pumps away any hesitation and Laura pushes on, wet feet slapping against the tile. Laura's feet barely graze the stone steps up to the door, please, god, and the lock turns with sweet serenity. She opens it a sliver and slips in, naked body grazing the doorway, and swiftly locks it behind her.
It's not outside. Hell, it's not even a normal fucking office with windows. But there's a chair she can place under the lock, so she throws it under and knocks over a filing cabinet while at it, the crash muffled by stacks of folders and loose paper.
The officer's body rocks into the doors. "Open this goddamn door right now!"
She runs for the phone on the desk and overshoots, body knocking into the desk with an impact she barely feels.
"Ms. Brandt!" More banging on the door.
It's awkward work with handcuffs, but she manages to lodge the phone between her shoulder and chin and begins dialing Max's parent's landline. Something's wrong, though. There's no tone.
Instead, there's a voice: hers, screaming.
"MAX!" rings out over the receiver. Distorted sounds of ripping flesh and gnawing, demonic growls that crawled out of her worst nightmare play out in a warbled-
She drops the phone and slaps her hands over her mouth in shock, backing away from the desk as if it burst into flames, but nothing else happens. It's just a plain, run-of-the-mill black phone.
Is she in hell? Did she die in the cellar, too, and this was her punishment?
Her eyes dart wildly across the room, breath coming out in pants, now. Hysteria is creeping in but she has to focus right now, has to get it together while she still has this chance.
A corkboard catches her eye, and despite it being the most useless thing for a prison break, something inexplicably draws her near. The headlines leap off the wall in disjointed notes.
FOUR MONTHS ON: MISSING HIKERS
FREAK SHOW UP IN FLAMES
A calendar with the same ridiculous cartoon bear cop has a date circled in thick red ink. She traces over the letters, FULL MOON! over June 25th. The night they arrived.
Tucked beneath the calendar are the edges of a faded green flier, and she raises it up with shaking fingers. Harum Scarum. She's seen this sign before, right?
Missing pets. Missing persons. A freak show burned down. A full moon. Not only had she seen it, she literally walked right to it.
A warped cage with scorched metal and a broken sign rises up in her memory, and like a petal in water, she picks it out: Silas the wolf boy.
"Werewolves," she breathes aloud. Of course.
And that's when Sheriff Hackett breaks through.