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Souls of the Night – Vol 3
60.
Andre Schoppenhauer scurried in the morning sun to what he hoped would be his last assignment for this shift. This shift?- it had already been over for 50 minutes! He wanted to be a cop in New York for as long as he could remember. His dad had been a cop until two years ago, before he'd retired and moved with his mom from St. Louis to Miami. He had simply no longer been able to fulfill his duties there and had left his posts to someone younger. In addition, he had well-meaning contacts in Miami who had made sure that there had been no problems. So - Miami. A cliché - of course - but his two younger sisters had lived there anyway. Free spirits as both of them were, they had defied the urge to stay close to their parents. Well - HE was the eldest and had defied it too. Although his obsession with Gargoyles in his younger years had contributed to that. He was still a supporter and as a child his parents had bought him all the merch he wanted but the fact that he was now working in New York in the Gargoyles task force was not due to his fanboyism but his conviction that Gargoyles deserved support. Or ... well, the ratio was 30% fanboy and 70% professional. So, he could be a professional even if the little cub in him bounced back and forth every time he saw one of the gargoyles.
The fact that Elisa and his colleagues often waded through the gray waters of the law instead of just the clear ones was simply part of it. He had experience with that - it didn't burden his conscience too much. Everyone did what they had to do to survive - who knew that better than him.
This night had really sunk its teeth into him. In all of them. First the explosions at LeXa ltd. Several statements about attackers. Then- almost simultaneously- the infiltration of Thailog's lair by humans who had yet to be identified but who were quite likely Gargoylehaters. Thailog an enemy of the clan but a gargoyle nonetheless. And this building also blew up? Yeah- sure- coincidences, of course- haha. The fire department had already been on site because of the smell of gas and had been able to extinguish the building quickly, but he hoped the Chief had thought up a good tale as to why the stone debris of Goliath's evil clone found in the cellar had been that of a dead half-sawed old mummy.
And WHAT had Coppa done there? Andre didn't buy into his colleagues' reasoning that he might have snuck in on these guys against all security protocols and regulations. His gut instinct told him something completely different. And what he knew about Coppa. The guy was simply TOO lazy and too lacking in morals to throw himself into an undercover investigation that no one knew about and where, as you could see, he was in massive danger. No - someone had probably heard about his dislike of Gargoyles and had recruited him to blow up Thailog's hideout - literally.
Elisa, Jesus and Susan had all clocked off for the night, but Andre had sensed that there was more to come. And promptly came a distress call about an animal attack outside one of the forensic institutes where some of the bodies from LeXa ltd and Brownstonehouse had been taken. Andre had sputtered his coffee far across the table when the colleague had babbled something about a monster wolf. In New York, only the zoo housed North American wolves. Of course some wandered down from Canada and occasionally as far as upstate New York, but not IN Manhattan. And monster wolves - that sounded like a case for the G-Force even if it was just silly talk or something else. They weren't just the case investigators when Gargoyles were somehow involved. If it was seemingly unexplainable, supernatural, maybe magical or just freaky- the Gargoyles task force of the modern era was called. Who You Gonna Call? Mainly because Gargoyles were quite informally cooperating with the G-Force, so everyone assumed that people were dealing with peculiar things, who were "peculiar" themselves and therefore knew what they were doing. Thank you. The name was actually just nostalgic - one might as well call it the X-File Force. With a grim look on his face, Andre saw a car being towed away that had apparently rammed into a street lamp. There were nevertheless scratch marks on the dented hood - oh damn.
As Andre pushed open the shattered entrance doors, stepping over crunching glass, he was already hit by a telltale smell from the building. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up bristling. Andre suppressed the rumbling in his throat. He followed the smell down the stairs instead of taking the spacious elevator, and although the stench of preservatives, disinfectants and death hung over everything, there was that aroma. The almost warm trail of the scent of a large predator. And sheer fear and urine. At the door to the dissection room, he was greeted by another officer. He informally pulled out his badge.
"Andre Schoppenhauer, Detective Second Class - G.T.F.. What have we here?" he asked, trying to keep his voice professional and objective, although of course he had no doubt that there was something roaming around his territory that didn't belong there at all.
"Mainly we have the testimony of three passers-by on the street, a driver who had his car kiss a streetlight because a black- furred monster jumped on the hood. I think they're the best sources we're going to get," the cop added, his disparaging mumble and the barely contained roll of his eyes speaking volumes.
"You think?" Andre asked, sounding snappier than he intended, but the smell of fear and despair down here certainly wasn't from the "monster wolf" so who had the creature so freaked out? And what had it been doing here?
"Well, Detective. The alleged main witness is totally barmy. Babbling on about how one of the corpses came to life, grew fur and fangs and made a run for it. She seriously claims the wolf - or rather big dog if you ask me - was a human before."
Andre closed his eyes took a deep breath (a mistake with these stenches - was that tiger balm? - bwähh!). The cop in front of him interpreted it differently than he meant and laughed softly.
"Yeah, it's hard to believe where all these lunatics come from under a full moon. She even wet herself - I mean, you G-Force guys see weird stuff sometimes. Your gargoyles- okay- and the mutants and whatnot. But werewolves? Just because the lunatic overworked herself and-"
"-Just zip it," Andre muttered grumpily, rubbing his temple. Hell, feral werewolves?! In New York. That couldn't be possible. He would have to make some calls. The cop - below him in rank - tried desperately to mollify the situation with a smile.
"No, Detective, we ran a background check on the woman and questioned her. But she's completely befuddled. She may have seen an abandoned or stray dog - maybe - whatever it was doing down here. But she must have fantasized about everything else, because she admitted to taking strong medication. Hallucinations - drug interactions - should be looked into - right?"
"Could be ... possible," admitted Andre grudgingly, because he knew that one way or another he (HE) would have to find an explanation that would put the werewolf case to rest. "Me and the Cap decide what to check," Andre replied, trying to make his tone sound less hostile. The guy in front of him grinned broadly as he handed him the notepad with the interrogation. In addition, a clipboard with an incomplete autopsy report including fingerprints of the corpse ... Good.
"And goodie to boot. The corpse, aka the monster, was her own father."
Andre looked at him in horror and he raised his hands, still smiling, as if it was all a joke. "That's what she said on the record. Her foggy brain was probably just playing tricks on her."
"How does all this explain the missing body?" Andre asked more to himself than to the cop, because he had already mentally written this asshole off.
"We're still working on that," said his counterpart, which meant nothing other than that he had no idea. Andre turned away from him to let him know that he didn't want to deal with him any longer.
"Where is the witness?" he asked as he skimmed the statement, including the name.
Harper Miller, 23 years old.
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"Mrs. Miller?"
"Miss," the woman corrected absently without looking at him. She was sitting in the break room of the coroner's institute, which was just as uninviting as the examination room he had just been looking at.
"Miss, of course. I'm Andre Schoppenhauer from the 23rd Precinct."
She nodded mechanically, her gaze still fixed on her milk-white hands on the table. Her fingernails were chewed off, the skin there partly bloody. Miss- that seemed fitting. She was more of a girl than a woman. She was an adult but seemed so young and vulnerable. One of the more attentive colleagues - certainly not the asshole he'd just been talking to - had draped a rescue blanket over her. It was cool in here - but not cool enough to chill a living person - and it was clear that she had been given this aid so that she wouldn't have to sit here in her soiled jeans and wait for further questioning.
"Why weren't you taken to the hospital?" Andre asked, trying really hard not to sound reproachful, but Miss Miller looked like she was about to collapse even though she was sitting up. She looked up with wide Bambi eyes that were filled with shock and a weariness of life that was truly frightening.
"I refused. I-I didn't think they would help me in hospital just because of shock. Except ... to admit me to a locked ward because of m-my record."
As she laughed brokenly, Andre's protective side scratched at the walls of his consciousness. If her statement was true, she had not only unknowingly worked on her own father's "corpse" first, but had also seen him turn into a wolf-like creature. And even if he separated the shock from the fragile, semi-lethargic woman, she seemed to him like the many victims of domestic violence he had met in his career. They break without anyone ever seeing a crack. At the same time, Miss Miller smelled of strong psychotropic drugs up close. And tiger-balm. And urine.
"I brought you a spare pair of pants," he announced, not embarrassed by the fact that she had wet herself (if he hadn't been who he was and had seen what she had done for the first time, he would have reacted the same way) but because he wished his jogging pants from yesterday's pre-shift workout weren't used.
The young woman took the plastic bag and looked at him with her mouth hanging open.
"You, well, these are my gym pants and they might smell a little like sweat," he babbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "But-uh, it's certainly more pleasant than what you're wearing now. If, when you bring them back to the 23 precinct in a few days then- but you can keep them too- or throw them away, they weren't expensive."
Miss Miller's stunned expression melted from shocked and waxy to a mild smile.
"Thank you," she said, and Andre was glad he was sitting or she might have seen him wag - figuratively speaking. Harper Miller, 23 years old, single and apart from her father no contact with relatives, no criminal record, wasn't really pretty. But if she looked less broken, got some sun and gained a few pounds, she'd be the cute girl next door. IF she recovered from what she'd seen. But Andre was too decent to even think about flirting - her father was just ... well.
"You could change in the restroom and then I'd like to ask you a few questions," Andre forced himself to say and wanted to whine because Miss Miller's smile disappeared.
"Your colleagues have already questioned me."
"Yes, I know."
"Their questions sounded like they were trying to prove that I was insane rather than that I ... have seen anything. Something. They almost laughed at me."
Andre nodded, trying to convey through eye contact that he was completely different.
"Miss Miller. I'm not going to laugh. I'm part of the Gargoyles Task Force and you wouldn't believe what I've already seen." Harper Miller stared at him blankly for a moment, as if she wanted to burn a hole in his forehead. Although Andre was young, it actually took more than that to make him squirm. Miss Miller achieved it.
"If you ... if you'd rather talk to someone else or a female colleague, then-."
"No. No is okay," Harper said, standing up a little stiffly.
"I'll ... change and come back?"
"Of course," Andre said, relieved. He opened the first interrogation report and studied it until Miss Miller came back.
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Andre could finally see why Miss Miller had stared at him after he'd said he was from the Gargoyles Task Force. Not because some people still felt weird about people working in such a squadron or volunteering to work closely with gargoyles. It was because she wasn't one of the other 500 Millers in the New York metropolitan area, but the daughter of the one and only Miller who had been causing trouble for the gargoyles, and Elisa in particular, for more than a decade. The Chief never made a big deal about her mostly past problems with him or the 2009 drama - you just learned to be very secretive when dealing with gargoyles - but James (Jim) Miller had been a nutjob. Had been? Supposedly not been. He WAS a lunatic. A lunatic with a wolf's body and fangs who was now on the loose in New York. Damn, now it wasn't just Andre's or the GTF's or that of the local packs problem, it was the problem of all gargoyles.
Harper Miller - her old jeans now wrapped in the plastic bag - sat back down at the table. His jogging pants were too loose for her, of course, and she had tied the waistband tightly. He counted it as a win that she no longer had the previously discarded rescue blanket spread over her as a protective layer. The fact that she had not immediately hurled insults at him when he had mentioned his connection to gargoyles was proof that she was either not as crazy, not as fanatical or simply not as hateful as her father. Andre hoped it all came together.
"Miss Miller-," he began softly because everything about this woman screamed at him to be gentle with her, "I would like to point out that you have the right to have this interview conducted by a female officer or your attorney, and that you also have the right to be interviewed at a later time should your physical or mental condition preclude immediate questioning. May I talk to you now?"
Harper made an affirmative noise and nodded.
"I need a yes or a no, Miss Miller," Andre said emphatically, looking at the colleague standing at the doorway and smiling back. She had probably also brought Harper the Coke, which she was turning in her hands. An interrogation was always conducted in pairs, with a colleague of the same sex as the interviewee or with non-tamperable listening devices that the interviewee was made aware of. Without this, the interrogation was null and void in court or the interviewee could even sue.
"Yeah, it's okay if you question me," Miss Miller replied, but as soon as her eyes found his, she went right back to looking at her hands on the tabletop. Was he imagining it, or was she blushing?
"Good, Miss Miller," he praised. "You have the right to wait until your lawyer is here before we begin. You don't have to incriminate yourself."
Harper shook her head lethargically. "I ... don't have a lawyer. And there's nothing here that would incriminate me except maybe ..." she rubbed her forehead, dragging some hair out of her already messy ponytail. She pulled the green hairband from her head with unhappy, erratic movements and re-tied it. Andre couldn't take his eyes off her slender hands as she did so. What was wrong with him? Why did what she had experienced get so under his skin - literally.
"Can my colleague stay in the room with me?" he asked.
Miss Miller looked at the female officer, then at him.
"Why not?" she asked tonelessly.
"There is usually a power and control imbalance between witnesses, victims, perpetrators and state authorities. An official could unconsciously or consciously push you in one direction or the other in your testimony. A second person of your own gender or even appointed by you like your lawyer can help so that you do not feel pressured or coerced. It's for safety, human dignity and the integrity of the justice system," he explained patiently. He really wasn't sure if it was okay to question a person in shock, but if he was completely honest, Miss Miller was a flight risk either because she might want to escape from the black-furred beast she had seen or because she was simply Jim Miller's daughter and perhaps knew so much more about his machinations. Andre suspected that Miller had not only been involved in the shit at the Brownstonehouse but also in the bombing of LeXa ltd. It was only an hour after sunrise and already 4 people were confirmed dead. Andre had a strong hunch that the fingerprints on the autopsy report would turn out to be Jim Miller's. Even if he swept the werewolf thing under the carpet ... people would ask where the body had gone. Hell, he'd have to get a search warrant and search Jim Miller's apartment and secure all suspicious material. Harper wouldn't be able to go back to that apartment for days. Would she even want to - with the risk that her father wasn't dead but could come back as a wolf or a human? How did he arrange temporary accommodation for her, paid for by the state, when his argument was "potential monster-wolf father"?
Miss Miller scratched her forehead thoughtfully, her voice not in the least caustic as she stated, "But ... your colleague is more on your side than mine anyway so there is still a power imbalance. Even if you manipulate or even harass me, she could testify in your favor in court to protect you. Besides, if she stays here, you have a witness who could argue in favor of having me committed to a mental hospital."
Andre nodded tensely where Harper looked anxiously at the policewoman because of the way she had snorted in amusement. But there was nothing funny here. Miss Miller was a little paranoid, but she was absolutely right. It still wasn't fair. "So ... we wait until someone provides you with a lawyer?" Andre asked neutrally, as if he wasn't discouraged.
Harper shook her head slowly. "No. It's okay. She can stay here or go. It doesn't matter."
"Doesn't matter?"
"Yes. Maybe... maybe I belong in a padded cell. Maybe -" she gasped loudly and Andre immediately pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her.
"Thank you," she returned shyly and nodded after drying her eyes and blowing her nose.
"With pleasure. So ... let's start at the beginning?"
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"I don't understand why you're asking such questions," Miss Miller said a few minutes later, more confused than frustrated. She had shed a few tears, but had not fallen into a crying fit despite the gruesome story. Perhaps she was too numb for that.
"In which respect?"
"You're asking ... about my father. Never about the dog or the supposed wolf or werewolf like the others, like I'm a laughing stock. Your questions sound as if you believe that a corpse woke up on my table, its torn face grew back and all its wounds closed and then it turned into a wolf the size of a pony."
"You're no laughing stock. I'm sorry that my colleagues gave you that impression. But I take your statement very seriously. I take YOU seriously."
Miss Miller's eyes widened briefly. Before the ghost of a bashful smile stole into the corner of her mouth, which was usually tense during the interview.
"I know my father is not a good person. I knew he hated gargoyles. But I thought ... no, I probably suspected he'd eventually do more than just spout hate on his blog." She looked up with a weary expression. "I didn't do anything. And people died tonight. People who will not ... grow together and walk away. But ... I had no strength. I couldn't-." She placed a trembling hand over the crook of her elbow. At Andre's insistent look, she pushed up her sweater sleeve. There were deep, dark, very painful-looking bruises from a hand. And small puncture holes at the ends of these fingermarks. Like from ... claws that had begun to sprout from the skin. And here, at the latest, it was clear that Harper Miller had nothing supernatural about her. Which made it all the more disturbing that her father had shifted. Even if the werewolf blood in this family was diluted beyond detection - he shouldn't have died and shifted hours later! That was not possible. So if there was something that caused normal humans to transform into wolf-like creatures ... damn that was a clusterfuck!
Andre swallowed loudly.
"Do you have any other injuries?"
Miss Miller shook her head without looking at him.
"May we... document this?" he asked gently, almost a whisper. At Harper's nod, the other officer came closer and took a picture of the imprint. Harper hurriedly pulled her sleeve back down, rubbing her shoulder as if she were cold.
"Psychological harm is just as paralyzing as physical violence. No judge is going to hold you accountable for being complicit in anything. Victims are not accomplices - never," Andre told feverently.
She breathed a sigh of relief, but still had that haunted look on her face. "I ... will be glad if your colleagues take everything from our apartment that is connected to the bad things that happened last night." Her eyes widened briefly as she thought of something important. "He must never know that I said that. If he comes home and his equipment is gone, his computer. His cameras. He loves his cameras, he-"
"We'll find you somewhere else to stay for a few days. By then, Mr. Miller will either have turned up - in whatever form. Or we have certainty about his involvement in the incidents," Andre assured firmly.
"But ... what happened? Before he ... his face was torn." She licked her thin lips uncertainly. Her tongue was small and pink and the young detective had to remind himself that he was just that. A detective. But in this case, he was so much more, wasn't he?
"It wasn't any of the Manhattan gargoyles, if that's what you're thinking," Andre assured her, seeking eye contact from the cop at the edge of the room to confirm that she would keep her mouth shut about his unauthorized sharing of information. She nodded barely noticeably and without batting an eyelid. Andre would remember the woman in case another spot in GTF became available.
The young woman looked at him with a slightly sarcastic; sure- you-say- something-like-that look that was almost provocative and probably a charming indication of her true character beneath traumas and medication. "It was a gargoyle. But a renegade. Someone who has been causing problems for the Manhattan gargoyles for a long time. If the man you unfortunately had on the table was your father and he had a run-in with this gargoyle during one of his ... investigations ... it would be an unfortunate coincidence. We're going to investigate all this intensively."
"Yeah, I'm not assuming ... that the Manhattan gargoyles would want something like this to put them in a bad light," Harper said thoughtfully but not really maliciously. Even in these circumstances and so befuddled, she wasn't stupid. Dazed and yet bright. Andre caught his impulse-driven side again thinking thoughts that were anything but helpful. Especially now that Miss Miller threw her arms around herself in an absolutely lost, broken gesture.
"How-how can I-even if I can live somewhere else. What if he finds me? What do I do then, what- how- I know I'm fantasizing but I'll always think something is lurking behind me from now on. How am I supposed to - just keep going when I'm afraid to look over my shoulder? Afraid to look into my father's eyes, but they're in the skull of a giant black wolf."
She giggled in a slight fit of madness, her honey-brown eyes glassy and bloodshot. Andre didn't even think about it, and it was far from proper or professional, but he placed his hand over hers, which lay cramped on the tabletop. He cupped her fist with his fingers and squeezed gently.
She turned her head towards him and Andre recognized in her eyes those of a hunted animal. A hunt that had begun long before that night. He had often seen abused or neglected children. When they grew up, they broke in many different ways. Some became brutal bullies, eager to hurt everyone around them as much as they were hurt. Others became emotionless, sarcastic shits who you didn't want to be around because everything seemed to be a joke to them. And others ... became like her. Eternal children who hid under their beds or in their closets so that evil wouldn't find them. But it always found them, didn't it. Eventually.
And yet with Harper Miller, there was more to her thin face and big haunted eyes. She was no small prey. Andre felt his fur bristle inside and had the urgent need to wrap himself around her and protect her from everything bad and dangerous. He almost whimpered in the hope that she would whimper back - requesting and demanding his protection with typical noises and gestures. But this young woman just looked at him. Indeed, she was just a human.
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"Are you sure this is okay?" Andre asked as he pulled up in front of the house where he knew Harper Miller would be staying. Washington Heights wasn't a great neighborhood, but Andre lived nearby - he could check on her from time to time ... professionally, of course.
With a look that was too broken and tired to condemn the slightly weathered façade or the ominous tarot and palm reading store on the first floor, Miss Miller just skimmed over it emotionlessly. Then she nodded.
Andre had accompanied her to her apartment where the colleagues were already in the process of dismantling everything because of acute suspicion against James Miller, which the young woman had observed with downright fear. It had taken less than three minutes to pack her bag with some clothes, her medication and a few toiletries. She had pulled her things out of a plastic box that had been pushed under the couch. She hadn't even had her own room in this shithole, which made Andre loathe Jim Miller even more.
There was no way Andre was going to put her in a women's shelter. Not just because of her trauma, but because he wanted her to be with people he trusted to let him know if anything happened.
Of course, Andre had to give the chief this address, so it was semi-official. That was the best he could do. For Miss Miller's safety and his own peace of mind.
"And the town will pay for this?" asked Miss Miller uncertainly.
"Yes," Andre lied, because he would pay for it. Not that his "auntie" would ask for much.
With her lower lip between her teeth and clutching her bag, Miss Miller surveyed the house.
"You know this-" she read the bright green neon sign. "-Madame Mystique."
Andre chuckled softly. "That's a cheesy name, isn't it? But it's just her hobby. Yes, I've known her for a long time. She's an old acquaintance of my parents. She owns the house and it's only occupied by people she knows personally and I trust her that all the people in it are decent. You will have your own room that can be locked."
Miss Miller smiled briefly at him. "That sounds nice," she said, and yes, of course it sounded nice considering she'd had to sleep on the couch before. Andre swallowed the rumbling in his throat and smiled.
"Men and women live here. But the boys are well behaved, Madame has them all pretty much under her thumb - she looks after her pack. The bathrooms and kitchen are shared but Madame is the only one who cooks and then for everyone. You label your own food in the fridge. Every day the bathrooms are cleaned but everyone cleans their own room."
"I can ... do much more. I mean - I'm now 4 weeks off from my one job and I'm on a break from the other one too. I can- "
"You get some rest here," Andre said gently but clearly. "You have my number and Chief Maza's number. Don't be afraid to call us about anything."
"You'll regret saying that when I start ringing you out of your sleep because of every shadow outside my window," the young woman joked, and Andre realized that he wouldn't mind being called by her at night. But he didn't like it if it was out of fear or even panic.
"Thanks again for letting us tap the calls from your cell phone if your father calls, I know it's very invasive."
"It would be invasive if I got calls from other people. And even my dad hasn't called me in years," Harper said, opening the car door. Andre hurried to get out himself and stay close to her. At least he was allowed to take her bag. It was almost noon - he would have loved to take her to lunch. But she looked SO tired.
They walked up the stairs together and Andre wished he could go now, but he didn't want to leave Harper here alone for the first few minutes. He knew what Madame was like and even though he had briefed her on the phone earlier and knew everyone in this house would behave decently (and humanely), it could be a bit too much for a person like Miss Miller.
"Two tips," Andre said seriously. "Everyone here is very nice but a little cuddly. If it gets too much for you, just say so, no one will be offended. But I recommend that you let them do it, it just means they like you and want to bond with you. Second tip: don't let Madame read your love life out of your hand - she'll match you up with one of the boys from the house."
Miss Miller huffed a soft laugh.
"Unlikely she hates one of the people in there that much." Before Andre could say anything in response, she looked around, taking in the bright street.
"If he comes to get revenge on me, all those people will be in danger," she whispered.
"Revenge for what?" Andre asked quietly.
"For running away, for betraying him. For talking to the police. For cooperating. For his things disappearing from the apartment."
"He won't find you."
"Wolves have good noses, don't they?"
"I'm confident that your father - wherever or whatever he is - won't care about you." Andre knocked firmly on the door and immediately there was shouting and banging behind it - fantastic.
"Yes ... if he's still the same ... let's hope so," Harper muttered, plastering a mechanical smile on her face as the door was suddenly yanked open. A lean, tall, seventy-something woman in a knitted dress, bare feet, with ashen gray long straight hair but a youthful broad smile and an energy that made her seem much younger, tore open the door. Immediately both Andre and Harper were embraced with a strength that was unnerving but somehow charming. Harper even got a kiss left and right on the cheeks!
"Ahhhh! How nice. Come in, both of you. Come in for cake and tea!"
"I actually have to-," Andre began and was grabbed by the collar and dragged into the house with a choked "Urgh".
"Don't be like that, Andre! Finally you bring a girl and then you act like this."
"It's not like that, didn't you listen to me on the phone?" he whined as he gave Harper another desperate look and then disappeared around the corner. Down the stairs came a frail man in his fifties with round glasses and somehow hippy-like tied-back hair and bushy sideburns. Harper smiled stiffly - simply out of habit - but stiffened when the man thankfully didn't hug her but draped a fine sun-yellow scarf over her shoulders. His voice was soft and inviting. "Hello, I'm Patrick. Nice to have you with us Harper, may I call you Harper?"
She nodded, bewildered, her gaze wandering up the stairs where other people were coming down, three women between the ages of 20 and 40, the oldest of whom was Patrick's wife, a dark-skinned man who was chubby, a guy in his late twenties with long red dyed hair who chewed gum, a boy of maybe thirteen but smiling as mildly as everyone else. She lowered her head uncertainly. Did everyone here know why she was supposed to live here? Did they all think she was the poor lunatic who believed her father was a werewolf risen from the dead? Patrick- while Madame and Andre were bickering in the kitchen gently rubbed her arms, then introduced the other people, the women hugging her, even the other men seeking physical contact by squeezing her shoulder. The redhead shook her hand for much longer than necessary. After not being touched by other people for so long, Harper found it disturbing ... but somehow ... pleasant. Everyone gave her gifts, the women clothes that were all too big for her but Harper wasn't picky, the boy a homemade necklace which she thought was cute, the redhead a whole bunch of scrunchies, the chubby man a New York Knicks cap that she was supposed to wear whenever she went out because it was getting close to summer and her pale skin tone and so on and so forth. Everyone here looked nice, everyone treated her nicely. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.
Thanks for reading, Q.T.