Digging is What We Wolves Do Best. What's in Your Closet?

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Dedicated to my chat pal, Spelling_Bee who has her own awesome story, The Urbem. Go check it out! It's totally worth it. This is a toast to you and I, for uploading our own original stories :) I just started mine and you finished the first part of your successful series. To us! :)

Lucas Heppner (Cont'd)

Brody Heppner was only fifty four years old, with no children on his own, and long been widowed after an unfortunate car accident had killed my aunt instantly but he was more like a child than the adult he should've been. Being the youngest of 4 kids, Brody wasn't serious at all and was the comic relief of the beta family. His blue eyes always sparkled mischievously and wore an infamous smirk underneath his graying mustache we've all known to love him for. Although he was reaching his retirement years pretty quickly, he had a contradictory youthful personality.

So imagine my surprise when I saw the color drain from his body, seemingly adding ten years to his face, as the words spilled from my lips. Brody's drinking buddy and best friend, Ryan, dropped his beer bottle, paralyzed with shock and fear, crashing the strong substance all over the dainty porch. Ryan's dark eyes closed tightly as he clutched his chest, mimicking a heart attack. Derek rushed forward and tossed Ryan's arms over his shoulder, supporting him like a crutch. His breaths came in heavy sighs before prying his eyes open, anger overtaking his blackened orbs.

"Are you sure?" Ryan heaved, teeth locked together to compress a roar.

Derek shook his head furiously. "See dad?" He insisted, pulling out Kayla's contact card and placing it into Ryan's palm. Ryan skimmed over the card and crumpled it into his large hand. Brody picked up the crumpled from the floor and smoothed it over with his thumb, his aquatic orbs glazing over the print, or what was left of it, as alcohol soaked into the paper product, smearing the ink.

"Damn it," Ryan roared. We cringed under the deafening volume. "How did this happen? How could you have let her get away? Now look at this mess. She involved a damned Schaefer. Do you know what this means for us? We will never get your daughter ever again, not without getting killed for it." He slapped the wall, cracking the plaster, leaving an ugly 7 inch scar outside the screen door after his palm receded.

"Maybe," Brody spoke up, "it's not the Schaefer we're thinking about. Schaefer is a very common name. It isn't exclusive to just that family. Perhaps Emma is bluffing."

Ryan's face relaxed at the idea. "That is true. You said you backed her in a corner. It could be a coincidence she hired an attorney with the same last name and preyed on our history to scare you off."

"Kayla did threaten us with a gun," I insisted. "That's not something a regular attorney would do. Isn't that against the law to threaten someone, isn't it?"

Suddenly I was hit with the memory of her odd accent, the mention of living on a farm... certainly an attorney wouldn't threaten someone like that but... a redneck would?

"Were the Schaefer's from down south?" I asked suddenly. Even though I was born into this family I didn't hear much about hunters, living in years of peace and prosperity than fear and paranoia like the older generation did.

Ryan and Brody shook their heads. "No. We met the Schaefer's in Wisconsin." Ryan told us. "Why?"

"When Kayla and I met, she told me she had lived on a farm..." Ryan and Brody gave me a confused look. "I was trespassing and she got into lecturing me about how she paid all this extra money for all this land that couldn't amount to her farm."

"Did she say where?" Ryan instantly asked, very much interested, telling from his wide, focused eye. Derek looked up at his father curiously.

I shook my head. "Not that I recall. She did have any accent though. It was small, barely noticeable but it was there. Now that I think of it, she couldn't have been from the south. She didn't slur her words together, not like Sheriff Beaumont. Instead she overly pronounced them."

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