To Love Chaos

01

Bird Allan stood silently hidden among the shelves of the Taboo Tales bookstore, breathing in the musky scent of used books. He was twenty-three years old, and a pre-med student at the local community college. He had wanted to go for something more interesting -- ancient languages or art history, maybe -- but medical was the sensible thing to do. It was realistic with his grades and there could never be enough doctors.

In the meantime, he kept himself going with a challenging list of nonfiction, classical and neoclassical literature, and the occasional true crime novel. So here he was, his hand drifting to a copy of Catch-22 by Joseph Heller. He exhaled as he examined the book -- it was in good shape for a used paperback. He could only hope that the plot of the book was as interesting as people said. He began to wander around the rest of the bookstore, taking things in with his brown eyes shrouded by a sandy-colored fringe. He pulled his black puffer coat a little closer as he neared a window that had been left open a little to allow the heat to waft out.

Taboo Tales was the new bookstore that had opened in the town of West Lake, New York, and Bird couldn't but be drawn in by its name. Unfortunately, there didn't really seem to be anything taboo about the place. The store was housed in an ancient two-story, brick building that was laden with ivy situated in an otherwise barren lot on the edge of downtown. There was a winding blacktop road that led to the store that looped past a tattoo parlor, a Quick N Ezee convenience store, and a gas station a few miles away. After that the strip malls, big box stores, and hodgepodge of crumbling, once-picturesque Victorian houses and McMansions replaced the grassy hillside that was dotted with oak and maple trees.

The inside of the store was clean, though dustmotes hung lazily in the beams of dim winter sunlight. The whole place was one big square with bookshelves lining the back walls, and an area next to the front window filled with mismatched armchairs and a maroon loveseat. There was a little kitchenette type area by the chairs where there was a hot beverage dispenser and a small variety of sugary snacks. Beside the loveseat, there was a single desk that housed two desktop PCs with the Wifi password "Smelliegoat012" printed on a plain sheet of laminated paper on the wall. The rest of the space was taken up with, predictably, bookshelves.

The store had a sizeable collection of horror and true crime novels, suspense thrillers, and New Age books. There was a small area dedicated to fairytales and children's books that had a little table with coloring sheets and crayons, and then the typical YA, political, religious, self-help Bestsellers' List bullshit. Just off the back of the room was a doorway with a placque next to it that read "Adult Literature," and Bird was pretty sure that was code for bodice ripper erotic novels. But Bird really had to hand it to the owner -- they had thought of pretty much everything.

Bird made his way up to the cash register with his copy of Catch-22. The guy behind desk, he had noticed earlier, didn't really seem like the type of person he had expected to work in a bookstore. The guy seemed like maybe he was in his late twenties or early thirties, but had not yet grown out of his college party days. The tips of his hair were gleaming, bleached blonde while the rest was a deep shade of wine red. He wore it pulled back in a sloppy top-bun with a thin, single braid draped over his right ear. He was dressed in an oversized gray sweater that hung loosely around his neck, exposing a shoulder and dark wash, skinny jeans that accentuated his tall, thin frame.

Setting the book down on the counter, Bird saw that the man wore tiny, star-shaped studs in both of his ears and his blue eyes were ringed by black eyeliner. Willie Nelson played quietly on a Bluetooth speaker somewhere in the background. Bird focused on his wallet to keep himself from staring as he fished out a twenty.

"You have good taste," the cashier told him, scanning the paperback. "You'll love that book -- it's a great story." He grinned up at Bird as he took his money, and gave Bird a small plastic bag.

Bird noticed that the man's nails were painted with black nail polish. "Thanks, and yeah, it has pretty good reviews," he said, nodding. He tried his best to return the man's smile. "Welcome to West Lake, by the way -- do your parents own this place or --? How do you know the owner?"

The man chuckled and shook his head. "I am the owner -- don't worry," he added when he saw the look on Bird's face. "I know I don't exactly look like a CEO or something. But you know --" He shrugged. "I love a good story." He offered Bird his hand to shake. "My name is Silas Clayton."

"Nice to meet you," Bird said, eager to make up for his earlier rudeness. "I'm Bird Allan."

Silas nodded, smiling. "Good to meet you, Bird Allan." He pointed to him. "You've got a nice name. I hope you stop by again."

Bird smiled sheepishly, shoving his hands in his pocket and crinkling the bag that carried his new paperback. "Yeah, I might."

"Cool," Silas said, holding out a thin strip of paper. "Receipt?"

Bird nodded, taking it from him before he turned and started for the door. Once he was outside back in the sun, Bird noticed the weight and thickness wasn't quite right for a receipt. He looked down to find he had also been given something that looked like a business card. Holding it up, he saw the words BEWARE OF DOG printed in bold all-caps. Just then barking filled the air and an enormous wolf rounded the corner of the store.

It was a huge beast with a long, thick coat of fluffy black fur with its ears pulled back and muzzle opened in a snarl. Bird began to retreat slowly towards the gravel parking lot, his hands held up in the universal sign of defeat. Without turning, Bird fast walked to his dark gray car and as he climbed inside the driver's seat he fumbled the keys, dropping them. The wolf barked once before it began trotting towards the front of the building. Bird quickly snatched his keys off the ground and slammed the door shut, pressing the automatic lock just as the animal reached his car. The wolf stood just outside his door watching suspiciously -- it was almost as tall as the roof of Bird's car.

Bird jumped a bit when it barked at him through the closed window, and started the car. He pulled into reverse, scowling at the little store. Why the hell would anyone have a pet wolf?

Inside the store Silas watched Bird pull off the parking lot and shook his head, smiling. "Teach him to stare." He stepped out from behind the counter as the wolf approached the front door and pawed at the glass. Silas let him inside and knelt down, ruffling his coat. "Great job, Fenrir." He bent down to kiss the wolf's head, but he snapped, nearly closing his teeth around the man's neck. Silas immediately pulled back and stood up, startled but not entirely surprised.

Fenrir stepped around him before making his way to the loveseat in the back of the store and climbing up on it to gaze out the storefront window.

Silas hummed sadly as he went back behind the counter. He couldn't stand to see Fenrir upset, but after having been through so much the poor pup no longer seemed to have faith in strangers. Or in Silas he thought as he collapsed into a worn, leather desk chair next to the speaker which was now playing Johnny Cash. He leaned forward, grabbing a joint and his laptop off the little shelf under the counter, and logged in to set to work on his new novel. Silas needed a distraction. He needed something to take his mind off of the fact that Fenrir hated him and that he -- and probably the rest of their family as well -- no longer considered Silas his father.

He fished his lighter out his pocket to light up just as "Ring Of Fire" began to play on the speaker behind him.