The Runaway: A Werewolf Story

Chapter 1

Dusk went to full dark and the rain never let up for a moment. It was at the point, soaked through and shaking, that she saw a light, glowing like a beacon, cutting through the disorienting walls of rain.

It was a beer light, red and hazy, wavering like a mirage. She ran toward it in her squishy wet boots as fast as she could manage. Crossing the street without bothering to look.

She was near tears with relief when she reached the door and yanked it open. Inside it was warm, and dry. Blues played low and lonely on an old-timey jukebox in a far corner, and it took her some blinking to see much of anything inside. The wood bar stretched the length of the place, and scattered tea lights on the few shabby tables gave what little light they could. The bar was narrow and long like a railroad car. Empty of people save a lump at the farthest end of the bar, hunched over a beer. And on the other side, closer to her, was a bartender with a book, who raised his head as she came in.

She left a river behind her as she sat on the nearest stool, trying to come off as normal, and not frantic.

"Really coming down out there." He said as he set his paperback down, face down and open. She peeled off her wet jacket and hung it on the stool beside her. The shirt beneath was glued to her skin, but wasn't much for that, she doubted he had a robe or big towel to offer. She trembled with cold. "Get you something?" He said.

"Whiskey would be great, whatever is cheapest." He nodded and poured some into a glass.

"Not a good day for a walk. Seems you got caught in the storm." He remarked as he slid the glass to her.

"No." She agreed and sipped her drink. It burned and warmed as it went down. "You don't serve food, do you?" She looked around the dingy place, smelling of stale smoke and beer, the paneled walls were grimy and it had sticky linoleum floors.

"Got some chili in a crock pot, or a bag of chips, that's about it tonight."

"Umm, how much is it? The chili, that is." She hated asking but she had so little money left and after that, there was nothing. He squinted at her, taking in her sodden clothes and visibly shivering, "It won't clean you out, I promise. I'll get you a bowl." He smiled kindly, perhaps pitying, and it softened his face. He was handsome, in a scruffy redneck way, and she relaxed a little more. She was safe and dry, she would have some food, and warm up. And most importantly, at least for another night, she'd gotten away.

For now.

It was still pouring out, when the chili bowl was empty, as were the three packets of crackers, her whiskey, and a large glass of water. She guessed it was a full night, but without her phone, she hadn't a clue what time it was or really where she was. And with no place to go, a dread had settled deep in her gut. Night, raining, homeless and alone. She had to face the real prospect of sleeping rough out in the rain or breaking into some abandoned property. Had she planned all of this better she would have had some money, a proper bag packed, a plan, a friend to stay with, something. Not just panicked running, without even a blanket. She wasn't sure how cold it was going to get, but there was a real possibility she could freeze to death.

As if reading her mind, the bartender asked if she had a place to stay.

I must look desperate, she thought sourly. Olive was afraid if she met his eyes that she'd start crying. When she didn't answer his question, he'd placed another whiskey, filled nearly to the top of the glass, in front of her, "I'm out of money, you should take it back."

"You look like you could use it, compliments of the house. Now tell me, what are you doing in our tiny little slice of heaven here? With no place to go?"

Olive scrubbed at her face, wondering how much to divulge, or if she should just hop off her stool and leave. It would be better if she left little to no trail. Talking, becoming memorable, was a good way to get found and caught. No doubt her face would be up on the news now. In the papers tomorrow morning. "It's complicated. I just needed to get north, fast, took a bus as far as I could afford, and then started walking."

"North like Canada?" He caught her expression and put his hands up, "Never mind, not my business. Just glad I was open and able to help since this storm isn't planning on letting up until tomorrow mid-morning. So, let me ask you again, what's your plan for tonight?"

Was he a danger to her? She stared into his face and tried to decide if he was safer than sleeping under a moldy tarp in some yard. "Why do you care? Why would you help me?" She finally ground out, staring at the beads of moisture on her water glass. He was about to answer when two loud slaps on the counter caused them both to jump.

"One sec," The bartender said and opened a beer and brought it to the old man on the other end of the bar, which she'd entirely forgotten was there. He'd been totally silent sitting at the corner spot at the bar against the wall. He was shrouded in shadow, a large coat hid his body, and a banged-up felt hat hid most of his face. He held the beer with two gnarled hands that trembled. The bartender returned to her.

"I care because it's not every day a wet girl comes in with all her shit in a bag and no place to go, who is definitely running from someplace, or someone, deciding that anything was better than what was at home."

"Don't presume to know anything about me." She shot back defiantly.

The bartender rolled his eyes, "Fine. But I know what's out there tonight."

"Oh yeah? Creeps? Animals? Frost?"

"I just want you to get where you're going safely."

She rested her chin on her fist, the whiskey loosening her up, "I see, so this is all about gallantry in the end hmm? How nice."

"What's your name?" He said.

"--what's yours?" She shot back.

"Buck. Bernard actually, but everyone round here calls me Buck."

She debated giving her real name, but backed out of it, instead going with the first name that popped into her head. Strangely, it was her long-dead mother's.

"Joan." He looked at her for a moment and then stuck his hand out. They shook, his hand was warm and rough in hers. Strong.

"I have a guest room. You can stay there tonight, wait out the rain, and I can drop you at the next bus station tomorrow with a heavier coat. No strings, nothing weird. Take it or leave it."