My Best Friend's Werewolf

20 Anti-Climatic

I run up the stairs passing Hunter and Travis who's limping with an arm draped over Hunter's shoulder. I stop. "Travis?"

Hunter turns his head and shoots me a glare. His lips pull back.

"Is he okay?" I try ignoring Hunter's rudeness.

Hunter's fingers dig into Travis' waist. "Get out of here, Addy."

I take a step up the stairs, still facing them. Even though I am higher up I still feel smaller. "Never mind then." I hurry up the rest of the stairs. At least they're leaving. The sun is setting and in less than an hour the full moon will finally arrive.

I'm sure it will end up being rather disappointing.

The front door closes just as I walk past Travis' room. I pause. The door is mostly shut except that the door is only halfway in the rim. He's hurt and I'm not sure how he could have managed to injure himself only from his room to halfway down the stairs. I grab the handle, but it jiggles when I touch it like it's loose. I push the door open and step inside. He's going to kill me.

I reach around the door to shut it, but my hand finds no knob. I look down and at my feet lies the missing bronze knob. Crouching down, I pick it up. My fingers drop down into ridges that seem as if they were pressed in like it was clay.

If I just rotate it this way. . .The ridges line up with my fingers. It's a hand print. I quickly lay it back on the ground. I don't want Travis to know I was snooping even though it's on behalf of him.

The corner closest to me of his dresser bares a dent, and along its top, five streaks tear up the finished wood.

His comforter is on the opposite end of the room than his bed is. A white pillow lies on top of his nightstand, his lamp on the floor beside it. This boy has a lot of explaining to do. I pick up the pillow. I'd make his bed if he wouldn't have a panic attack and yell at me. I go to set the pillow down when I see something that causes my arms to freeze. I squint and adjust my glasses. Blood. And even not having the greatest eyesight, I can see it looks fresh. At this point I don't care what he'll think. I drop the pillow on his bed.

The only logical explanation is that Hunter and Travis got in a very heated fight. I pick up the lamp and a clank follows my lifting of it. A thick, metal chain coils at my feet. They got in a fight and now Hunter has him. Or they have some interesting kinks.

I run out of his room and down the stairs to the kitchen where Mr. and Mrs. Briar are cooking together.

Mrs. Briar sets her spatula on the tile countertop. "Addy, what's wrong?"

"I'm worried about Travis."

Mr. Briar's hand stops spinning the potatoes in the glass bowl he's holding. "Why?"

"Come look."

Mrs. Briar turns off the stove, and they both follow behind me to their son's room. Their eyes don't widen at the sight of it. They simply shake their heads.

"You don't seem surprised."

Mr. Briar shrugs. "He's done this before."

"He has?"

He nods.

"But," I pick up the knob, "look at this. He broke the door handle. There are finger impressions on it."

Mrs. Briar wears a sort of dejected visage. "I guess we'll need to replace that."

"His dresser; there's a dent. And look at these scratches--"

"He did it again?" Hanna steps between her parents.

"You aren't worried?"

Hanna shrugs. "He sees a therapist."