Twin Wolves

Earlier in the day,

Stefan flipped his pillow for the umpteenth time that night. Just like other times, nothing changed. His pillow was still as wet as ever, soaked with cold sweat from his neck and back. His throat was parched and after trying futilely to moisturize it with saliva, he dragged himself up to drink something. As the liquid from the bottle flooded his throat, he wondered for an instant if the caffeine in the Coke he had drank earlier was enough to worsen his insomnia. What difference would it make, he thought? His was not a chemical issue. It was psychological. The kind you see a therapist for but he wasn't about to sit opposite someone that thinks he has an illness and he wasn't about to announce to Deadwood why he was here. So he stuck to himself and avoided sleep as best as he could.

He let out a deep sigh of resignation and went back to bed. After some minutes of tossing and turning, he finally let his mind wander. Away from his cold, air-conditioned room to the dilapidated building on number 342 main Street,  two years ago. For this reason, he couldn’t sleep. Sophie!.

Then and even now, he found it strange that he didn’t puke immediately at the sight, instead emptying his guts into his bathroom sink later that day. Was that why he was suffering two years later? Another delayed reaction?

Before his phone rang and he was grateful for the distraction, he tossed his legs to the side of the bed and flung the blanket aside. He had had nothing to do all day except handle the release of a travel agent accused of defrauding people for fake visas.

"Please help Sir, there's a body!" A hoarse voice wailed into the phone in agony. He sprang to his feet, his body on alert.

"Where are you?".

"The woods, the camp woods". The voice replied, trying so hard to muffle a scream.

"Call 911". He replied curtly. "And keep your distance from the body".

"You don't get it.." the voice said angrily, "It's the missing girl, the one you're searching for, and the claw marks, I can barely recognize her". The voice shook in fear over the phone.

"And how do you know it's her?".

"The clothes...it's the same ones she was wearing on the night she disappeared". The voice said rapidly trying to convince him.

"Get out of there, I'm on my way". He picked up his shirt and pants that he had flung carelessly last night before he went to bed. He checked his bedside clock, it was just 5:13 am.

"No, there's something here, it isn't an animal and it isn't a human either but we're going to check it out".

"We?". He asked, his veins pulsing under his skin.

"Yeah, my friend, Janet is right here with a camera". He laughed but his laughter was only to mask his fear, but he was terrible at it and Stefan could see through his act.

"This isn't a joke, get out of there this instance!". He commanded.

"This is my story and I am going to get it on camera, I'm going to make the f*ck*ng headlines". He said with a tone laden with entitlement and in between short pants.

"You're gonna get yourself and your partner killed. Listen to me, get out of there...". There was a scream and the phone went dead. Stefan stood dumbfounded with the phone to his ear, hoping to hear something but nothing came. He grabbed his car keys and rushed out of the house.

Twenty minutes later, he was driving out of town, heading downtown toward Deadwood, what used to be a perfect spot to play all day and all night and enjoy outdoor, adventures, hikes, camping, mountain biking, and horseback riding had suddenly become a nightmare, hiding a beast he had come to hunt. He looked at his passenger seat, at the weapon wrapped in a coat, tapping it lightly, he fixed his eyes on the road. That was all Stefan needed and fifteen minutes later, he was at the scene of the crime staring in horror at the mangled face of what used to be a cheerful girl. Her eyes were popped out of their sockets the same way basketballs would be if the hoops were too tiny for them. Beneath the blood flowing from surgical-like cuts on her face, he could tell she was young. Not older than nineteen, he reckoned, trying in vain to suppress a shudder. What kind of sick f*ck would do this? Her face had claw marks that spread from the tip of her right ear to the tip of her left ear, this deep cut opened up the flesh.

Apart from the cuts on her face, no part of her body had signs of trauma. She certainly wasn’t drugged to death, she must have been alive when her killer drove his claws into her face.

He searched the rest of the woods for the guy that had called him earlier and his assistant, but whatever had taken them was long gone. A police siren blared from the road and he knew it was time to leave. He disappeared before they even stepped out of their vehicles.

****

The town of Deadwood, South Dakota looked beautiful and historical, with its gold rush history, at least according to her phone. Amora sat stone-faced in the car, upset that her mother had uprooted their lives in Berkeley Spring, West Virginia to move all the way across to this funky old town. Her mother's uncle died a couple of months back and he left behind a house and a barn worth a couple of bucks but her mother had strictly refused to sell the place rather she quit her well-paid job at a fashion institute and decided to move with her daughter to the place she had grown as a child. Amora thought her mother had gone mad, she had not entirely believed she was serious until she returned from school to find their belongings packed in boxes and being loaded into a truck.

She stole a glance at her mother from the corner of her eye, still pretending to be engrossed in her phone, she watched her drive, she looked nervous. Amora slipped off her seat belt, she always hated feeling restrained to anything, she tossed her phone to the back seat angrily but her mother didn't even spare her a glance.

"Did we have to move"? She whined for the umpteenth time since they had driven out of the driveway in Berkeley Springs. Her mother finally turned to look at her, she frowned to find her seat belt unbuckled and turned her attention back to the road.

"What did I tell you about driving without a seatbelt?".

"Mom!!!". She resigned to her seat perplexed.

"Answer me, Amora". Her mother demanded.

"It is unsafe". She recited, mimicking her mother's tone. Her mother sighed, tired from having to deal with a daughter that was about to turn eighteen in this century.

"You'll love the place, trust me". She whispered reassuringly, more to herself than to Amora. "Now put on your seatbelt". Amora complied grudgingly.

The rest of the drive was a quiet and peaceful one, Amora had plugged in her headphones and she nodded her hands and feet to Carrie Underwood's, Church Bells. The sun had begun its descent across the sky, casting an orange glow and although Amora was upset at her mother for moving and at her father for leaving, she had to admit that nature was indeed beautiful.

The town's mountains came into view as they got closer and her mother sped past a signpost that read, welcome to Deadwood. She turned off the music to stare out the window and breath in the crisp, spring air. A sparking lake came into view and Amora gasped at its tranquility.

"Beautiful isn't it". Her mother replied to her gawking expression.

"Not bad". She shrugged not wanting to sound like she loved the place. The car rolled into town, buildings arranged in neat rows on either side of the road, they drove past a bookstore, a boutique, a bakery, an antique store and so much more.

They continued downtown, into a forest path leading into a driveway and then the house came into view. It was a cute little building, right out of a Disney movie. It was painted a milky white and the roof, was brown, smoke puffed out of the chimney.

"Is someone in?". She asked her mother in surprise.

"Yes, your Aunt Gladys, decided to help clean up the place before our arrival". She said smiling.

She drove past the fence and into the yard, she parked the car under a tree and they both got down. Amora stretched and heard her bones snap, she was tired and grateful that her mother had planned everything properly and the moving wasn't going to be a pain in the *ss.

Aunty Gladys rushed out of the house to greet them with open arms, she was a brash portly lady with an Irish accent, that always made Amora wonder where she had gotten it from or if it was fake. She was one of those humans that were one or two tweaks away from being attractive. Tweaks that would have been carried out on her nose alone. It had the odd quality of being hawk-like at the bridge and flat at the base. A smaller nose would have been a start, her lips were surprisingly red and Lush, almost as if they had been carved away from a model and placed on her face. Her hair was brown and wrapped in a bun on top of her head without a single strand out of place. She had an apron around her large frame and was dressed in a grey gown with matching sandals.

She belonged in an elderly home, Amora thought watching her race toward them, she looked like a grandmother although she was just a few years older than Amora's mother her weight made her look years over sixty.

"