Bite: A Shifters of Theria Novel (34 page)

CHAPTER TWO

ICE CREAM, NETFLIX, & FADING DREAMS

Would I ever have a man like that in my life? Was there a man out there that could save me from mundane repetition? Every day of my life was the exact same, save for one little detail: I was a day older. What did I have that he could possibly want in his life? Job security? How could anyone say no?

I needed to quit. But I couldn’t. Job safety—it wasn’t just a selling point for my easily-impressed future husband; it was keeping me afloat, paying for my life. What life?

“Are you still watching?” Netflix asked. I could practically hear its judging voice. Even my television thought my life was a pathetic waste.

I thought about sending in my resignation and my heart skipped a beat.

One little email and I would be thrust into uncertainty. One little email, and five years of my life would have been for nothing. If I stayed, would that be any different? Are you still watching? Yes, or no?

Now leaving Ilium! Come Back Soon!

That was the view from my apartment window—the city limit sign. Beyond that sign was fifty miles of woods. Beyond those woods was a wall of mountains. Beyond those mountains, hundred of miles of more mountains. No roads went that way, no trails. Even flight paths didn’t go that way. “Don’t go that way,” they said. “It’s dangerous, and there’s nothing there.” The weather was unpredictable and the terrain was dangerous. “Nothing to see, move along.”

Streetlights painted orange patches of rain above the quiet Ilium streets. Gutters were violent seas and abandoned candy wrappers were the vessels that braved them. I imagined a small insect inside one of the rogue ships—a helpless captain, doomed and destined for the gutter.

That night, shops were closed; restaurants were closing. The town was going to sleep. Is there a place on this planet for lost souls like me?

There was. And it was open late on Wing Night Wednesdays.

CHAPTER THREE

A PLACE FOR LOST SOULS LIKE ME

The Holiday Inn Lounge was the only open bar that night.

The Holiday Inn shared a parking lot with Crazy Dave’s Used Car Emporium. It was the cheapest bar in Ilium, and it was just a few steps from the homeless shelter. It was a place where the lounge waitress was used to returning home with pockets full of pennies, nickels and dimes—if she got anything at all.

I kept the hood of my coat flipped up as I walked into the lounge, past the lounge-pianist, playing an old electric piano next to an untouched grand piano. They didn’t let him play on the grand piano because he was a terrible pianist and you can’t lower the volume on a grand piano. They couldn’t afford a real pianist, so they picked up an old electric piano at a garage sale for twenty-five bucks.

I kept my distance from the homeless man at the other end of the bar. His face was covered in dirt and he was literally dressed in rags. He swayed from side to side, staring at nothing in particular. He’d fallen straight out of a Bugs Bunny cartoon; all he needed was a bottle labelled “XXX”.

When the tired-looking bartender came by, I ordered a vodka water.

“It’s half off mojitos, tonight.” My vodka water became a mojito.

Sitting alone at a nearby table was a man, about my age, who also worked for Morgan Insurance, Randal Robert Andy. The managers called him Randy Bobandy. A shorter man with an odd body, Randy’s face and neck were thin and his body widened out from his shoulders, reaching its largest circumference around his thighs.

His gaze turned my way and mine swung forward.

What was I afraid of?

Who was I to look down my nose at Randal Robert Andy, or anyone in the Holiday Inn Lonely Hearts Club Lounge? I was there for the same reason as the rest of them. I was lost, desperate for a glimmer of purpose. Like Randy, like the rest of them, I didn’t know the first place to look, so I went to the only place that was open, and it happened to be half-off mojitos night.

Sitting alone in a booth, staring my way was an older, strangely familiar man, dressed in a cheap black suit and a tacky red tie. He winked. I looked away and there he was again, outside the window, on the giant billboard above the parking lot. Over his giant face was the slogan, “Crazy Dave’s Crazy Deals!” I don’t think Crazy Dave was his birth name. I looked back and he smiled, blinding me with his cheap veneers.

My grandfather’s voice echoed in my head. What do you want to be when you grow up, Chloe? An adventurer, I would say. One day, I would trek through the unexplored jungles of Borneo, discover lost cities in the Amazon Basin, hike the mountains of Nepal… I don’t recall describing any adventures starring Crazy Dave at the Holiday Inn Lounge.

The only other person in the bar was a man who sat alone in the far corner, a hood over his head and a dark shadow over his eyes. He had a pronounced jawline, covered in orange scruff.

He didn’t strike me as a Holiday Inn Lonely Hearts Club Lounge member. He didn’t have a thick aura of desperation lingering around him that wafted up your nostrils, a combination of pickle juice and lemon pledge. That very odour was now potent.

“What are you drinking?” someone asked.

I jumped from my barstool. In the flesh was Crazy Dave, blinding me with his cheap veneers. Without an invitation, he took a seat. His body was awkwardly long and his head was abnormally small—a peculiar resemblance to the bottle in his hand.

“Um,” I said. “Just a mojito.”

“Another mojito, Carl!” Crazy Dave was on a first name basis with the bartender. “Make that two!” He sat tall, uncomfortably straight, like a donkey imitating a stallion. “Dave.” He omitted the Crazy from his greeting. I waited a moment, expecting him to finish like James Bond. Dave. Crazy Dave. He didn’t.

“Chloe Parker,” I kept my voice low and eye-contact to a minimum. The didn’t want Crazy Dave getting the wrong idea.

“Chloe Parker,” he said. He repeated my name a few more times, each time with a different inflection. “Chloe Parker. Chloe Parker,” like an actor, memorizing lines for a very short play—or a very meaningless role. “You can learn a lot about a person from their name. I feel like I know a lot about you, Chloe Parker.”

I didn’t want to ask, but I don’t think I had a choice. I asked.

“I know that you’re a sucker for a good mojito.” Crazy Dave made the Long Island Medium look like Nostradamus. “Chloe Parker,” he said again, louder than before.

Randy looked over. I did my best to pretend not to notice.

“You’re a Ilium gal are ya?” he asked.

I held my forced smile and nodded. “I guess so,” I said.

Crazy Dave looked me up and down. I was suddenly overcome with the impulse to adjust my top and cross my legs.

He licked his dry, papery lips. The harsh, orange bar lights revealed every line in Crazy Dave’s aging face.

“You’ve got a set of beautiful eyes, Chloe Parker.”

“Thank you.” A chill crawled down my spine.

“Do you know what makes them so beautiful?”

“What’s that?” I asked reluctantly.

“They’re honest.” Crazy Dave licked his papery lips again. “Do you want to know what they’re telling me?” I didn’t, but I reluctantly asked anyway. “That its time to trade in your old car for something new and exciting. You like excitement, right Chloe? Mind if I call you Chloe?”

I tried to string a sentence together but failed.

“I know you do. Let me guess—you’re a Mazda gal. I can always spot a Mazda gal. We just got a Miata in. It’s green, like your honest eyes, Chloe. The moment you walked into this bar, I knew that little green Mazda Miata was for you.”

I tried to speak, but he beat me to the punch again.

“Low mileage, no accidents—original owner never left Ilium, hated pets, and never smoked a cigarette in her life. What do you say we finish our drinks and take a look?” He leaned in close and raised his hand next to my ear. “We can even take it around the block. I won’t tell if you don’t.” He winked.

“I just got a new car, actually,” I said.

Crazy Dave’s expression dropped. “You did?” he asked.

“Maybe in a couple of years, when it’s time for an upgrade.” I forced a smile.

“Well, Ms Parker, it was nice chatting with you. I should probably pack it in for the night.”

I watched Crazy Dave return to his lonely booth of shattered dreams. When Crazy Dave was a child and his grandfather asked him what he wanted to be, did he say used car salesman?