He had to prove that he didn't do it.
From the hallway, he ducked and slipped to the back of the kitchen, moving quickly so Kitty or the waitress wouldn't see him. She'd think the worst.
One guy in the kitchen, a Latino wearing a white apron, looked at him. "Hey - "
David didn't slow down but ran straight through the kitchen, unlocked the back door, and slipped out. Outside, he paused, taking deep breaths of chilly air through flaring nostrils. Night had fallen, gray and overcast. A light snow fell. A dusting of it would mask scents.
Thinking like a hunter, a wolf - he shook his head to clear his vision of the haze that covered it for a moment. Couldn't let the wolf take over. Had to stay human. What had Kitty said? Keep it together.
His breathing slowed. He straightened his back and felt a little more human.
The lot behind the restaurant was lit by a single, fuzzy orange lamp. Only one car was parked here. Snow coated it, so it had been here awhile.
Beyond that lay an interstate wasteland: scrub-covered verges, cracked parking lots and frontage road, ancient gas stations. Cars hummed on the distant freeway, even on Christmas.
A set of flashing lights traveled along the frontage road. David took off at a run after the police car.
In less than half an hour, he reached one of the murder scenes.
He caught a scent - blood, thick on the ground. A hint of rot, meaning guts had been spilled. Not fresh, the slaughter had lain open to air for a while.
Human blood. Somehow, he recognized it.
But did he recognize this place, this situation? Or was it a false memory? Did he recognize the scene from the newscast?
Moving low, almost on all fours, touching the ground with his hands every now and then to keep his balance as he ran, he approached the site. He kept out of sight, hiding among the dried vegetation, banked with crusted snow. This would be easier on four legs. As wolf. He fought to ignore the voice whispering at him, clawing at him. He wanted to keep his awareness.
Police cars blocked off a place where a pickup truck had pulled over along the road. Yellow tape fluttered, marking off almost an acre of land around it. A half dozen people moved around the space, bent over, studying the ground.
David stopped and lay close to the ground, hidden, and studied the area as well as he could. Three body bags on stretchers lay by an ambulance. The pickup truck's doors were open, lights shining around it. Its interior was covered in blood.
Did he even know what he was looking for here? What he hoped to find? He had to admit, he didn't know. He just wanted to see the bodies. See that it had been guns or knives that had done this, spattered all that blood over the truck. Not teeth and claws.
But he could imagine a scenario: Driving along the road, this family, or maybe group of friends, saw a huge wolf loping alongside them. Curious, they stopped to watch, because wild wolves weren't found here. Maybe they stepped out to take a picture. And it wasn't a wolf, and he was drawn by the promise of easy prey, of slaughter -
He buried his face in his arm to stop the vision. He choked on a sob, because his mouth was watering. At the same time, he wanted to vomit.
That wasn't a memory. Just overactive imagination. He couldn't remember. Couldn't.
He imagined Kitty's voice telling him to slow his breathing, to hold the panic at bay. To keep it together.
Crawling on his belly, infantry-like, he inched forward to get a better look.
Kitty expected David to follow her back to the booth, after he settled down. They'd wait for news, hope for the best.
Surely he'd remember something if he'd killed someone. Surely. But who could say? For all her bluster, she knew so little about it.
Minutes passed, and he didn't return. Not that she could blame him if he'd decided to avoid her. Maybe stay in the bathroom, hiding from everyone. This whole spending the holidays with people thing left something to be desired.
Finally, she went back to the bathrooms to check. He wasn't in the women's anymore. For the best, probably. She knocked on the door to the men's. "David?" she called, and got no answer. She opened the door a crack, peered in. Empty. So where had he gone?
From the back hallway, the kitchen was visible, all stainless steel surfaces and stove tops. The single cook on duty leaned on a counter, looking out at the TV. And on the other side of the room was a door to the outside.
Her heart thudded, contemplating what he was doing. She'd been stupid, confronting him like that. Now she'd driven him off. Who knew what he would do, an out-of-control werewolf roaming the countryside?
Of course, now it was up to her to clean up the mess. Or at least keep it from getting worse.
Crouching to avoid drawing the cook's attention, she dashed across the kitchen and went through the door, which was already unlocked. As if someone had been this way already. Outside was freezing. But her blood was warm, Wolf running through her, firing her senses. Scent, sound, feel - she searched for his trail by the way the hairs on the back of her neck tingled. She felt the heat of his footsteps on the ground.
Breaking into a jog, she followed his trail, the faint touch of his scent, like a taste in the back of her throat. She let a bit of Wolf bleed into her consciousness. A bit of the hunter, tracking one of her own.
She shouldn't have been surprised to find the trail leading straight toward what was clearly a crime scene of epic proportions. Flashing blue and red flared out over the countryside, turning the darkness into a surreal disco parody. The snow fell heavier now, large flakes burning on her skin. They glittered in the lights. She'd forgotten her coat, but hardly noticed; she was sweating from the exertion.
Not wanting to get caught, and certainly not wanting to answer questions about why she was out here, she dropped to the ground. She assumed David had done the same, since she couldn't see him silhouetted against the lights. Instead, she saw what must have been dozens of cops milling inside a taped-off area.
And she smelled blood. Great quantities of reeking, rotten blood and bile. People hadn't just died, they'd been shredded. Her human sensibilities gagged. The Wolf merely catalogued the information: several bodies, human, gutted, and they'd been out awhile. Carrion, Wolf thought. Kitty shook the thought away.
Had they been dead long enough for David to have been the culprit? Almost, she turned around and went back, because she didn't want to know.
Just a little bit farther, though. If she could smell the bodies, she ought to be able to catch a scent of what did this to them. Since she couldn't get close, she concentrated on the land around them. If something had killed them here, then that same something had to have fled. The trail might have been covered with snow now, but she might find a trace of it.