Chapter Six
Sierra's heart was pounding in her chest like a drum under a jackhammer.
What the hell?!
She had one thought – to run – and her body followed it immediately without hesitation. Dropping her cigarette, not bothering to make sure it got put out, she rushed out to the front of the building. She didn't consider getting in her car, didn't consider calling the police. Instead, she rushed to the back of the bar and finally stopped in the stock room.
Her whole body was violently shaking, and she couldn't help but be sure she just lost her mind.
There's no way in hell that what she just saw was real! No frickin way. Grasping a bottle, she poured enough vodka to fill a scotch glass and took a heavy chug from it. Her body repulsed against it, and she shook her head and slouched down against the boxes of alcohol behind her.
Her eyes raced back and forth over the desk a few feet ahead of her, watching it replay in her mind.
She'd gone out for a smoke.
It was a terrible habit that she'd been trying to give up for a couple years since her mother asked. As far as her mother knew, Sierra had quit, but that wasn't the truth. She still needed a cigarette when her shifts were rough, or when she was especially tired or anxious. Hell, she needed one then, as she slouched down and sat on the damp floor, her miniskirt not protecting her thighs from the cold tile.
Her habit didn’t matter at that moment.
She saw a wolf turn into a man.
Or was it a man turning back into a man from a wolf?
Either way, her heart was still loudly banging away inside her chest. He was the handsome man from the night before, the stranger that had almost tried to flirt with her. He had her name. Her body was wrecked with chills, and she took another gulp of the vodka, which just made her body convulse harder.
She could have – might have – slept with him if he'd followed through and flirted again.
This thought churned her stomach. This monster, a wolfman, a werewolf, and she almost slept with him…with it! Sierra's stomach rolled again, and this time, she had to grasp onto a nearby trashcan for help as she heaved up her dinner, laced with a strong aftertaste of the vodka she just shot down.
Sierra wanted to take off work. She told herself she needed to get out of there and get home. She grasped onto the trashcan for a moment longer, waiting to see if she'd heave again. It was like she'd had the curtain of the world that was protecting her pulled back, like every monster from her childhood she'd ever heard about had come out to nip at her heels.
She was raised being told to stay away from wolves. Her father had been killed by one when she was young. The whole town was decorated with wolves as a warning to the people. Wolves were beasts, creatures of the night that stole people away to eat them, and now she knew that some of those beasts were people in disguise.
Her mother seemed to have a respectful fear for them, but that hadn't passed on to Sierra.
She needed to get home to her mother. As ridiculous as it was, it was the only way she'd feel safe. She'd have to tell her manager that she didn't feel well, that she'd gotten sick, and she needed to go home. Popping open a can of orange juice, she swished it in her mouth and spit it out twice. She didn't want anyone smelling the alcohol and thinking she'd gotten drunk on shift.
Telling the truth was not an option.
If she told a single person what she'd seen, they'd think she was insane. She'd be sent off to a mental institute, and her mother would be left to fend for herself. The idea broke her heart, and Sierra steadied herself. Straightening her clothes, she checked her reflection.
She looked fine.
Normal.
What if she was losing it?
What if this was the beginning of her descent into madness like her mother’s? What if she was falling apart and this was her warning sign? Her mother’s fall had been pushed up by what happened to her, but she was forty when it happened. Sierra was only twenty-four.
It had to have been real, though.
There’s no way her mind could have fabricated anything so detailed and real looking.
It was startling that she didn't look completely changed from the knowledge, that she, herself, wasn't that changed. The world around her had pulled a 180, and she was still the same, boring casino waitress she'd been half an hour ago.
Pushing these thoughts aside, she headed out to the bar, trying to act like nothing happened.
That was impossible.
The man, the wolfman, was now standing in the entrance of the bar, looking around.
He was trying to find her.
A cold sweat burst out onto Sierra's skin, and she rushed back into the storage area. She couldn't get past him. Couldn't escape as long as he might see her.
She couldn't leave.
Couldn't do her job as a waitress.
She was, instead, stuck in a strange limbo of standing and waiting for something to happen. What she was waiting for was a mystery. Images came to her mind of him opening up a rampage on the floor, but immediately, her mind pushed those aside. Even though she knew he was strange, wasn't human, her mind was still trying to defend him.
Her manager came back five minutes later, just as Sierra was cleaning up what vomit missed the trash can.
“Are you okay?” Lynn asked, looking her over as she came back.
“I'm having some awful motion sickness. I may have caught something,” Sierra lied, still feeling woozy.
“Oh no,” Lynn said, an honest reaction. She glanced at the vomit in the trash can for a moment, looking like she was confirming that Sierra wasn't lying, before she said anything. “Do you want to go home? You don't need to get any of the customers sick,” Lynn offered, looking over a clipboard of papers she was carrying. “We're having a slow night. We'd be fine without you,” she added.
“I'd rather stay,” Sierra said, guiltily. “It's about that time of the month for inventory. Can I stay at least until I can finish that and then go so I don't have to lose half a shift?” she asked, motioning at the messy room.
Lynn looked her over, thoughtfully, and then nodded.
“All right, sure. I want your numbers in my office before you clock out,” Lynn said, sighing as she turned to leave. “Oh, I forgot why I came back here,” she turned back to Sierra. “There's a handsome man out there asking about you. What do you want me to tell him?” she asked, a smile halfway clung to her lips.
He knew her name, and he could find her.
What if he got her last name and looked her up in the local phonebook?
She wasn’t sure if her address was still in there. She’d only kept the landline phone so that her mother could call emergency services if she needed to. Sierra couldn’t bring herself to regret doing that.
“Tell him I went home. I don't want anyone seeing me like this,” Sierra lied, smiling back.
It was fake.
She felt fake.
It was self-preservation, though. She needed to protect herself, and right then the best way to do that was to ensure that he didn't think she was still there. She didn't know what she'd do if the wolfman came back to her in the small, crowded room. There wouldn’t be any escape. She’d have to face him in person.
“All right. Feel better, Sierra,” Lynn said, patting her arm as she headed out.
Sierra sighed and relaxed the moment Lynn was out of sight.
This was how it would have to be.
She couldn't have him knowing she was still there. He might wait until she's off work and approach her. She also couldn't leave just because Lynn offered it. There were guards at the Casino – big, burly men who looked like they could rip a tree in half with their hands – but she wasn't sure how they could square off against a wolf.
She didn't want anyone to risk their lives for her.
If anyone got hurt because of her she'd never forgive herself.
Grabbing the inventory sheets from the desk, she pulled out a pen from the tiny pocket on her skirt and started on the most tedious night of her job working there. Usually, she would have never agreed to do inventory, but at that moment, it felt like a blessing. Something to put off her inevitable leave.
She couldn't guarantee he wouldn't find her after her shift, but for those few hours, as she counted bottles and glasses, she was safe.
That was enough for the moment.