The Dream Wolf

Leela looked again to make sure she saw what she thought she saw.

The fog was thick enough to drown in-a swirling, chaotic soup of gray mist. But it wasn't touching him.

It was as if he was standing in a bubble of invisible glass. The mist swirled violently around him, churning and twisting, but it recoiled from his fur like oil running from soap. He stood in the perfect, terrifying circle of clarity, untouched by the weather, glowing faintly against the gloom.

He lifted his head. His amber eyes locked onto the crack in the curtain, meeting hers.

Leela let the heavy curtain fall back into place. Dust specks danced in the silve light before disappearing as the fabric settled, cutting off the view of the parking lot.

She stared at the darker patch of the curtain for a long second, holding her breath. She waited for the panic to spike again. She waited for the hysterical urge to scream, to call the police, to drag the dresser in front of the door. She waited for the logical part of her brain to reject the impossible image burned into her retinas.

But the panic didn't come.

Instead, a heavy leaden blanket of indifference settled over her shoulders. It was a physical weight, pressing the air out of her lungs.

There was a massive wolf sitting on her welcome mat. There was a magic fog bubble protecting him from the world. It was terrifying, and frankly, insane.

But the deadbolt was thrown. The chain was latched, The door was solid wood, and she was inside.

"I don't care," she whispered, to the empty, stale-smelling room. Her voice sounded flat, hollowed out by trauma. "I literally could not have the energy to care."

She turned her back to the window. The was the world's problem. Leela's problem was that she hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours. Her adrenaline tank was running on fumes and her blood sugar was crashing so hard her hands were trembling.

She tossed her duffel bag onto the carpet and sat on the edge of the lumpy mattress. The springs groaned in protest. She patted the duvet until her fingers brushed over cold plastic.

She picked up the remote--which was held together by a strip of silver duct tape--and aimed it at the boxy TV bolted to the dresses. The motel looked like it hadn't been updated since sometime in the 80's.

Click. Static. Click. Static. Click.

The screen flickered to life with a high pitched whine, the picture rolling twice before stabilizing into a grainy, Technicolor desert. Men in oversized cowboy hats were riding horses across a dusty canyon, guns drawn. Their mouths moving out of sync with the audio.

An old western. Perfect.

It was just noise. It wasn't the news, it wasn't reality. It was just mindless, rhythmic noise to drown out the silence of the room and Pad-Pad of the paws she imagined she could still hear on the concrete outside.

She reached for the paper bag and she unwrapped the burger.

The smell of grease, onions, and processed cheese exploded making her stomach give a violent, painful growl that twisted her insides. She lifted the burger to her lips and took a bite. Then another.

It was delicious. It was the best thing she had ever tasted. It tasted like freedom, salt, and cholesterol.

But as she went for a third bite, the exhaustion didn't just creep up on her; it hit her like a shovel to the back of the head.

Her jaw suddenly felt heavy, unhinged. Her eyelids felt like the were made of lead, dragging down with the weight of the last three days. The burger, which had been a lifeline secondes ago, suddenly felt like a ten-pound weight in her hand.

She clumsily folded the wax paper back on the burger and let it drop onto the nightstand, missing the edge of the table by an inch but she was to tired to fix it.

She fell back onto the lumpy pillows, still wearing her hoodie and sneakers. She didn't get under the covers. She didn't turn off the TV. The sounds of gunshots anad thundering of galloping horses swirled around her warping and twisting as she plummeted into the dark.

She wasn't in the motel room anymore. The smell of stale grease and cigatette smoke vanished, replaced instantly by the sharp, clean scent of damp earth and crushed pine needles.

She was running.

The air was cold and biting in her lungs, exhilarating and fresh. The ground was rushing up to meet her, flying past in a blurred stripe of green and brown.

Her heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against her rib--thump-thump, thump-thump.

Faster, her instincts screamed. Faster or it catches you.

She was running from something. She knew it. There was a shadow behind her, a looming threat that nipped at her heels. It was the old fear--the heavy, thudding steps of her father in the hallway, the cold, dissecting stare of her mother, the suffocating silence of the house on maple drive. The past was a monster, and it was chasing her through the woods.

She dug her toes into the soft dirt, pushing harder, her breathing tearing at her throat, her human legs burning with the effort.

But then, the rhythm changed.

The galloping sound from the TV bled into the dream, but it wasn't horses. It was her.

She looked down.

She wasn't wearing sneakers. She wasn't even running on two legs.

She saw paws--sleek, dark, powerful paws--digging into the moss, propelling her forward with a power she had never felt in her life. She felt the muscles in her back bunch and release like a coiled spring. She was a perfect, fluid engine of speed.

The fear evaporated instantly, replaced by a surge of pure, electric exhilaration.

She wasn't weak. She wasn't slow. She was a rocket.

She looked to her right.

She wasn't alone.

A massive shadow was keeping pace with her, cutting through the underbrush like smoke. It was the wolf from the motel. But he wasn't chasing her.

He was running with her.

He was shoulder-to-shoulder, his breathing matching hers in perfect, synchronized cadence. His amber eyes shining with a fierce, wild joy that burned brighter than the moon above them.

He wasn't a threat; he was a partner. He let out a playful huff, tongue lolling out in a grin, and surged ahead, challenging her.

Catch me, his posture said.

Leela felt a laugh bubble up in her chest--but it didn't come out as a giggle. It came out as a bark of pure happiness.

She dug her claws into the earth and surged forward to meet him. She wasn't running away anymore. For the first time in her life she was running with a pack.