Page 94 of Wolf's Chance

“Then stop being a whiny bitch.”

“Morning.” We both turned to look at Doc, who looked as if he wished he hadn’t spoken.

“Hi.” Willow at least tried to be polite.

“What do you want?” I felt an elbow dig into my side and brushed off her unspoken reprimand.

“I wanted to ask Willow what she would like for her breakfast.”

As he rattled off the choice of menu, I turned towards her to watch her falter at being the center of attention. “Bacon andegg sandwich sounds good,” I cut him off. “I’ll have two, she’ll have one.” Willow turned to gape at me. “I’ll take extra bacon.” Doc didn’t react when I added coffee to my “order.” He left us and I knew we had a fifty-fifty chance of getting anything.

“You’re rude.”

“You’re too timid.” Dumping the clothing on the bed, I went about piling it and then rolling it into a small bundle, tucking it under my arm. “I’ll give these to someone who’ll wash them and have them back soon.”

“That it? You’re ready to leave again?” Willow picked up her sketch pad, suddenly looking nervous, holding it out to me. “I think you need to look at this.”

For the first time in a long time, our roles were reversed, and I was the unsure one. “What is it?”

“Look and see.”

Dropping the bundle, I took the book, but Willow’s finger was acting as a placeholder, so she came forward with it. As I took in the page, I didn’t pay any heed to how close she stood to me.

The scene was chaotic. My first impression was that the page was too small to contain everything that she’d seen, as if the paper couldn’t contain the turmoil that she’d drawn. Trees, broken and gnarled, framed the page. The trees themselves felt “heavy,” like they were weighed down with an oppressive energy, making the whole drawing even more foreboding.

At the heart of the chaos, wolves snarled, their eyes gleaming with a savage intensity. They stood over fallen figures—some in human form, some already shifted into wolves—locked in a struggle so desperate I could almost taste their fear. The fight to survive was being fought on the paper that I heldin my hands. My eyes raced across the page, taking note of the fallen and the ones still fighting, not yet ready to accept their fate.

She’d captured the conflict from both sides brilliantly, or perhaps it was my memory that appreciated the detail she could never understand. Wolves clawing at the air or their attackers in a final, futile attempt to survive. Among them lay the broken who had already been embraced by defeat.

Near the edge of the trees, a large cabin loomed, almost overshadowed by the sheer violence that surrounded it. It stood firm yet haunted, serving as a silent witness to the massacre. Every inch of the drawing was filled with intricate details, the lines jagged, almost frantic, as if Willow had been driven by the intense desire to capture each horrifying moment. However, no matter how much was crammed into the scene, it still felt incomplete, as if the true magnitude of the vision was too immense to be contained within a single page of a sketch pad.

“Caleb?” Her voice was soft and gentle, and I had the desire to pull her closer, to take whatever comfort she offered.

“Are there—” My voice cracked, the sound barely more than a whisper. I couldn’t believe I could still speak at all. Swallowing hard, I cleared my throat and forced the words out. “Have you drawn more like this?”

Her eyes flickered with something I couldn’t quite place, a mix of hesitation and fear. She didn’t answer, breaking our stare as she looked away from me, the silence stretching between us, pressing down on me like the weight of the scene in my hand. Blood rushed through me, pounding in my ears as I waited for Willow to answer. “Willow?”

Finally, she nodded, a small jerk of her head, her shoulderstight with tension. “Yes,” she admitted. “There are, but, Caleb…” Willow reached for me, a slight tremble in her hand as it lay upon my forearm, the touch delicate like her. “They’re not any easier to look at. I don’t think you need to see them.”

My breath caught in my throat at the words, making me feel exposed. Vulnerable. I knew I needed to see them, should demand to see them and relive the nightmare of my past, but part of me, the part that was almost shaking with anger as she stood so innocently next to me, wasn’t sure I could handle seeing it. Knowing thatshehad seen it.

It was too much. These drawings weren’t just images—they were a window into my past, a past that had no right to be revisited.

“Show me.” My voice was harder, stronger. It was a good thing because I couldn’t be weak. “Now, Willow,” I snapped at her. “Show me everything.”

She hesitated again, and then slowly she reached across to the small desk for another sketch pad I hadn’t even seen. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was small,guilty, and I wanted to tell her it wasn’t her fault, but the words wouldn’t form because I was already staring at the next sketch, and I felt the room closing in on me as the world shifted beneath my feet.

I think I stumbled—maybe I fell—but the edge of the bed caught my hip as I sank to the floor. A dull ache throbbed from the impact, but it was nothing compared to the storm raging inside me. My fingers gripped the book, the pages creasing at the tight hold, grounding me in the present, reminding me that it wasn’t real, even as my mind whirled with the memories of that morning.

Memories I had fought so hard to bury.

But here it was in front of me, the scene where my father lay murdered, his blood spilling around him as life left him.

I didn’t know how long I stared at it, but eventually, I made myself turn the page. I flicked through the drawings, each page a reminder of the past, each as sharp in detail as they were unforgiving in truth. My chest felt tight as my gaze skimmed between the images, not looking too closely, knowing each one was more painful than the last.

It was all too familiar and so dreadfully real.

“Caleb.” Willow’s voice broke through my haze. I hadn’t noticed she’d followed me down, sitting on the floor beside me, her eyes wide and her face pale with concern. “I didn’t know that it would hurt you like this.”

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