Chapter 22 | CANIS LUPUS AND A CONFESSION

I notice out of the corner of my eye that Vaughn's hand, which was reaching for the first branch, freezes when I yelp in surprise and scramble back.

There, about 10 yards away, is a gray wolf.

It's big, at least double the size of Matthias' huskies, but it's skinny as if it has had trouble catching its prey. A mixture of dark and light, thick, and mangled gray fur. I shiver out of fear as its snout curls back into a vicious snarl, and I hear it growl from where it stands, looking out from behind an evergreen tree. However, it doesn't move. It just stays standing there, amber-colored eyes glaring darkly in my direction.

Before I can run or do anything, though, I'm yanked back and sandwiched between the river and Vaughn, who holds his gun out in the wolf's direction.

"Start climbing. Now."

I turn around and immediately do as he says, hurrying to scramble up the tree.

Once I'm up, I quickly stuff my choppers into my pockets and begin to make my way over the river.

Even though I'm in a hurry, I can't afford to rush and possibly slip, falling into the river. So, I stay steady and focused, knowing Vaughn will most likely be okay, as he has the gun.

When I've finally made it across, I climb into the tree and turn around, seeing Vaughn in the other tree across the river. He's still holding his gun, pointing it towards the bottom of the tree.

Following his gaze, I see the wolf with its front paws on the tree, snarling at the man with no fear whatsoever in its eyes.

No fear of humans in a dangerous animal is a fearful thing.

Vaughn swiftly swings the rifle strap around him and begins to make his way across the branches.

After I survey the area to make sure there are no animals on this side of the river, I'm about to start making my way down to the ground.

However, before I can make my way down the tree, Vaughn says, "Wait."

So I turn and face him, raising an eyebrow.

He stands steadily on a limb next to me in the tree before starting to descend. "I want to make sure that it won't try to cross."

I nod, watching as he walks to the edge of the water, staring at the wolf.

It snarls again, taking a step forward and putting its paw in the water. Immediately, though, it retracts it.

"Alright, you can come down now."

I do so, remaining fascinated by the creature on the other side of the river. I didn't really expect the first Canis lupus I see out here to be a malnourished lone wolf. It's sad, honestly. Wolves tend to represent strength in numbers, and when they're alone...they're so much weaker.

I turn to Vaughn, who I find to be looking at me as I observe the wolf. He tilts his head slightly in the direction of his cabin, "Let's go."

I nod, turning around and following our previous tracks. "Are you sure it won't follow?"

I put my choppers back on, and after doing so, I reach back, taking the hatchet out of my snow pant pocket.

"It was too weak to even cross the river, let alone to chase and kill us both. Besides, I would have just shot it."

I nod silently.

And that's how we remain for the rest of the walk back to his cabin. As soon as we get near, however, Moose comes running up to us, tail wagging as usual. He greets me first, and then Vaughn, which I find to be odd. However, I'm also honored.

I notice for the first time now that there's another smaller shed-like building right behind Vaughn's cabin. When I ask him about it, he says it's where he stores items and food.

He goes directly into the cabin, and I go to the outhouse.

After, when I walk in the cabin, the first thing I see is Vaughn building up a fire in the woodstove, which seemed to die out while we were gone.

I close the door behind me, taking off all my winter clothes and immediately going over to John's bag.

I take the first SD card I find and put it in one of the cameras, starting to flip through the photos.

They're all from Africa.

The next SD card? Madagascar.

And, the third one is brand new. There's nothing on it. I put the cards away, placing the camera up on the shelf with his other ones.

However, I make sure to memorize what the SD cards look like, and since they all look the same and are of the same brand, it will be easier to keep an eye out for the missing one in town.

The chances of me finding it, though...so low.

"What are you going to do now?" He asks me.

I glance at him, "I'm planning on going to the village on Friday. I'll probably talk to as many people as I can about it."

"And what if you talk to someone who might've had something to do with John's disappearance?"

"What about it?"

"Aren't you afraid that you'll also 'stumble across a wolf pack and disappear'?"

"No, not really," I answer honestly.

"Why not?"

I shrug, not really knowing why. "I don't know...because? Unless I get close to actual proof that someone had something to do with it, I don't see why they would stop me from doing anything. Unless, of course, they're a psychotic serial killer or something."

"So, I assume you'll be coming back?"

"Unless there's a psychotic serial killer or something, yes."

"Well, get some food and cleaning supplies while you're there."

I nod, not minding at all. It really is the least I can do. "Any specific type or kind of food and cleaning supplies?"

He shakes his head. "Food you'll eat but will store well. Soap, paper towels, things like that."

I nod, "Alright."

With that, he steps outside, and I choose to finally look at the books he has on his shelf. So, I walk over and start reading the titles.

I don't recognize any of them.

"Have you read all of these?" I ask him as soon as he walks through the door again.

"Most."

I nod, turning around to see him starting to cook some meat in a pan.

"Deer meat, I'm guessing?"

"Yes. Venison," Vaughn pauses for a moment. Then: "Are you hungry?"

Raising an eyebrow, I sprawl across the cot I set up last night before I answer him. "Yeah."

I expect him to maybe reply with something like, 'then go kill your own deer,' but he actually doesn't say anything.

"What's your favorite book?"

Silence, and then: "I don't have one."

"Huh. I like the 5th Wave series. Also, I like Fahrenheit 451."

He doesn't say anything in reply.

Time passes, and he's cooked us both quite a lot of venison, and I scarfed it down, trying not to think of when I used to watch Bambi when I was younger. We don't use plates or forks. Instead, we just pick a piece of seasoned meat out of the pan and eat it.

I'm not used to eating like this. Back when I was with my foster parents, I would have to have the best table etiquette. Or the best etiquette period.

But, for some reason, it doesn't feel awkward, just standing in the tiny kitchen area, eating meat together, not making any eye contact or conversation.

Usually, I'd feel like I'm silently being judged all of the time, and have this odd, incessant need to fight off every awkward silence.

But, this is a comfortable silence, so I don't say anything. And neither does Vaughn.

When we're both done, he starts to clean the pan, and I walk over to my bag, taking out my phone and opening the camera to selfie mode.

After I subtly make sure that I have nothing at all in my teeth, I start thinking about my uncle.

Who was the last person he talked to? What did he talk about? What did he photograph? Did wolves actually get him?

Maybe that's all that happened. Wolves got him.

But, something about that just does not sit right with me at all, probably because of what he said in the letter.

So, I make it my goal to also look for the camera the next time I visit town.

I mean, after all, whatever is on the camera should show something. Hopefully.

I sigh, noticing in my peripheral vision as Vaughn sits down on his futon and watches me.

After he doesn't say anything, I decide to. Directly meeting his gaze head-on, I ask, "What?"

He doesn't miss a beat with his answer, showing me that he was prepared and waiting for me to question him first. "You said you were framed for murder."

Immediately, I freeze, keeping my eyes on his as I subtly take a deep breath in and out.

I can't say I didn't see this coming. I mean, a strange girl shows up needing your help because she was framed for murder? I'd want all the details, too.

I guess I just haven't even found it in me to think about it, let alone talk about it. But if the man who's letting me stay with him wants me to, then I probably should.

Even if I've only known him for a couple of days, it's not like he's completely innocent, either. Shooting arrows at innocent passerby isn't really the best behavior.

"Yes," I reply.

"Were you really framed?"

My eyebrows furrow, "What are you implying? ...That I'm a murderer?"

"Yes."

I give him a look that lets him know I'm offended and think that the notion is ridiculous. "I didn't directly murder anyone."

He steeples his fingers. "So you did indirectly?"

I sigh, sliding my hands down my face as I sit up, criss-cross applesauce style. All the while, I avoid the man's gaze.

"No. No, I just- I don't know," I answer quietly, looking down at my hands, which are folded in my lap.

"How do you not know?"

I try to come up with a reasonable answer, but as my mind flashes back to the fire and the screams, the feelings of powerlessness, and the desperate running, I'm unable to.

"Is it murder if I didn't try to help her?" I opt to ask instead of directly answering him, keeping my voice quieter.

He doesn't answer right away. "It...depends on what the situation was, I suppose."

I'm not going to go into detail about it. I'll just give the basics of what happened.

I take a deep breath in, "My foster father set the house on fire. I escaped through my bedroom window and landed outside where he was. He told me everyone would be after me, and out of fear, I ran away instead of trying to help my foster mother, who was still inside."

I look up quickly, trying to assess his reaction. He's looking at me, not looking shocked or unsettled at all, as I'd expect him to be. Instead, he seems...curious.

I lower my eyes again to my hands as I wait for his reply, and when I get it, I'm even more confused.

"That's slightly ironic, then," he says.

"...What is?"

"That one of your favorite books is Fahrenheit 451."

I look up at him, surprised. Of all the things he could have said, that's not at all what I was expecting.

"I..."

As soon as I open my mouth, however, his demeanor shifts, and he loses the curious look in his eyes.

"How did you know your foster mother was still inside?"

I gulp, hearing the screams, once again, echo through my mind. "Um, well, my foster mother...she was screaming."

He steadily leans forward, making direct eye contact. "Was she still screaming when you ran away?"

The way he asks it, it's...almost as if he thinks he already knows the answer.

But he doesn't.

I feel a slight sting in my eyes, warning me to keep it together.

After all, crying in front of him is honestly the last thing I should do.

Looking down, I breathe in and out deeply, "No. No, if I had still heard Fiona's screams, I would have tried to help."

I look back up at him, trying to appear honest and trustworthy, and he keeps steady eye contact for a few more moments, as he assesses me and what I've just told him.

Then, he nods once, looking decided, and stands up.

He doesn't say anything else, and as I watch him walk outside, neither do I.