Hair, Greg - Werewolf 01 by Werewolf (v5.0) Read Free Book Online Page B

“She’s five. Here’s her picture.” Pulling out his wallet, he showed a picture of a little brown-haired girl. “Her name’s Rachel.”
    “Oh, she’s so cute. Where is she now? In school?”
    “Yes. Mind if I sit?”
    “Sure,” she said, motioning toward a chair on the other side of the stroller.
    “Thanks. It’s been so hard on her since her mother passed.”
    “Really? I’m so sorry. What happened?”
    “Suicide,” he said, running his hand through what was left of his dark, curly hair. “I tried to help her. I tried to be with her, but I just couldn’t get through.”
    “That’s terrible. I’ll pray for you and your daughter.” She looked at her watch. “I’m so sorry, but I have to go. My sister’s meeting me at my house in about an hour. She’s babysitting. It was nice talking to you.”
    “That’s okay, I understand. The pleasure was all mine. Thanks for the ear and the caramel macchiato tip. Maybe we could meet here again sometime.”
    She looked at her son and, looking back at the man, said, “Sure.”
    The man reached down, patting the sleeping boy’s head. Tyler stirred slightly, but continued sleeping.
    The woman gathered her belongings and pushed the stroller out the glass door. The man followed her out, walking to his car.
    Twenty minutes later, the young woman from the coffee shop ran to answer the doorbell.
    “Oh,” she said, startled. “It’s you.”
    “Hi. I’m sorry to bother you, but I forgot to tell you something,” the man from the coffee shop said.
    She looked past the door, into the sitting room, to her still sleeping son, and turned uneasily back to the man.
    “What did you forget to tell me?”
    “I forgot to tell you that I’m lonely,” he said, reaching in, grabbing her by the hair, and slamming her head into the door. Tyler shook and stirred in his I Love My Mommy onesie, opening his eyes for just a second before they slowly closed again, as he drifted back to sleep.
    Hours later the woman awoke to the sound of Bobby Vinton’s “Mr. Lonely” encircling her. She reeled from the pain emanating from her head. Her left eye was swollen shut, but she could make out in her darkly lit surroundings that she was in a warehouse. All windows above had been boarded up.
    She strained to listen for the sound of traffic, but heard nothing. Any attempt to stand was futile; she found her wrists and ankles were tied to a chair. She noticed that she no longer wore her blue jeans and red top, but now wore a blue dress. As the song ended, she tried to call for help, but her cries were soon drowned out by the first notes of a replaying “Mr. Lonely.” Her tears stung her eyes as she cried harder. The man from the coffee shop stepped out from the shadows.
    “Do you like oldies?” he asked, smiling. “I adore them. I think they contain a kind of human truth, real life experience, that’s missing from so much of today’s music. Wouldn’t you agree?”
    “Who are you? Why are you doing this? Where’s my son?” she pleaded in a soft scream.
    “I’m so sorry. I forgot to introduce myself. My name’s Jerry. Your son is safe at your house. I mean, I’m assuming he’s safe, as long as your sister showed up. I don’t know what kind of person you think I am, but I would never harm a child. They’re hurt enough in this world,” he stated, with a tone of disgust at what she was insinuating.
    “What about your daughter?” she asked.
    “Who? Oh, Rachel. Yes, well, she’s not really my daughter. That’s the picture of the last woman’s little girl. She is cute, isn’t she?”
    “What do you mean, the last woman? What about your wife who committed suicide?”
    “Yes, she killed herself, absolutely. But she wasn’t my wife. She was just some woman I met in a bar. And she committed suicide just like you have. You know, your son would still have his mother if you had just taken my offer.”
    She cried harder, barely getting her words out. The song faded and began