Death of a Wandering Wolf

by Julia Buckley

  “Ed knows all the good places. And somehow he gets there and back really fast. I think he runs.” Her face reddened again; I couldn’t imagine what she was thinking.

  “You are a whole new Katie. Look what some good romancing can do.”

  “You should know, with your giant Thor of a boyfriend. I’ll bet he knows how to romance.”

  Now I was sure it was my face that turned red. I changed the subject. “Hey, there was this guy outside your building, holding a sign that said—”

  “‘They are coming’?”

  “Yes!”

  “He’s there all the time. He’s the one who was hassling me, and Ed came out of nowhere and told the guy to lay off. Remember?”

  I nodded.

  “I know our bosses have called the cops on that guy, and they’ve come out and even taken him away sometimes, but he always comes back. Something special about this corner, I guess.”

  “But he talked to you? He warned you about something?”

  “Just weird stuff. Similar to his poster there, about something coming, or someone. I assumed he was worried about aliens or monsters or something.”

  “Huh. Officer Tate said that we need a better plan in the city for guys like him. Guys who need help.”

  “Well, duh,” Katie said, picking an onion off her sandwich. “I forgot to tell Ed no onions. Anyway, when you’re finished, I’ll give you a little tour.” She watched me for a moment, then said, “Is Erik going to give you bodyguards until he catches that guy’s killer?”

  I nodded. “I think so. It’s weird, but I also appreciate it. I feel safe. And I’m making friends,” I joked.

  Katie laughed, then sighed. “We have to make more time to get together like this. Otherwise we can go a month without seeing each other.”

  “I know! And this is fun. Your bosses don’t care that you have me in here?”

  She shook her head. “People have their friends and families in here all the time. They just have to stick to their lunch hour.”

  “Great. It’s a really cool building.”

  “Yeah, I love it. It’s one of the older office buildings in the city. Goes back to the 1920s, hence all the Art Deco stuff you can see in the lobby and the elevators. It makes me think about time travel. I prefer the stairs to the elevators, actually. They’re huge, and they echo, and they go all the way down to the parking garage. One time when Ed and I were here late, we played hide-and-seek. It was terrifying.” She sounded exhilarated, though.

  “I’m really happy for you, Katie.”

  She looked at me out of the corner of her eye. “I know you said something to Ed. Did you call him?”

  “What? No! I would never do that.”

  She regarded me with a sardonic expression.

  I said, “He called me.”

  “Seriously? When?”

  “Almost a week before the dance. He wanted to know why you broke things off with him. I said I couldn’t get involved, but he was so distraught. I just told him he should try to be romantic.”

  She sighed. “Well, he is. He might have been faking it at first, but now he’s gotten really good at it. He’s a natural. I think he’s finding things out about himself.”

  “He does seem different. I have to say, the new Eduardo is very sexy.”

  Her bright eyes found mine. “Right? It’s like I never saw him before.”

  I brushed crumbs from my hands, surprised at the speed with which I’d eaten. “I’m finished. That was delicious. Where should I put this plate?”

  “There’s a garbage can by the door. Are you ready for the tour? Let me just clean this up.”

  We tidied and wiped the table. She left some of the drinks on a sideboard with a note that said “Help yourself!”

  Then she led me back into the blue-carpeted hall and started showing me the place where she spent all her time—and her boundless creativity. We peered into a common area, open, with a vaulted ceiling and many desks with large computer monitors on them. People toiled away here, and it looked like a newsroom. Then we passed some glassed-in offices where important-looking people talked on phones. Katie told me about projects they were working on, about crazy time constraints, about office feuds. She pointed down one long hallway and said, “We can’t go there right now. Tom’s creative team is pitching to a client.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t want to get on Tom’s bad side, whoever he is,” I joked.

  “Let’s head this way; I can show you my cubicle and the sort of hub of our agency.”

  She took me down an elegant gray-walled hallway and I had a thought. “Hey, how well do people at one agency know people at another ad agency? I heard someone’s name the other day and that he was in advertising, and I just wondered if you know him.”

  “Yeah? Who’s that? That’s our little cafeteria, by the way,” she said, pointing into a large room on her right.

  “His name is Brad Derrien,” I said.

  She turned to me, laughing. “Ha ha. Good one.”

  “What is? I’m serious. Have you ever met Brad Derrien?”

  She jogged down the hall and spun around to face me. “Are you for real?”

  I stared at her blankly. And then the misery came, rushing up from somewhere below my feet and flowing into my body. I opened my mouth to try to express what I was feeling, but Katie was laughing.

  “Brad is one of our VPs. Take about ten steps”—she did so—“and you’re in front of his office!” I held out my hand to stop her, but she was already knocking on his door. “Brad, do you have a second? I wanted you to meet my friend Hana.”

  She looked at me expectantly, and I dragged my feet forward. They felt thick and waterlogged; somehow Katie didn’t seem to notice the dread that hung around me. I reached the door and looked inside at the man who had stood up behind his desk, and I made eye contact with the man from Will Kodaly’s painting.

  The man from my parking lot.

  The man who had probably shot me.

  It felt like a bullet even now, an actual impact into my soft middle, and I fell against the doorway.

  “Oops, Hana, did you trip?” Katie said, helping me stand upright.

  “Yes,” I croaked.

  I realized the truth then, that I had been right: Kodaly died because a man couldn’t bear to give up on Sofia, but it wasn’t Sofia’s boyfriend, Zane, who had wanted poor Will dead—it was the married man who was still in love with Sofia.

  “How nice to meet you,” said Brad Derrien, showing his teeth. I did not recognize him as the man who had once visited Ms. Derrien at our high school. He was tall and brown haired, with a craggy face and an expensive-looking suit. Everything about him felt predatory. In that instant of connection, though, when we locked eyes and understood the truth about each other, I realized that he was not just a danger to me, but to Katie, and that I had to pretend for her sake until I could run away.

  “You, too,” I said. “You have a nice agency here.” I could barely hear what I was saying because of the ringing in my ears.

  “Yes, we’re proud of it.” His eyes flicked to Katie. “Do you need to get back to work? I could entertain Hana for you—tell her some war stories.”

  Katie looked surprised. “No, it’s cool. I still have twenty minutes of lunch and I want to show her my cubicle.”

  “Well, I won’t keep you then,” he said. “Nice meeting you, Hana.” He was walking toward his desk, going for a drawer.

  “Yes,” I managed, and I followed Katie down the hall.

  “Listen,” I told her. “I just got a text from Erik. He wants me to meet him downstairs right away. He found something out about the case and I have to go.”

  She stared, uncomprehending. “What? When did you even check your phone?”

  “I’m so sorry, but I have to run,” I said. “Go back to your office and call E
rik.”

  “What? I thought you just said—” She stopped because I was running away from her, as fast as I could. “Hana?” she said, sounding afraid.

  I kept going. I couldn’t have stopped if I wanted to. Fight or flight had kicked in, and my instinct was flight. I saw the elevator, but I remembered what Katie had said about the stairs: they went all the way down to the basement garage. I could go there and ask the valet to call me a car, or I could stay in the shadows until I was able to slip undetected onto Superior Street, where cabs were readily available. At the time, this seemed like the best plan. Derrien had been desperate enough to show up at my apartment; that meant he was desperate enough to hurt someone if he had to. I didn’t want him near people that he might perceive as witnesses.

  I flew down the stairs, wide and well lit, and when I had almost reached the first level I heard the door slam at the top of the stairs and heavy footfalls running down.

  The poor lost soul in front of the building had been right, as had my subconscious.

  He was coming.

  I would face the sárkány after all.

  * * *

  As my feet ran, barely touching the concrete stairs, I heard Katie’s words in my head: “We played hide-and-seek. It was terrifying.”

  Terror. I was terrified, and my brain wasn’t forming logical connections.

  I reached the bottom and faced a gray door that said “Garage.” I pushed on this and did a quick survey of the dim, open area on the other side. I had three choices: dart into the line of cars and use them as cover as I made my way to the garage entrance and eventually the street; make a run for the rickety-looking elevator across the garage and to my right, where I could ride back up into the building; or find a hiding place, text Erik, and wait for help.

  I opted for the third one. Derrien’s steps were growing louder, pounding, pounding down the stairs as he desperately sought to silence me. Didn’t he realize it was all over? That even if I disappeared or died, Katie would tell the police that I had been here (and Erik knew anyway), so what really would he accomplish by hurting me?

  I dove to my left, where a large pillar sat in front of a row of cars. Distantly, I could see sunlight, and motion, as the gray shapes of cars went back and forth outside the open garage door. I stood behind the pillar and scanned the parked cars; one of them was a giant square thing, black and ugly, but beautiful to me now because it would provide shelter and a vantage point from which to spy. I ran on silent feet to this vehicle, flying around to the driver’s side window. I crouched there but was able to peer through the glass at Brad Derrien, who burst out of the stairway door like a bull, his face sweating and afraid.

  To my relief, he went first to the elevator, in the direction opposite me. I took my phone from my pocket and turned it on. I attempted to sign in with my digital fingerprint and saw the message “No Signal.”

  A scream threatened to escape, to explode out of me in a wave of fear and tension. I bit my lip and forced a deep breath. Where was everyone? Why was no one coming or going? All I needed was a distraction.

  He had turned and was coming back. His eyes scanned the cars, methodical, disturbing. “Hana,” he said in a low but audible voice. “Come out, for goodness’ sake. I just want to talk to you.”

  I crouched lower, wondering what I would do when he reached my row.

  Then, to my relief, he stopped walking. His head swiveled around; he seemed to be assessing his options, as I had done. “I know that you know things, okay? I just want to ask you some questions. I’m fascinated by psychic phenomena. If you thought it was anything else, you’re way off track. Just come out. We’ll go back up to my office and chat. I can’t have you leaving here thinking that I’m chasing you!” He attempted a laugh—a paltry, ugly sound. The guilty can’t remember joy; my grandmother had told me that once.

  Why did he think I would believe anything he said when he had chased me down the stairs, sweating with the effort of it? Had he hurt Katie before he left? She must have known, must have seen something in his face. Had I deserted my friend when I should have stayed to protect her? Why, why did he even think he could get away with this?

  In a flash I understood that guilt has its own logic, and that fear of detection will make a person do stupid things. Perhaps because he was a murderer he feared the idea of a psychic person most of all, because that person could look down (he might think) into his dark, dark intentions.

  Dark Intentions. Kodaly had known, had seen them in this man. Had he seen it consciously? Or had Derrien’s face in that painting been only an unconsciously derived resemblance?

  I pressed my hands into the cold metal of the car’s side panel. Soon I would have to run.

  “Hana,” he said again, his voice less friendly this time. “Come out.”

  I hesitated, and then froze: he was lowering himself to the ground. He was going to lie down and look for my feet. I would be exposed.

  I turned and ran silently, hunching low, trying to stay out of his sightline. I made it to another huge white pillar and dove behind it. The open garage door was closer now, but still too far to make a run for it. “Hana,” he said. My name became something horrible on his tongue. “Come out, hon. I’m going to find you either way. You can’t make it out of here without me seeing you; you haven’t had enough time.”

  The pillar was cold against my back; I stood, agonized by indecision.

  Brad Derrien’s voice said, “And besides . . . I think I know where you are.” He laughed.

  He had either seen me or realized that I was in the only place not visible to him.

  Terror is debilitating. I could only summon random snatches of images, no concrete plan. I saw Erik Wolf’s green eyes, regretful and sad. I saw my brother and Margie, holding hands. I saw Katie’s brown silky ponytail and Eduardo’s crimson suit. I saw my grandmother’s lined face, and then I saw her as a four-year-old girl, kissing a teddy bear.

  And her mother, summoning up answers from her own mind.

  Natalia. What had she said about life? She had told it to the old policeman, who had told Henrik Sipos.

  “The mind is a forest with many paths . . . when you are lost, one will be illuminated.” Something like that.

  I closed my eyes. Brad Derrien had gotten to his feet, and his footfalls came closer, step by step, as he peered between rows.

  I kept my eyes closed and focused on my inner vision. The inner eye. I saw a forest full of trees, autumnal, beautiful. A wind chasing leaves around and three dirt paths, all awaiting me. Time slowed now: something opened in me, and each path became an idea, swirling leaves into a visible word. One said “Taxi.” Another said “Phone.” And a third, in a great, busy swirl of color, said “Ulveflokk.” This one was far brighter than the others, bright even through my closed eyes.

  My lids flew open. Ulveflokk. What had Katie told me, at Kodaly’s garage sale? “It’s right down the street from me.” But which direction? Would I be better off running to Runa and Thyra than trying to hail a cab in front of the building and potentially having Brad Derrien shoot me down or swoop in and carry me back into the garage?

  People might intervene, or they might not. I had seen the stories about poor victims who cried for help and got no response, even when people were near. Onlookers tended to assume others would take an active role, and they themselves did not. Or sometimes they misunderstood the situation . . .

  “Hana,” Derrien said. He was closer, and his voice was almost seductive now. He was getting excited by the hunt.

  My stomach turned; I tasted bile.

  A car rattled over the speed bump under the garage entrance. An attendant moseyed out of a glass box to say something through the person’s window. To shout it, actually. “That’s not the right ticket! Are you sure you have the right garage? I think this is for one on Clark. Did you try the one on Clark?”

  The car’s mot
or was loud, and the attendant was yelling over this. My footsteps would not be heard.

  I ran.

  Whether he saw me or not, I cannot say. I thought I heard a yell behind me, something surprised or outraged. I had never run so fast in my life, nor did I know that I could fly that way, barely touching the ground, hearing only my own blood pounding, pounding with the rhythm of my feet.

  A burst of light and air, and I was on the sidewalk. I heard yelling behind me; was he calling to me or to the attendant?

  A scan of the street: I saw no cabs, and I had no idea which way to run. “Natalia, help me,” I yelled into the city noise; it sounded like a sob.

  My feet turned and ran right. To this day I don’t remember making a conscious decision; I simply ran, my eyes scanning buildings, storefronts, signs. I knew I had found Ulveflokk before I saw the word, because of their symbol: four wolves howling at a full moon.

  The power of advertising, Katie would tell me later.

  I dove through the doors, and some women at the front racks looked at me with stunned expressions. I tried to say something to them, but my throat was so dry I couldn’t even croak. A young couple walked past, clutching matching sweaters. They didn’t notice me at all.

  I scanned the store. A young man sat behind the checkout counter, staring at his phone. Behind him and to the left was a sign that said “Employees Only.” I ran toward it, bumping gracelessly into racks and displays. I vaguely registered some sort of music playing, flutes and fiddles and some sort of folksy chant over the top.

  The doorway loomed in front of me; I stole a glance over my shoulder at the sidewalk outside. I didn’t see him . . . had he not followed me? Was I safe?

  I turned back and burst through the door. Runa and Thyra were both there, on either side of a long clothing rack, flicking expertly through clothes. They looked up in twin surprise. “Hana?” Thyra said.

  Runa was two seconds more alert. She threw down the dress in her hand and moved to me, lithe as a cat. “What is it?”