1 - Beginning
Blearily, Frankie Wilson woke to the cold. Eyes half open, she observed the light from the window was not as bright as it usually was when she got up. She closed her eyes and entertained the dream she woke in the middle of. Maybe a few more minutes of sleep.
The man in the purple suit came back, apologized for his lunacy of denying her the promotion, and gave her a raise. Ha! There.
She smiled and laughed inside. The dream wasn’t quite a nightmare, since while it played out, she was oddly calm about the whole ordeal. Especially since in real life she would have ran him through, or sued. Or something, she would have been so mad.
Her alarm went off. She wriggled in sheer annoyance as grumpiness spread like a bloodstain through her chest. She had not gotten any more sleep. After counting to five, she sat up, and realized her sheets were half on the floor. She sighed. He always did that. What was he trying to do? Spite her? Make her more tired during the day? She had always wondered. There was not much she could do, though. He stopped for no one.
She blinked her way to being a bit more awake, then swiped her phone off the bedside table. Pulling up her new favorite hit pop, she turned up the grunge and bobbed her way to the bathroom. There she danced through all she needed to do, and took her pill. She went to her dresser, and changed clothes. Today, she decided, was the day for her new wine red-violet shoulder-less cute top, with ruffled sleeves. She slipped into the matching, ruffly purple skirt. She was wrangling on her apron when he banged on her door.
“You up?” he called.
She quickly lowered the volume on Breaking Love and blinked a few times, registering his message. “Half awake,” she managed.
“Your coffee’s waiting.”
She sighed in anticipation. It was one nice thing he did for her. She quickly threw on the apron, and remembered to grab her earring box to bring with her.
She went into the kitchen, setting the box on the island and greedily snatching her coffee. She let her fingers hug the cup, the warmth seeping through before she drank. As always, she let herself hope (against reason, she knew) that the heat would warm the rest of her body somehow. Her restraint broke and she took a swig.
“UG!” she spluttered. “Where’s the creamer??” she demanded.
He laughed, in that hot way where he threw back his head and she wouldn’t be surprised if the apartment shook. It reminded her of a lion.
Rolling her eyes but unable to help smiling, she opened the fridge for the creamer. She popped open salted caramel, only to find it empty. Grumbling, she threw it out and reached in the fridge again, hopeful, to find french vanilla. Her favorite. Her bf was full of surprises, really.
2 - Into Kerry Cream
“Hey, Wolf,” she said casually as possible, flicking her head to remove the hair from her face. “Where’d this come from?” Her smile gave her away as peeled the tamper seal from under the lid then poured it.
He pulled the jewelry box closer and chuckled. “You know where it’s from, sweets.”
She sipped her hot coffee slowly, simply taking delight in watching him sort through her earrings. He was a man of a wild, hot, and dangerous life, a man of many faces and a lot of power. To some, he was Jet. Others, Blaze. To her, he was Wolf. He never lost an opportunity to remind her how sheerly lucky she was to have him. For all he saved her from, he kind of deserved it.
“I’ve already told you, any color other than black, red, orange, or maybe yellow is simply overrated,” he said as he rummaged. “Where did these blue ones come from? Really, you just ought to get some really cool ones. You know, the snazzy symbols or shiny or something.”
“Why can’t you get some for me?” she laughed. “You have all the money. I just have this little house—and you.”
He rolled his eyes, but even without the flicker of a smile she knew he was pleased. “Whatever. Just put on these red ones and get to work.” He took his black leather jacket off a kitchen chair, and slid the desired pair across the table. He slammed the box shut with finality.
After pulling on his hefty boots, he made his way to the door. She lifted her hand, and peered at the pair he chose. They were tiny, but in the light they flashed, both red with flecks of orange. They looked like tiny eyes, which was why he chose them so often.
From outside, he revved the engine. She jumped. “BABE!” he howled. “Get over here! I’m driving! Do you want to walk or what?”
“Hold on!” she called back. Hastily, she put her earrings in, then snatched her cup off the island and nearly ran outside. She slid into the front seat and slammed the door behind her. Almost immediately, the car lurched forward.
She settled in and carefully sipped her drink. At a stop light, he reached over and straightened the ring in her left ear, but nothing else exciting happened on the trip.
He pulled in before the front door of the corner coffee shop Kerry Cream. Quickly before he threatened to drive off, she left the car, leaving her empty mug on the seat.
The car jerked away and roared out of the parking lot. She shook her head as she took the steps up to the door. He took every opportunity to show off and exit in style. Entrance too, if he could. But of course, his life was the ideal life.
She blinked, realizing her though gave her a dark feeling, like she was left out. I am not, she scolded herself, I have everything. She chased away the thought by opening the cute little door to the cute little shop, her nose bombed pleasantly with the smells of the coffee and baked goods, her face hit with the comforting warmth of the place that felt like an embrace, reminding her she did indeed have everything. Ah, that would be James—he was always early, always beginning the setup for everybody else before they came. It made the place feel like home to her—home outside of the little house Wolf bought for her. The seasonal window stickers had changed—they were now robins and flowers, for the beginning of spring. Every morning she felt this was her favorite place in the world.
3 - Intrusion
Her excitement mounted in her chest like a lovely blossoming flower as she went quickly behind the wall through the employees-only door, into the backstage where the magic happened. Humming softly, she pulled out the supplies for the coffee. The cheery little bell went off at the door, and Frankie peeked her head through the window to the main part, on a high with the first customer of the day.
Her heart plummeted. Ah, Evangeline; the only one Frankie wished was never employed.
She frowned and ducked her head before the other girl smiled at her. She was always outwardly cheerful, almost as though she had no other emotion. She was always serene, she was somehow on another level above everyone else. She was just not…human. She was too perfect. Even her lovely fire curls were nearly perfect, unlike Frankie’s wild brown hair that claimed to be straight. Evengeline was short, never wore jewelry, and had hips too wide for convention, but Frankie still somehow struggled to contend with her, despite having the body of a model and jewelry chosen by the careful eye of Wolf. Worse, everyone loved Evangeline. Frankie could have sworn her face glowed in the dark. Heck, her whole body might as well at this point.
Frankie let herself scowl before Evengeline walked behind the door into the kitchen. Now it suddenly felt like someone was intruding in her home, her space. She shot her a glare as the other girl accidentally dropped a bag of flour from the cupboard above them near her supplies. No, not even this time did Evangeline appear fazed. No matter how many times Frankie tried, no matter how biting her comments, Evangeline was never fazed. She was impenetrable, like Wolf. She was predictable, unlike Wolf, who was unpredictable except in that he went with the flow of the moment.
“Fran!” James called from the storeroom, startling her from her daydream. “It’s 7:30! The first customers will be coming soon!”
Evangeline was a waitress. She would be leaving Frankie’s realm soon.
She sighed in relief. This was one of the best parts of the day. Frankie fully enjoyed her job—once Evangeline left, it was perfect. The smells, the comforting familiarity of the schedule, James the baker giving her a leftover treat as she left at the end of the day. Her spirits lifting again, she snuck in the earbud she always kept in her apron pocket and carefully placed her hair over it. There, that always drowned out anything she couldn’t handle, made work with Avery the cashier yelling at her bearable. She glanced over her shoulder, and slipped her phone into her skirt pocket after putting on Clash of Light and Doom from her newest grunge band. Bobbing nearly imperceptible, memories flooded her mind with the song. She had been listening to it when she heard very good news indeed.
Today was Friday. Wolf was going to take her to his buddies after work, for one of their parties. She had just bought a snazzy dress for the occasion, since there was a birthday in the group. It was going to be the biggest smash yet. She couldn’t wait—today was going to be perfect.
Another minute, and the bell went off again. Frankie let herself smile as Evangeline disappeared behind the wall. Now, she had full reign over the coffee making. Just her, the process, and everything was in her control. Her little sphere of dominion. Such a small and insignificant realm, but anything to satisfy her thirst for autonomy. One day the kitchen, next day the management, she thought giddily. A spot was opening up in the higher ranks, but before Jace Brandish, the aged sole proprietor retired, he was going to choose someone to take his place, and it was going to be her.
All of a sudden, there was another. A bright-faced little girl (or so she seemed to Frankie) of about fifteen, a few years below her, with pale orange hair maddingly halfway between wavy and straight, and shockingly green-blue eyes brighter than headlights. Her face was speckled with an unholy smattering of freckles that at first looked like some kind of disease. After the shock, Frankie’s chest rose in offense; there was someone else in her space.
4 - How it’s done
“Oi, what are you doing here?”
“I’m new,” the girl said. “You didn’t get the information, did you? You missed the interview last Friday night. And I guess the email the boss sent you…that’s ok, though. Thought you’d need a helper. It’s just a summer job.”
“I don’t need help. How old are you.”
Four years younger. Probably going to college. Lucky, working beforehand. This kid might even not drop out under the doom of debt. Frankie knew a few buddies who did.
The girl’s voice startled Frankie. “Can you show me how to work this machine?”
“What, you don’t know?” Frankie sighed. She set her hand on the first sleek black Keurig in a line on the counter. “It’s not that hard.”
“No, it’s just that type I don’t know.” The girl peered closer. “Never seen it before.”
“Straight black, no creamer!” came the call of Avery the cashier. Frankie jumped—she didn’t notice he arrived—didn’t realize the first customer had come. She had missed it. She scowled at the girl internally; one of the best parts of the day, when the thrill and rush really began, gone.
The girl was already on the order, pulling one of the unmade coffee cups from the big basket next to the line of coffee makers. She turned her expectant eyes to Frankie, ready for instructions. Frankie snatched the cup from her, poked the hole in the top, and put it in the Keurig. She noticed the girl watching intently.
“Yes, this is how it’s done,” she said dryly.
The shout came again. “You take that one,” Frankie ordered, reaching into the overhead mug cupboard for the first order. She watched it fill, and, after putting on another order, she took the mugs to the front. Avery set them to the side where the customers came and picked them up.
Several mugs went in silence. How could she get lost in the silent drum of the kitchen, accented by the chatter of people beyond, that fired her inner philosophy? When would she have time to think about her favorite thing? Time to reflect on her life and dream plans for winning the promotion in the shop. The girl had better not hinder her performance. Frankie would get everything—a raise, a free pastry whenever she wanted, status, then she could achieve her dream of starting a chain and becoming a big business. She’d also get a right to boast to her bf’s friends. Granted, they all had high-end jobs that made them filthy rich, but with the status, she could at least pretend she was fit for their company. Nobody incited the thrill of climbing the hierarchy quite the way they did.
5 - If Memories could Burn
“I’m Emmie by the way,” the girl said, trying to strike up a conversation.
“Ok,” Frankie said, half listening. She was more focused on the refrain of her song.
“I’m going to Stubenville.”
“It’s a cool place. Trashy town, but beautiful scenery. Where did you go?”
Frankie’s breathing halted, and suddenly staggered. No—not the memory—
Blood. She heard her own scream. What? Who said she could escape? No, he was stronger than her. He was the hottest, most aloof boy. Everybody wanted him. She had her sights on him all year. All she wanted was a dance, but she fell for his trick. He took her into another room, asking for her opinion on the painting down the hall. What a dark turnout for an innocent little party.
The girl helped Frankie sit as she slid to the floor. The girl’s eyes were somehow kind, concerned, and yet also deep, as though she understood without words what had happened, as though she saw through the pain into Frankie’s past. Frankie writhed.
“I’m sorry, I had no idea,” Emmie said somberly, beyond her years. “I won’t ask. But if you want to tell me to get it off your chest, no one else is listening. I promise I will never tell if that is proper.”
“No,” Frankie rasped.
“Cinnamon swirl latte, extra whipped cream!” came Avery’s call.
Emmie stood, and somehow without letting go of the sympathy she held out to Frankie, worked with quick little fingers at the order.
Frankie rasped, “I can’t.”
“I will take over,” Emmie said smoothly. “You may return when you feel better.”
With the energy of a sprite, the swift and precise girl worked away, somehow not falling far behind.
Frankie was lost in her mind. It swirled—there was no way to avoid it—That time. She had managed to escape when he was done, she called her parents. They did not understand, they scolded her for not being careful. ‘Women are sadly just weaker, so don’t go with a boy you don’t know.’ they had said. She had thrown her phone on the floor in frustration. She collapsed to the floor and wept bitterly.
That was it. It was all over. No more, no more, she would go away from where the boy was. No more, she would leave. No! She left the next morning, dropped out, snuck onto the nearest bus and went, she didn’t care where. Only when it came to the last stop that day did she slowly realize through her anger she had nowhere to go. She felt she could not depend on her parents—besides, she had been wanting to get out on her own for years. She was only eighteen, and had no one, no idea where she was.
If it had not been for Wolf, she could have been picked up by some creep. She would have been lost. But no, there he was, breathtakingly handsome under the dying sun and lantern light. He looked over her body and knew by her clothes what she was, saw her tears, and out of the kindness of his heart, let her come with him.
He was the kindest person she had ever met, and she couldn’t say how glad she was when she thought of that moment how glad she was she had him.
Her breathing eventually evened. Emmie glanced down now that she no longer hyperventilated. “Ready?” she said cheerfully. “I care. There is always hope, it is ok.”
Frankie fought inside herself, let me grovel in it, but a little hope wouldn’t hurt. She let herself smile.
6 - Friday Night pt. 1
The rest of the day went by flawlessly, except Emmie accidentally spilling an order on her apron. She took the mug from Frankie’s hand, insisting to not waste it, and let her drink it ‘to help for that moment’ as Emmie put it. Frankie nodded as she sipped, fighting back the evil memory with the sword of Wolf’s kindness.
The day was winding down and the sun was setting. Evangeline returned into the kitchen to gather her things, but Frankie delicately turned her eyes away and was glad to have Emmie to focus on instead. The girl was kind of pretty now that she thought about it.
James approached with the last sugar dusted caramel doughnut. “I saw what happened,” he said, smiling almost unsure. Afraid of her wrath, she knew.
She smirked wryly. “Why yes, thank you.” She took the doughnut, and once biting into it, realized she didn’t eat lunch. Ah well, work was work and he always came with something for her, even if she refused it. Besides, she thought it was good for staying thin. (Whether it truly worked was another question.)
“How will you get home?” Emmie suddenly asked. “There were only five cars in the lot when I came, and you were already here. There were six workers today. Wait, my mum’s coming. Do you want us to drive you home, or do you have a ride?”
Frankie internally bristled. No, she didn’t need help. “I have a ride,” she said, a bit colder than she had wanted to let on. “It’s fine.”
Emmie just nodded meekly and, pausing to squeeze out her apron into the sink, went out. Frankie heard a car pull in. She leaned in relief against the counter as James wiped down the rest of it. The last few minutes went by, as she finished her doughnut. Really nice of James to clean for her. She hated crumbs and spills like the plague.
Then Wolf’s roaring motorcycle shrieked its way into the lot and, after stopping, rumbled in front of the shop. She finished licking her fingers, hopped up, and rushed out.
“You know I hate waiting,” she complained.
“Mhum,” he smirked. “Got your helmet. Now hurry, because you take forever to get ready.”
She fastened her black and red helmet and hopped on. It jerked away suddenly and roared down the street. She laughed—he drove motorcycles the way he drove cars. She let the wind rush through her hair and beat her face cold, and her mind wander as they roared to the house.
7 - Friday Night pt. 2
She let herself slip into a high just thinking about her dress. Her heart beat faster, her chest hurt vaguely with that wonderful hurt that felt as though it was heated from the inside. She was so in love with her new dress. She found it online, lazily scrolling, and once she saw the shimmering fabric, the cut, the way it fit the model’s body which was slim like hers, she knew she must have it. She had not shown it to Wolf, but she knew he would love it. Totally worth the hundred sixteen dollars.
As soon as they got home, she tossed her keys on the kitchen island and rushed to her room. Rummaging with shaking hands through her back of the closet, found the dress, red as blood, shimmering as a river of fire with flecks of orange. She shivered just looking at it.
She hurriedly tossed her clothes on the bed and put on the dress. She laughed to find it actually fit, and admired herself in the mirror.
She sighed softly. She loved the high, she loved to feel beautiful.
The door to the bathroom slammed open, and somebody rapped rudely on the door. “Oi sweet,” Wolf called. “I know you like to admire yourself. But we’re gonna be late if you take five hundred hours getting ready! It’s close to starting.”
A panic spread through her chest. She had not done her hair, or nails, or face. “Then don’t give me so little time!” she cried.
“It’s your evil job.”
“I need that promotion!” She ran her fingers through her hair, wondering how best to let her hair flow as the shimmery dress.
“You keep getting better and better.”
She had spent half an hour (a new record for her) painting her nails blood red to match the dress, meticulously applying lipstick of the same color. Doing her hair took the longest after red mascara and choosing which pair of high heels. She had curled it then took half in a bun, letting the rest fall about her shoulders like spilling waves. It was far more stunning than the general straight hair she had, a fact she hated.
His get up was pretty intense too. Hot new leather jacket, raven black as his pants and boots, gold chain, his forge-fire orange hair tousled in that way he somehow always managed to keep it. He generally left his jacket open, this time sporting a tight, red shirt that matched her dress. What was on it was not worth repeating.
He snapped his fingers, startling her, after a few seconds of reciprocal and silent hungry admiration. “I know it’s good,” he said, “but we have to go. You can admire me later.”
“O right.” She expertly gathered her floor-length dress in a way that made good use of the slit to make walking easy.
They went quickly to the red sports car he had parked this time in the lot. His spirits apparently as high as hers, he began a song, (one she knew too, of course) as he typically did before a big event. She grinned to hear Gemstones of Blood, and joined in when he turned his head to stare expectantly at her. He always had her sing with him.
Red as blood, the gemstones of my desire,
Red as blood, the edge of white cloth,
Little drops that glisten in the light of moon
Red as blood, gemstones upon the pyre
She only half understood the songs, but didn’t care, there was a heck good beat.
They were there before she knew it. The ride to the fancy casino in the back of town where their parties were always hosted lasted about the length of one good long Ghostride song, or two Neverwhite songs.
The party was already under way when they came through the grand entrance. As usual, the room was reserved for them tonight. The men were already laughing and drinking and fighting and flirting with the women they brought with them. They may not have been treated well from what Frankie saw, but as the gf of the boss, she had a bit of status. She wasn’t a prisoner of the Romans tossed to the lions.
8 - Wraiths of Memory Returning
“I HAVE COME!” Wolf shouted, ever the dramatic.
Everybody cheered, even the few in a headlock. Quickly, the smugly grinning Wolf let himself be dragged into the crowd by the pool table by the more shifty looking partners whose purple eye circles made Frankie wonder if they were Disney villains.
She went to follow when someone knocked into her from behind.
“O pardon,” the man said politely. She turned, and almost staggered. He seemed dizzyingly tall, perhaps almost a foot above her five feet, six inches. He wore nearly the same get up as Wolf, except somehow both more nondescript and ominous at the same time. His bald head glimmered in the disco lights.
“You look especially lovely tonight,” he said kindly.
She struck a pose, turning sideways and tilting her head back. “Why thank you.” She smiled and batted her eyes. A few seconds passed with no speech, save that din that went on around them.
Speaking of which. She suddenly realized, he did not notice the racket around them, did not notice the flying bottles, belts, and other various things behind him. No, his eyes were fixated on her, and only her.
She was suddenly very aware of her body, every curve, where every part of her was in space. Her breathing came quicker, her chest rose more with each breath. Memories began to writhe, circling like sharks in mist, below the surface like the wraithlike things from somebody’s popular series. Her rising chest reminded her—her old job reminded her—
“I am a human, you know,” she found herself blurt.
“O, I know,” he said smoothly, but the way he looked at her she knew he didn’t.
A hand instinctively fell to cover her exposed leg. “Why don’t you go play with your buddies?” she said, casually as possible, constantly position shifting to keep her leg hidden by the dress as something stronger than panic began to well in her chest.
He stepped closer. “Why don’t you come play with us?”
“No.” Her mouth had gone dry. Her other hand rose in a futile attempt to hide her chest, to fill the abyss the plunging neckline cursed her with. “I mean—I have to go find Wolf. I’m always with him.” She glanced around for him, her trauma rising, memories beginning to resurface even as she sought and found him not.
Someone touched her hair. “Do you like blackjack?”
She nearly screamed as she tore away. “NO!” she cried. She ran. The wraiths began to rise, men as tall as he, staring hungrily. Can I leave? No dear, you need the money. Swirl that tassel, that’s it girl. You are lovely. Come here, sweet…
Her chest hurt. She burst out, panting, and rushed behind the building to cry. She curled into a little ball. The cameras, the exposure that left her cold, the stares that left her empty. Why, there could have been any other job, but she was hunted out, flattered, then suddenly forced to make herself vulnerable in front of men who were stronger than her. She smiled for the camera and felt nothing but hate. No, this must not happen again…
9 - Faint Whispers in the Wind
They did not understand. She needed money, she needed to save for plane tickets because she needed to get away from it all. She didn’t want to stay, not in the place where she was tossed from house to house as a child, not where her birth parents were. She wanted to leave the place, and the college she chose was as far away from the bars where they saw her as nothing more than a tool, where they had hunted her out like vampires and they ate her up and left her like she was a piece of gum, and she knew it.
She laid her head upon her knees. Wet her dress became, and she began to shiver in the cold and biting wind. Her heart turned dark within her, and already in desperate strains, she raged in tears against the very weather that mocked her, and seemed not to care. Her sorrow burst from her chest in utter groans of despair.
Like the whimpering of an abandoned baby, she quieted down and simply listened. The wind and night birds went on, went on with life, but she alone in the dark felt her spirit dying and knew how mortal it was. She thought—she had a small bit of cleaner under her dresser. She had snuck it when she moved in. She could wait, and use it, should she, should she not…
She realized, there were faint strains of something in the wind. Something breathtakingly beautiful, something she had never known before. What was it? Beyond this world, perhaps? She sat and listened. First a male voice sang it seemed, something soft and sweet, calming. Already she felt her soul’s burden lighten, she felt, ah, as air, the darkness falling away. Already the darkness came to embrace her, not as some evil entity, whispering for her end, but calling, gentle, for her to come into her healing. There then came a lovely lift, beyond all words, some women, one rising higher than the rest in notes that rose to the heavens.
Her breath caught. She bent all her will on listening, and felt her soul knit together again from the moment. This song—it held promise, everything she wanted, everything she needed. She was surprised that she knew, but she knew. She must have the song, she must find who sung it, it was a matter of life and death…
All the voices rose together, and after a pause, they went on a postlude that left her with nothing but chills. Her determination burned, all else forgotten.
The voices faded into the wind, and distant as they were, she was left with their eternal impression. She sighed deeply, and was calm and at peace, for the first time…maybe ever. Ever? How could it have been ever?
10 - Going home...
Wolf was suddenly over her. “I found you,” he said. “Why? Why are you out here? You missed the entire thing.”
With a jolt, she realized how long she had been sitting there. Hours. How long had they sang? Or how long had she sat in her despair before she heard them?
“We were disgustingly late to begin with,” Wolf said, helping her stand, voice somewhat distant, Fran being deep in her mind. “And then you disappeared. I bounced the eight off the table and hit another—best shot of the game, of course. Too bad you missed it…”
She wasn’t able to pay any attention, his words lost on her. Already, her calculating mind was working, so there is at least one man, one woman. I wonder if I know these people—nobody I know sings. Oh, except James. I’ll ask him (already her heart burned impatiently until morning—hurting more once she realized she’d have to wait until Monday). Whoever they are, must be professional singers. No, more than that. They hung around the casino somewhere—no, the sound came from…west, towards the sea. That’s it. Mermaids! No, don’t be stupid. They don’t exist.
She woke suddenly from her stupor, burning to collect more information helpful to the subject. “What time is it?” she asked, unaware he was in the middle of a sentence until hers left her mouth.
He growled softly, deep in his throat. He did that when irritated, often, perhaps thinking she couldn’t hear. She could alright. He made good use of the fact female’s hearing was often better. “AS I was saying,” he went on, “Kat was there too, you see. Not a bad shot for somebody so young. Gorgeous too. Almost won the game. I beat her, of course. She almost had it. But I’ll always be better.” He huffed. “NOW I’ll answer your question,” he said haughtily. “It’s two in the morning. It generally is. Why?”
“Let’s go home,” she said, her mind’s whirring decelerating with the wait to her question, slowly realizing how tired she was, or must be. She hadn’t drunk anything this time.
“On it.” He twirled the keys around his finger, striding to the red sports car in the lot.
She followed, as she always did, then stopped. “Is that one ours?”
“Why are you asking silly questions?” he purred. “Why does that matter anyway? Trust me to know my own car from everybody else’s.”
Remembering he did keep meticulous track of his stuff, she hopped into the front seat of the car, through the door which he held open for her. She settled in the seat, and wondered. “Has that gadget always been there?” She pointed to the cooling knob.
“Yes,” he said, glancing down as he started the engine. “I always took care of the temp. You always complained but didn’t do anything yourself.”
“Oh right.” She settled into the black seat, made of some soft material. She didn’t remember it being so soft, but whatever, she somehow managed to fall asleep on the hazardous ride home. It’s a wonder, really, how Wolf never crashed a single car.