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Laurell Taggart stared at her front door, eyes bulging from their sockets. She'd intended to go outside, perhaps to have a walk, perhaps to contrive some excuse to go visit Geoff, but she froze in horror the moment she laid eyes on the door.
There was blood seeping into her house from outside.
She didn't know what else it could be, though she couldn't smell it. (She would be able to smell the blood from this distance, wouldn't she? That seemed correct.) But the way it oozed, thick and vital, across the floor toward her made it unmistakable. She'd had plenty of experience with blood with the Denver pack, though perhaps not in that vast quantity.
It was still coming, spreading out as it did so. It was hard to tell but she thought perhaps it was coming more quickly now. There was a small threshold between the wooden floor of the front entrance hall and the carpet of the living room, and that would contain it briefly. Distantly, she remarked to herself that at least she wouldn't have to worry about blood stains on the carpet. It would be easier to clean from the wood.
Yes, it was definitely coming faster now. She took a step back even though the liquid was still several feet away. Somehow she knew that she didn't want this blood in particular to touch her.
Slowly she became aware of a sound, indistinct at first, coming from the outside. She wondered how it could be that this awareness came only gradually, as her senses should have been sharp enough to hear it straightaway. Yet somehow she had the impression the sound had been going on for a while and she was just now able to perceive it.
Thwack-slide, thwack-slide. It was as if someone was placing their hand on the outside of the door, palm first, and letting their fingers drag across its surface as they drew their hand down. It didn't have the harsh, grating nature of fingernails on chalkboard, yet there was a quality to it that still made her skin crawl. Thwack-slide, thwack-slide.
"H-hello?" she called out softly.
The sounds stopped for a moment, then resumed with increased vigor. THWACK-slide, THWACK-slide, THWACK-slide. With a growing sense of dread, she realized something else: the impacts were all on the lower half of the door. It was like someone was on the ground outside, scrabbling for purchase to be able to stand.
Laurell bit her lip. Was someone hurt? That would certainly explain the blood. She glanced down and was dismayed to see that the red liquid had almost reached the tips of her shoes. She took another long step backward, whimpering. She couldn't say why, but she just knew if that blood were to touch her, something bad would happen.
THWACK-slide! The sound came again. It was almost a pounding now. Whoever it was, they weren't just trying to get up. They were trying to get in.
At that realization her nerve broke, and she turned around. There was a back door out of the kitchen. She needed to get away from whatever this was. She needed to get to Geoff. He would protect her. He would know what to do.
Thwack-THWACK! Very insistent now. Thwack-THWACK!
She started to run.
The back wall with its sliding glass door wasn't far, perhaps twenty feet from where she was standing. Laurell knew that with her lycan speed, she should have been able to close the distance in seconds. However, despite her rising panic, it was like she was treading through molasses. Her legs stubbornly refused to obey her mind.
Thwack-THWACK-crack! The door shuddered in its frame behind her, and she heard something splinter. She risked a glance over her shoulder and gave a low cry of despair at what she saw.
The blood was gaining on her.
It was streaming from underneath the front door as if from a pump. It had easily overtaken the small riser between the hallway and living room and it was now spreading across the pristine cream-colored carpet in an obscene red smear, fanning out as it did so. If it was from the whatever-it-was that was banging on the door, surely that creature was as good as dead. No human could lose that much blood and possibly survive. Maybe not even a werewolf.
THWACK-THWACK! The pounding only grew louder and more intense. That seemed to be all at odds with the notion of someone dying of blood loss. But if that wasn't it, where was all the blood coming from?
Before she could ponder the question any further, she slammed into the sliding door. Somehow in the instant she checked over her shoulder, she'd managed to cross the remaining distance even though it had just seemed like she was barely moving at all. If she'd somehow lost the speed and senses of a werewolf, she still seemed to possess all of the strength, because she sailed through the door easily, the glass giving way before her with a loud, jangling crash. She felt a stab of pain as jagged shards rained down on her, one of them slicing her shoulder blade deeply. She hissed, tripping against the door frame and falling. She landed heavily, cutting her hands and knees on more glass as she did so. She looked down dumbly, watching her own blood start to blossom, dripping onto the deck in thick splats.
Silence from behind her. She didn't want to risk another look back, instead trying to get to her feet. She moved unsteadily, her arms pinwheeling as she struggled for balance. The wounds on her palms and knees seemed superficial, but the cut on her shoulder was going to need medical attention.
And she broke the sliding door, to boot.
Geoff was going to be mad.
Laurell didn't have time to ponder that, for she sensed more than heard a movement from her left side. The whatever-it-was had departed her front porch and was coming around the side of the house!
She let out a scream, breaking to the right and running down the stairs leading from her deck to the back yard. Here, at least, she seemed to have regained some semblance of her lycan speed. It was good fortune that Geoff and Lou's building lay in the same direction, so she ran toward it, hoping one or both of them had heard the ruckus and would already be out investigating.
She knew when the thing rounded the corner behind her, for she felt a sudden chill pierce her form. There was a deep malevolence to it, and a hunger that seemed to fill the very air itself. She tried to run faster but once again her legs seemed to be working against her.
"Geoff!" she cried piteously. She thought she was shouting, but the word emerged only as an airy whimper. "Daddy! Please!"
It was gaining on her. The ambient temperature dropped even more, and she had this sudden lunatic notion that if she stopped and checked, she'd be able to see her breath. Whatever it was, it could move much faster than she, and as it advanced she could hear a low, guttural sound, almost panting, like it was some great beast on the hunt.
And she was the prey.
The thing leapt for her. She couldn't say how she knew that, but she did, as deeply and surely as she knew that the earth was round or the ocean was wet. It was leaping at her, and if it got her, she was done for. She turned then, raising her arms to try and defend herself, to knock it away or deflect its attack as best she could. Blysse had been trying to teach the wolves basic self-defense and her mind scrambled, trying to recall even the most rudimentary techniques.
When she turned, she saw what it truly was.
And she screamed.
––––––––
"...YOU OKAY? LAURELL, can you hear me? Laurell?" The voice seemed to be coming from underwater, or a mile away. Or both. Hands, warm and soft, patted her cheek gently. She struggled to speak but only a low, liquid moan came out. "Don't try to talk," the voice came again. It was familiar, but she couldn't quite place it. Whoever it was, it sounded concerned. "Mark? Mark, listen to me. I want you to go and get Geoff or Lou. Get them right away and come back, okay? Can you do that for me, Mark?"
Silence for a time, and then: "I... okay. I will." She recognized that voice too, and not just because the first person said the name. Footsteps, padding quickly away from her. Padding – on grass? She was outside!
She struggled to open her eyes, but they seemed gummed shut. She gave a low cry of panic, thrashing wildly. A set of firm hands caught her flailing arms, pushed her down gently.
"Don't try to move, Laurell. You're hurt, I don't think badly but I can't say for sure."
Mystery, that's who it was. That was the voice. This recognition calmed her somewhat. She did not know Mystery that well, but she always had a kind word or a smile for Laurell whenever they saw each other.
"What happened?" Laurell tried to say. She wasn't sure what words passed her lips but she was fairly certain that Mystery didn't understand them. In any case, she got no verbal response. Instead, she felt a warm, tingling energy washing over her, an intangible breeze that soothed and calmed her. She felt some of the panic fading away, her breath slowing. With a start, she realized that Mystery was doing something, using her preternatural energy to calm her down. It was something that Geoff or Lou could do, but she didn't realize that Mystery could do it too.
Apparently, Mystery didn't either. When she spoke next, she sounded uncertain. "Is that helping, Laurell? I hope you can feel it. I'm trying, but..."
Laurel swiped at her eyes, forcing one of them open. A hazy shape drifted into her field of vision and slowly clarified into Mystery's worried visage. Her hair, which was almost always in a wild mop, seemed to be even more disheveled. When she saw Laurell looking at her, she smiled.
Before either of them could speak, Geoff's voice rang out like a shot. "Laurell!" He was just suddenly at her side, kneeling on the ground. His energy wrapped tightly around her, many times more powerful than Mystery's, and having commensurate effect on her spirits. She wanted to bathe in that feeling, that sense of home that only came from pack, and most especially from Geoff. In that moment, her pain and anxiety were forgotten.
Not far behind them was Lou, who stopped short of kneeling down as Geoff had. Instead, she stood beside Mystery, putting her arm around the other woman's shoulder. "What happened?" Lou asked. The words were directed at Mystery, but she lowered her gaze to Laurell herself, indicating that she could also respond.
"I'm... not really sure. I was going to take Mark around for a walk and we heard... something. We came around the back and saw her like this!" Mystery spoke in a rush, the words seeming to trip over each other in their hurry. She turned to Mark, who was lingering some distance away, twitchy with nervous energy. "Did I leave anything out?"
Mark, finding himself suddenly the center of attention, flinched, his eyes dropping to the ground. He didn't raise them when he spoke, addressing his words to the grass between his feet. "I thought I heard a yell, too. But I couldn't make out if it was saying anything."
"Oh yes!" Mystery bobbed her head. "A yell, or a scream. Something along those lines. But it didn't sound like Laurell's voice." She canted her head, looking at Laurell quizzically. "Do you remember yelling anything?"
Laurell cast her mind back and found it frustratingly blank. "I don't remember, no." It was as if her memory had been wiped clean.
Except not entirely clean, she thought to herself, and then immediately wondered where that came from. She shuddered.
"What is it?" Geoff urged.
"I don't know!" Laurell cried, tears of frustration forming in the corners of her eyes. She didn't have the vocabulary needed to properly describe what she was feeling. It was almost, but not quite, the way she imagined someone who'd been possessed might feel. The problem was she couldn't quantify the "not quite" part of it. She had never been a sleepwalker before, but now she apparently had done it again.
Geoff considered her words with a deep, dubious frown, and she lowered her eyes in shame. He didn't believe her! She was just building up the courage to give voice to her concerns when he reached out and lightly brushed the pads of his fingers across her forehead. "Does this hurt?" he asked.
Curious, she moved her own hand up to feel the area and hissed as she pressed too hard on some kind of raw wound. The skin felt almost shredded. It was shallow but seemed to cover a sizeable area. Now that she was thinking about it, her head throbbed steadily, almost in time with her now-slowed pulse. She drew her fingers back and examined them with morbid curiosity. The fingertips were lightly tinged red.
"Well of course it's going to hurt if you do that," Geoff said, pulling her hand away.
"What is it?" She'd been beaten, stabbed, and bitten in her time as a wolf, but this wound seemed different from any of those. It was especially frustrating because it was on her forehead so she couldn't properly see it. She rolled her eyes up as best she could, but that didn't improve the viewing angle.
Geoff chuckled. "Careful your eyes don't stick that way. If we'd found you out on the street, I'd say it was road rash. You look like you went headfirst into concrete." He gave her a long, assessing look, turning his head this way and that to fully take in her face. "Should heal cleanly, and probably not take more than a couple of hours." Another advantage of being a werewolf: accelerated healing.
Her brow furrowed; she immediately regretted the action. She gave a low whimper as the movement pulled at the wound, sending pain signals dancing across her skin. "Road rash? But out here... how..."
"That's what I intend to find out," Geoff said, standing with a single fluid motion that would have seemed impossible given his apparent age. He extended a hand to help her up, which she took. He gave a light tug and suddenly she was on her feet. Maybe it was the quick movement or maybe it was whatever gave her the head wound, but she felt suddenly dizzy. At once, Lou and Mystery were there, one on either side of her, supporting her weight and keeping her upright. Either one of the women would have easily been able to carry Laurell, but the close physical contact with two of her packmates helped even more to soothe her distress.
"Some bedside manner," Lou snapped at Geoff.
To that, Geoff shrugged. "Never claimed to be a doctor. Also, I don't exactly see any beds. You guys take her to our place and get her cleaned up. I'm going to check out what happened here." Lou and Mystery gently eased Laurell around, and slowly the three of them began walking toward the building that Geoff and Lou shared. It may very well be that they'd have a houseguest for a while. He wanted to keep a closer eye on that girl.
Mark stood where he had been, his eyes flicking nervously between Geoff and the departing females. More than any other wolf Geoff had ever met, Mark gave off a sense that was more "prey" than "predator." He would have been eaten alive in Laurell's old pack, that's for sure. He looked at Geoff without quite making direct eye contact. His gaze would always slip off to one side or another or drop to the ground. He seemed to be looking for some kind of dismissal.
Well, Geoff was more apt to put him to work.
"Mark," he said in a low voice, as one might a scared child, "I'm going to go check out Laurell's house. Would you like to come with me?" Briefly, Geoff flirted with the idea that they might run into something dangerous in that investigation, but he almost immediately dismissed it. He had a pretty honed sense of danger, and by all indications the house was empty.
"Umm, okay," Mark said. Everything about him, from his tone to his body language, screamed that he didn't want to go. Geoff didn't need preternatural senses to know he was lying; the kid would make an awful poker player.
For a second, he considered letting Mark off the hook, or telling him to go with Lou and Mystery to tend to Laurell, but this seemed like a good opportunity for the two of them to bond, after a fashion. He'd purposefully kept Mark at arm's length once he understood the nature of the kid's issues, so as not to exacerbate the situation. He didn't think Mark could appreciate the difference between an Odrulf and a Fadirulf; all he'd known before joining Geoff's pack was that the leader was someone to be feared. Sometimes Geoff wondered if keeping his distance like that was counterproductive.
Well, now was as good a time as any to try something different. He waved a hand for Mark to follow him. "Great. Let's go." He turned and started walking toward Laurell's house, not checking whether the other wolf was following him. It was early morning and the grass was still dewy, so they could easily see the tracks Laurell made during this latest sleepwalking (or whatever it was) escapade.
He paused at the concrete pad onto which the deck stairs had been mounted, turning back to face the direction they'd come. She had been making a beeline for his and Lou's house. He didn't know if that was intentional or just a coincidence since the stairs came off the right side of the deck.
When he turned it put him face to face with Mark, who was standing a few feet away looking uncertain of what to do with himself. Geoff frowned slightly. Was the kid a little paler than usual? Most werewolves loved the outdoors, it helped to soothe the urges of their metaphysical wolves. Mark confined himself indoors whenever he had a choice, which is doubtless why Mystery took it upon herself to take him on walks with her. Still, Mark's pallor seemed a little bit more pronounced than usual, and he didn't like the potential implications of that.
"Mark," he began slowly, "have you been sleeping okay?"
The younger wolf did a double take, as if not expecting Geoff to speak to him. "Umm. I... I mean, yeah. Yes. Pretty okay, I guess."
Geoff narrowed his eyes, his nostrils flaring, trying to stretch out with his senses to try and sniff out a lie. The problem was, Mark gave off nervous tics and signs of deception as part of his nature, so it was sometimes tricky to tell whether he was being intentionally deceitful. He studied the kid in silence for so long that Mark began to squirm uncomfortably under the scrutiny.
Finally, Geoff let out a hissing sigh. "Let me put it another way. Have you been having any nightmares lately? Anything out of the ordinary?" He really wished he knew a better phrase than "out of the ordinary" because Mark's baseline for "ordinary" was so deeply skewed as to render the concept meaningless.
At this, Mark stopped squirming long enough to devote his attention to the question at hand. The fact that he seemed to be considering it did not leave Geoff feeling warm and fuzzy. Finally, Mark lifted one of his shoulders in a shrug. "I... I mean, sometimes, yes. Sometimes I just wake up tired, still. But, um, everybody has nightmares sometimes, right?" He raised his eyes to meet Geoff's briefly, looking hopeful that he'd given the correct answer.
This was maddening. He could tell Mark was being as truthful as was able, but this didn't really tell him if Mark was experiencing anything akin to what was happening to Laurell. Time to try another tack. "Okay, but... have you ever woken up someplace other than your bed and you didn't know how you got there?" He fell silent for a second, then hastily added, "Other than the full moon, I mean."
Mark's face fell at the mention of the full moon, as Geoff knew it would. He wouldn't have brought it up to begin with, but he needed the kid to be as specific and focused as possible. This (whatever "this" was) was too important for the typical Mark-based misunderstandings. It took him a few moments to recover, but when he finally spoke there was a sense of surety that convinced Geoff he wasn't prevaricating. "No, nothing like that." He hesitated, then added: "Is she... is Laurell... going to be okay?" The concern in his voice was genuine. He glanced over his shoulder, but the three women were gone from view.
"Yes, she will be." Even though he still had no earthly idea what was going on, Geoff believed that to the very core of his being. He based it on the fact that he had managed to bulldoze through every other problem that had come his way, since before he started leading the pack in San Diego. One way or another, he always found a way. Sometimes those ways were painful or disruptive – such as uprooting their lives and moving to Washington, D.C. – but they'd always worked out in the end. He had every confidence that would be the case here, too.
"Good," Mark replied, sounding relieved. One corner of Geoff's mouth quirked in a kind of half smile. For all his foibles and issues, Mark truly wished the best for others. He resisted the urge to reach out and tousle the kid's hair; he knew that would not be interpreted well.
"Now listen, about the other thing. If you ever have something strange happen, something you can't explain." He paused, then added: "Something that's never happened before. I want you to come to me or Lou or Elisa right away, okay? Any time, day or night. You won't be in trouble for it, you have my word." He hated that it felt like he was talking to Mark like he was a small child, but he didn't know another way to deal with him. That was part of the reason he'd avoided doing so for as long as he did.
Mark nodded assent to this, his eyes bulging slightly. "I... okay." His tone was dubious. Geoff resisted the urge to roll his eyes or grab Mark's shoulders and shake him like a rag doll. He wasn't sure which one would be more satisfying.
"Listen." Geoff sat down on the bottom step going up to Laurell's deck, which put him a little lower than Mark's eye level. As someone who liked to manipulate that to his advantage going the other way, he knew that whether Mark realized it or not, it would have a subconscious effect on him. "I need you to understand something. Like, really, truly understand it. I will be the first to admit I don't understand your whole... situation." At that he made a vague gesture, encompassing Mark from head to toe. He felt no shame in admitting this to the other wolf – and he would have said the same to anyone (and in fact he had, several times, in private conversation with Lou). "But do you want to know the best part? I don't need to understand it to want to see you safe and out of harm's way. I'm your Fadirulf, and the wellbeing of my Ungrs is very, very personal to me. And that includes you." As he spoke the word "you", he reached out and poked Mark squarely in the chest to emphasize the point. "Do I make myself clear?"
"Y-yes," Mark stammered. "Yes, sir." The stammering didn't exactly inspire confidence, but as he saw a flicker of dim realization in Mark's eyes, he felt reasonably certain that the point was made. He'd probably have to make the same point another half dozen times for it to really sink in, but if that's what it took, it's what he'd do. It didn't cost him a dime to talk to somebody.
"You don't have to call me that. Sir. But..." He shrugged. "I ain't gonna stop you if you want to." Some pack leaders, especially Odrulfs, insisted on a very regimented and formal structure, but Geoff didn't have the patience to even bother trying to enforce something like that. Besides which, the very notion would be laughed into oblivion by Elisa, Lou, and the rest of them. Some would call that disrespectful, but Geoff truly didn't care. He valued their contribution to the pack much more than he valued the shallow, superficial ego-stroking that others in his position seemed to cherish.
He stood and started climbing the stairs onto the deck, beckoning Mark to follow him.
Mark didn't move at first, a troubled expression on his face. Geoff stopped, fighting the urge to sigh, but before he could say anything, the younger wolf spoke. "S... sir? Mr. Cooper? About the, um, the sleeping thing? The first night we were here... in the city, I mean, the day we flew in. When we were all getting breakfast that morning... Laurell, she... I noticed she looked tired." He stopped talking suddenly, wincing as if he expected the words to elicit anger from Geoff.
Geoff frowned. So much had happened since that morning, it was hard for him to imagine it had any relevance now, but he wasn't about to dissuade Mark if he was feeling talkative. He made a rolling gesture with his finger, indicating for Mark to continue.
"I asked if she slept okay."
"And did she?" Geoff walked back down the steps and stood on the pad.
Mark considered the question for a few seconds, then shook his head. "I don't remember exactly, but she seemed to think... it wasn't anything bad, you know? Like just... we had been traveling, it was a different bed, and I... I didn't really think much of it. I'm... I'm sorry for not saying anything sooner." Moisture stood out at the corner of his eyes. "Maybe if I did, Laurell wouldn't have... she'd be... fine." His voice was thick with emotion by the end.
Geoff's expression softened. It made him glad to see Mark's concern for his packmate, and the fact that he'd noticed something amiss was, for him, quite the achievement. He reached out and clapped Mark gently on the shoulder. "Honestly, buddy, if I was in your shoes I probably would have thought the same thing. You would have had no reason to think it would lead to anything like... this. Whatever this is."
Mark's relief was palpable. "I... okay. I'm... still, I'm sorry. I should have said something."
"It's in the past. Can't change it. All you can do is try to do better if something else comes up. Got it?" This time he waited for Mark to give a nod of assent, and then turned back to the stairs once more. "Come on, let's see what we'll see, shall we?" This time, Mark followed.
They didn't have to wait long to see what they'd see. The sliding door into the house was a total mess. There were two sets of doors, an inner door with double-hung glass for insulation, and a sceen door that could be used in warmer weather to allow a breeze without letting bugs in. The metal frame of the screen door had been bent so severely that it had popped out of its track and was leaning outward, part of the screen ripped free and hanging limply. The glass door had a large diagonal crack that stretched almost from corner to corner. It looked as though the door had been thrown open with incredible strength – the sort of strength a werewolf was more than capable of. It had rebounded off edge of the frame and bounced back about halfway back to being closed. By some miracle it stayed in its track, but it hung at an odd angle. He looked down and sure enough one set of the wheels that made its opening smoother had popped off from the force of... whatever had happened.
"Damn it," he muttered, more to himself than to Mark. "This is going to be a bitch to replace." He could tell just from looking that there would be no repairing it; the whole door had to be removed and a new one put in its place.
He stepped carefully through the opening, which was just wide enough to admit his form. He stepped aside to let Mark join him, glancing around the interior of the kitchen and the hallway beyond for any signs of disturbance or potential threat. Finding none, he turned back to the doorway, trying to reconstruct what had happened.
It didn't take long for him to piece together a plausible explanation. The area where the outer door was dented had a red smear, more pronounced on the section of screen which had been ripped free. His nose confirmed that it was blood, and upon closer inspection he could see small white flakes that must have been bits of Laurell's skin. Evidently, in her sleepwalking state, she slammed full tilt into the screen as she tried to get outside. If she was moving anywhere close to the speed of which a wolf was capable, that would have been more than enough to knock the door off its track and leave a section of her face embedded on the screen. Somehow she had enough wherewithal to slide the glass door open first instead of crashing through it (fortunately for her – she could have gotten much more seriously injured than she did). After that, she made her way to the grass where she eventually collapsed, to be found by Mark and Mystery.
They may never know what exactly happened, but that at least seemed to fit the facts as he knew them.
It also answered very little.
He turned to Mark, who was standing in the kitchen and making a very obvious effort not to look at the bloody smear left by Laurell's abortive passage through the screen door. Geoff knew he could smell the blood, but like so many other things that were just part of lycanthrope life, the sight of blood made him uncomfortable. He remarked again how fortunate it was that Mark couldn't remember what happened during the full moon. His lupine form had no such inhibition.
"Come on," Geoff said, moving into the hallway. "Let's check out the rest of the house."
"Okay," Mark said. He sounded relieved to be able to leave the kitchen.
Geoff didn't devote a lot of effort to investigating the other rooms, and only a small part of that was out of respect for Laurell's privacy. Lycanthropes spent much of their time in close proximity with people who could hear (and smell) nearly everything they did; at that point, "privacy" was more a social contract than an objective reality. The fact was, he fully expected the kitchen to hold the only noteworthy evidence, and he was correct. He ducked his head into Laurell's bedroom (at this, Mark balked, standing beside him in the upstairs hallway and looking incredibly uncomfortable) and found little out of place. The sheets and blankets on her bed were strewn about the floor as if she'd kicked them off before her sleepwalking episode, but Geoff didn't need to see that to understand what had happened. Otherwise, the rest of her duplex seemed undisturbed.
He decided, in the interest of not upsetting Mark any further, to exit via the front of the building and not back through the busted patio door. Just as with the rest of the house, everything seemed to be in order, nothing overturned or disturbed. He unlocked the deadbolt and opened the front door, stepping out. "Come on, let's go check on Laurell."
––––––––
PHYSICALLY, LAURELL was going to be fine. By the time Geoff and Mark returned from their investigation, there was already a noticeable improvement in the wounds on her face. Mentally, she was more agitated than the first time she'd been out sleepwalking, and Geoff really didn't blame her. It was unsettling for him, and so he couldn't imagine what it was like for her.
Geoff sat with Laurell for a time, not speaking unless she wanted to talk (she didn't). She was comforted by his mere proximity, and so he stayed close until she had calmed enough to drift back to sleep. She must not have gotten much rest the night before. They put her up in the second bedroom in their duplex, and Lou informed him that she'd be sleeping there until they could figure out what was going on. Geoff didn't argue, primarily because he thought it was a good idea. Laurell may have been strong enough to live on her own within the relative safety of the complex, but until they could get their arms around her nocturnal habits, she'd be staying close at hand.
He left Laurell to rest and went downstairs to sit with Lou in their kitchen. She was sitting at the table with a mug of coffee in hand. Mystery had left; he sent her and Mark back to their respective duplexes. Mark didn't live on his own – he had the spare bedroom in Blysse and Naomi's place. The rest of the pack, Geoff and Lou excepted, had been living in their own private duplex. They certainly had plenty of habitable buildings for such, but he was considering altering the living arrangements, at least temporarily. And not just because of what was happening with Laurell. He made a mental note to bring that up to Lou later. For now, there was more important business.
"Did she say anything to you while you were getting her settled in?" he asked Lou. He didn't sit, but rather leaned against the countertop, arms crossed.
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she took a protracted sip of her coffee, plainly procrastinating, before finally she set it down and sighed. "No. She doesn't remember anything, Geoffrey. This is... I don't know what it is, but it scares me." She looked up at him. "Did you guys see anything?"
He gave a small nod in answer to the question. "A bit. She apparently tried to walk through a screen door in her sleep. That's what happened to her face, I would bet. Other than that, though..." He shrugged. "Everything seemed to be normal."
Lou frowned at that but said nothing.
"What?" Geoff urged.
She shook her head. "I don’t know." She made a face at herself. "I do know. I kind of wish you'd found something. Anything to explain all this..." She gestured vaguely in the direction of the front door, and beyond it, Laurell's duplex.
Geoff grunted. "Yeah. This whole 'having more questions than answers' thing is really starting to piss me off."