text: Rain had seeped through the seals of the Cadillac convertible and forced her off the road. Darcy hadn’t correctly closed the convertible top on the new 1970 Coupe Deville as she left fled the restaurant. Who could’ve, given what happened? She’d thought the first pitter-patter of rain onto her lap was the universe’s way of mocking the tears sliding down her cheeks, but as the trickle swelled into a downpour, she realized even God himself had it out for her tonight. He must’ve taken pleasure in making her suffer. In a matter of minutes, he’d ruined her engagement, her makeup, and her new chinchilla wrap. She decided not to wait out the storm in her sodden car. The choice between sitting in a puddle in her car versus making a short dash through the rain to shelter under a bridge was an easy one. With her wrap held over her head, doubling as her umbrella, she threw open the Cadillac’s door and sprinted--as fast as one could in heels--to the bridge. A wolf howl echoed through the night and, although the howl sounded somewhat distant, it made her hurry her feet even faster. When she reached the sloped wall beneath the bridge, she collapsed onto it in an exhausted heap. She breathed a deep, steadying breath and took a moment’s inventory of herself. She was drier than expected, a plus. One heel had snapped off in the mud, which was fine, as she planned to toss tonight’s wardrobe in the furnace. She wanted to burn tonight from her memory, clothes and all. She was hungry, too, having only had half a martini at dinner before tossing the rest in Rob’s face. A gust of October wind whipped under the bridge, chilling the wet skin beneath her sequined minidress. A potent scent of urine and grime--a scent she associated with homelessness--wafted by her and she sat upright, realizing she was not alone. An unkempt man sat not ten feet away from her, a blue tarp wrapped around him like a blanket. He eyed her with equal parts curiosity and lasciviousness. His leer made her shiver a second time. The dim red lights under the bridge, meant to illuminate the space for passing trains, emitted just enough brightness for her to notice a carcass, something like a rat or a rabbit, beside the man. And along with that sat a rusty knife. The killing blade. “Always nice to have company,” the man said in greeting. “I’m waiting for the storm to pass,” Darcy replied. “Oh, it’s no trouble,” he said, as if he were the polite host of some dinner soiree. “Not often I get to talk with pretty girls.” “Thank you,” she said, his words giving her the creeps. Hopefully her curt smile would end the conversation. It didn’t. “How old are you, sweetheart?” he asked, leering again. “Twenty-five,” she lied. It sounded like a less sexy age than her 20. “You a virgin?” His eyes glowed amber in the light. Darcy’s stomach clenched as if she’d been punched in the gut. Fear swam through her, cold and fast. On another night she might’ve shouted at him, maybe even found a rock to throw his direction. But she was all fought out tonight. She’d had it out with Rob in the middle of Emilio’s Trattoria for all of the Hollywood muckety-mucks to see. Her adrenaline was spent and her fighting spirit fried. “That’s not a polite question,” she said, mustering her defense. “You’re right,” he said, slapping his forehead. “As I said, I don’t often meet pretty girls down here. I forgot my manners. Are you a model?” “Actress.” “Not a famous one,” the man cackled. “Never seen you on any billboards.” “Not yet,” she said, “but I will be.” “Oh yeah?” “Yeah,” she said, projecting as much confidence as she could. The man’s questioning frightened her. It made her feel anonymous and forgettable, like someone who could be easily disappeared. Like a victim. She decided to put some space between her and the man, and invented a story to keep him away. “Look, if you don’t mind, I’m just going to wait over here until my boyfriend arrives.” “Your boyfriend, huh?” “Yes, my boyfriend.” “Lucky guy,” he said, gaps in his teeth showing as he grinned. “He know you’re here?” “I- I called him. From a payphone.” “Sure, sure,” the man said, nodding. “Not a payphone around here, but hey, if you said you called him, you called him.” “I did.” The man gave an exaggerated shrug. Darcy turned away, ignoring him, but glanced back a few seconds later to see if he’d received the message. He apparently had, minding his own business, but the rusty knife was nowhere to be seen. A second howl pierced the night, this time louder. Darcy considered returning to the car, but chose to stay put, assuming the cabin would’ve been flooded by now. She prayed for the storm--no, the night--to end. She’d started the night aglow, eager to see her fiancé, Rob, after a week apart. Handsome and square-jawed, he’d taken her in his arms when they met up at the restaurant. He twirled them both around, planting a gentle kiss on her lips as the spin ended. He even brought flowers. He’d ordered her a glass of wine for her and two-fingers of scotch for himself, then regaled her with stories of life as a Hollywood agent in New York City. She’d never been. The only America she’d seen was her home state of Indiana, Los Angeles, and the bus stops in between. Darcy noticed the first crack in his story right after their appetizers arrived. Rob slipped and said, “When I got back on Thursday-” “I thought you got home today,” Darcy interrupted. “Friday.” “Sorry,” he said, slapping his forehead like the homeless man had, “been a long week.” Darcy assured him it was no problem. Everyone’s brain got a little fuzzy after all that travel, she rationalized. She waited until his steak arrived before she asked him the question that’d been burning in her lungs all night: “So did you tell Marty about me?” Rob chewed his steak a few too many times for her liking. She’d waited a week to hear whether he’d told the Broadway producer about her. Marty was casting a new show, and Rob was supposed to offer her up as a leading lady. “I did, yeah,” he said, his eyes fixed on his steak. His knife splashed the steak’s juices on the white tablecloth as it sawed through the meat. “But he’d already cast the part.” Darcy’s chest tightened. Sadness, anger, depression--the cocktail of emotions crushed her lungs and squeezed the air from her. “You said you’d-” she began. “I know, babe, I’m sorry.” He returned to cutting his steak, something which shouldn’t have required nearly so much attention. Darcy’s brain began to put together the pieces. “You met with him on Monday, didn’t you?” she asked. “Yeah, straight from the airport.” “If he’d already cast the part, then why did you stay all week?” “I think you’ve got the schedule mixed up,” Rob told her. “I’m sure I do,” she said, hoping her words of sincerity sounded like anything but. “We had to stick around and do all the negotiations. You know how it is.” “So one of your other actresses got the part?” Rob winced as he swallowed a large hunk of steak. “Yeah.” “But not me.” “No, babe, I’m sorr-” “So who then?” Darcy’s chicken cutlet had gotten cold by now, untouched during her interrogation of Rob. “Uh, Katherine Cane,” Rob mumbled. “You- she- You represent her?!” Darcy demanded, yanking the napkin from her lap and slamming on the table. Her cutlery jingled, a chime alerting other tables to halt their conversation and stare. “Yeah,” Rob said, shaking his head like this was no big deal, “she needed a new agent, so she called me.” “She called you, her ex-boyfriend?” Darcy spat. “I’m an agent, aren’t I?” “And you got her the part?” “It’s not like it was my choice. I’m not the director. You know I would’ve picked you.” “I assume you’ve told her?” “About us? Of course. I’m a one-woman guy.” “No, about the part.” “Yeah,” Rob scoffed, “I told her when I got back last night.” He froze as soon as he said it. Maybe the week’s worth of travel fatigue really had caught up to him. Either way, the words were out of his mouth and they couldn’t be unsaid. Darcy tried her best to stay stoic, raising her chin high and pursing her lips. “Are you screwing her?” Darcy said, seething. “C’mon, babe,” Rob said, reaching for her hand. She pulled it off the table. “Are. You. Screwing her?!” Darcy said, her temper getting the better of her. She stood, and now she had the attention of everyone in the restaurant. “Calm down, Darce!” The rest of the conversation was a blur of insults and slander, ending with Darcy leaving and Rob saying--gesturing around the room--that no Hollywood producer will hire a dumb farm girl like her if she doesn’t turn around. When she didn’t, he grabbed her by the arm, spun her to face him, and slapped her hard across the cheek. That was when she threw her drink in his face and fled the restaurant. The valet hadn’t even asked for a tip when he returned her car, nor had he dared interrupt her as she battled to put on the convertible’s top. It wasn’t even her Cadillac. It was his. She took it because it was the only thing he really loved, aside from Katherine Cane, apparently. She’d so convincingly demanded the car from the valet that the teen didn’t ask her to prove it. That was also why she couldn’t figure out the top: She’d never done put it on before. Her flight from Emilio’s had felt like a lifetime ago. Now she was here, huddled beneath a bridge, quaking with cold and fear, only feet away from a threatening man. That was when she saw it: a massive hound, scrawny and long like a malnourished greyhound, its patchy fur matted to its back by the rain, with eyes as red as the Devil himself. Long fangs protruded from its mouth. Darcy froze, not from the cold, but from mortal terror. Something in her reptilian brain told her that this dog, whatever it was, was something unreal, something primordial. It shouldn’t exist, but yet it did. It was standing right before her. A werewolf? Surely not. It was just another dog. It had to be. The dog eyed her and the homeless man, then growled at latter. The man scooted up the wall away from the dog, extracting the knife from his pocket as he did. He rattled the weapon at the animal, but it stood its ground. When it turned its eyes--those unnatural amber eyes--toward Darcy, her fear of the animal dissipated. It was as if she knew it was protecting her, warning off the man and marking her as under its protection. The man must’ve sensed it too, as he scurried away toward the far corner of the bridge. The dog huffed the air, turned, and strode back into the rain. Darcy knew she had to follow it. Not just because she feared what the man might do to her if she stayed, but because... Because why? She couldn’t exactly tell why. She just knew she had to, as if compelled. Maybe it was her reptilian brain talking again, this time telling her to follow the dog because animals always know where to find safety. Like how the hunters back in Indiana said that, should she ever get lost, she could follow animals to a source of clean water. Or maybe something in the dog’s eyes had commanded her to. A silly thought, for sure, but Darcy didn’t find it altogether unreasonable. The dog had protected her after all, hadn’t it? The chinchilla wrap held above her head again, she followed the dog from under to bridge and into the storm. They must’ve walked a solid five, ten, twenty minutes before crossing through a copse and happening upon a large, overgrown manor. Darcy didn’t know architecture, but knew the three-story manor must’ve been expensive, or had been until it fell into disrepair. The brown beams sagged with age and the white paint had chipped away in places. She couldn’t spot a driveway in the darkness, nor did she see any egress to the rest of civilization. If she didn’t know better, this house was isolated from the outside world. The dog had disappeared by the time her eyes stopped scanning for the driveway. All she could see now was firelight bobbing and flickering through one of the manor’s windows. She approached a side door, something like a butler’s entrance, nearest the window and knocked. No answer. She knocked again and this time the door creaked open under the pressure of her knuckles. Unwilling to continue standing in the rain, she entered. “Hello?” she called, peering around a corner into the room with the firelight. A man, lanky and gaunt, stood warming himself by a fire in the mantle. He turned upon hearing her voice. “Hello to you too,” he said, seemingly as amused to have a visitor as he was surprised. He wore all black, an outfit that, like the manor, may have once been expensive but now looked faded and worn. A high collar climbed up his neck, a look which elongated his high, pale face. “I don’t mean to intrude, but I was stuck in the storm and-” “You look absolutely frozen. Come warm up.” He pointed to the fire and stepped aside. Darcy, teeth chattering, followed his direction. “I’m really sorry,” Darcy said, but again the man waved her off. “What would you have me do? Throw you back out in the rain? Please. Be my guest. Let me fix something up for you.” He walked to the nearby cabinets and scrounged through them in search of food. The warmth of the fire tickled Darcy’s toes and relaxed her, but after her experience with the man under the bridge, she kept a wary gaze on the new man in her peripheral vision. He must’ve noticed because he said, “If you’d like to dry off, there are towels in the bathroom.” He pointed to a nearby door and added, “The door locks, if that’ll make you feel more comfortable.” It did. By the time Darcy dried herself and returned to the small butler’s kitchen, the man had arranged a plate of salted meats, cheeses, and grapes for her. Not the fanciest charcuterie board she’d seen in Hollywood, but at this moment it looked better than any of them. “Dig in,” he told her. She didn’t need a second telling. She shoveled food into her mouth while the man watched her in friendly silence. “I’m Darcy, by the way,” she said. “I followed your dog here.” “He does have a tendency to bring home strays,” he said, winking at her. She laughed. “He looked like he could use a few steak dinners. I grew up on a farm,” she said, swallowing a mouthful of prosciutto, “and I’ve never seen a dog so skinny.” “I’ll keep that in mind.” “Is this your home?” “It is. I apologize for its condition. It’s hard to do what I do these days. To be what I am.” “And what’s that?” The man pondered the question for a moment before saying, “Are you an actress?” “How’d you know?” “That’s my job: I hunt for talent. Are you finished?” Darcy nodded, and the man laid the empty plate in the sink. “Aren’t you going to eat?” Darcy asked. “In a few minutes. I like to build up an appetite,” he said, smiling. “You must’ve had a rough night to end up out here.” “You can say that again.” “Car trouble?” “Car trouble. Boy trouble. Everything trouble.” “Well relax, kick your feet up,” he said, indicating a nearby chair, “and let all that frustration go. It’s bad for your bones.” She took the chair, but cocked a sideways grin at him as she did. “Bad for your bones?” she asked. “Never heard that one before.” “It’s an original. And it’s true. I’ve had plenty of experience.” “With bones?” she said, comfort overtaking her. Dizziness smoldered in her brain, which she attributed to the food and firelight. “Frustration taints them. You can taste the difference.” “How often,” Darcy said, yawning, “do you eat bones?” “More often than you’d think, but not often enough.” He pointed at his chest. “You called me the skinniest dog you’ve ever seen.” “I called your dog the skinniest dog I’ve ever seen,” Darcy clarified. She tried to roll her eyes at the man, but they refused to move. She was tired, and she knew she was tired, but she’d never heard of someone losing control of their eyes due to exhaustion. “Calm down,” he told her, as if sensing her rising panic. “Remember what I said about frustration.” None of his words could possibly have quelled the fear building inside her. She could feel the blood pumping through her veins. It beat a tattoo in her brain. The dizziness swirled her vision, and she would’ve vomited if the paralysis hadn’t prevented her from doing so. “What did you do to me?” she mumbled, her eyes struggling to stay open. “I just needed a place to stay dry.” “And I,” he said, crossing the room to kneel before her and look into her eyes, “just needed breakfast.”