Hair in All The Wrong Places (12 page)

Something however was missing. Focusing on the grave, he breathed in heavily through his nose. Roses. Polish. Wood. Dirt. Cloth. Water. Nothing else. He couldn't smell the body. Colin opened his eyes and looked around. There was the faint silhouette of Gareth, but he was a long way away, past the edge of the cemetery. Colin looked toward the cemetery entrance to see the last car leaving the parking lot.

What am I thinking? I can't! But I have to know!

Colin took a last glance around and dropped into the grave, landing on top of the coffin. He put his legs to either side and pulled open the coffin lid.

Empty!

The body of Sam Bale was missing.

L
ater that night, Colin sat in his room with a notepad and wrote down everything that had happened to him. As he did so, he realized his thought process was also improving. He was an average student and never really excelled at anything, but since being bitten, he found he could think faster, or maybe just clearer, as his earlier conversation with Becca had shown.

So far, he'd filled ten pages with messy notes detailing what he remembered of getting bitten and that first night. Next came the timeline of events. The first time his senses had emerged. His hair growth. When his muscles started to appear. The hallucinations, the blackouts, the dreams. He noticed there was a real wave effect to everything. Painful changes would occur followed by a noticeable, increased strength in that area. He detailed the meaning of different smells. Recalling the biology lesson on
pheromones, Colin concluded that it wasn't just odors he smelled but also pheromones! That would explain why he could read emotions.

The most painful part was lining his timeline of events up with the murder of Sam Bale. There was absolutely no way he could recall where he had been when Sam was killed. If Silas was correct, then he had been in full-on wolf mode, his body reacting to the initial bite. All he clearly remembered was stalking, killing, and eating a deer.

Colin's stomach lurched but not in a sick-sort of way. He was hungry again. After he'd found Sam's coffin to be empty, he'd continued with his original plan and stopped by the store to get shaving supplies. On impulse, he bought two full bags of snack food. So far he'd consumed all the chips, granola bars, and beef jerky. The thought of eating that deer sickened him but also made him drool a little.

Shake it off, Colin! Where am I going to find a deer at this time of night? It's not like I can order take-out.

He'd also started making a list of suspects. Sadly, his own name was at the top. Other suspects included the mystery floating man from the alley, Silas Baxter, Gareth Dugan, Mr. Emerson, and any one of the black-suited people intent on capturing Silas. Not knowing where else to start, he decided he would ask Becca about her father tomorrow at school. He didn't want to push her for information, but he had to know. There was a killer on the loose, and he had to figure out who it was. Even if it turned out to be himself.

Before bed, Colin shaved for the first time in his
entire life. It took him an hour. Partially because he'd never done it before and partially because the hair was so thick. He suspected he'd have to shave again in the morning and had already planned to wear baggy clothing to help cover his new physique.

Colin stripped down to his underwear and began sniffing everything in his room to ensure he got a good night sleep. Not even attempting to sleep like a normal person, he just curled into a ball on top of his covers and drifted off. He thought he could faintly hear Silas's voice, but Colin was too tired to acknowledge it.

Sleep well, wolf-pup.

The alarm didn't even get a chance to go off at 6:00 a.m. Colin's stomach had already woken him up at 5:30 a.m. demanding to be fed. He had quietly slipped downstairs, defrosted a steak, and eaten the whole thing without cooking it. Two bowls of cornflakes, a glass of juice, and six pieces of toast later, and Colin finally felt full. He made his way to the bathroom, stopping as he caught his reflection. “Hair,” said Colin, which proved to be a bit of an understatement.

His dark hair was no longer straggly; it was fuller, richer, like he'd stepped out of a high-priced shampoo commercial. The beard he had shaved the night before had already grown back. It was short, but a beard nonetheless. His forearms, legs, and chest were now
showing signs of hair growth, but that wasn't nearly as impressive as his muscle development. Colin bordered on skeletal just a few days ago. Now he could pass for an athlete. The muscles weren't bulky, but they were defined.

I have a six-pack!

With everything going on, Colin knew that he shouldn't feel any joy at all in what was happening. He might be a murderer. But—

I look amazing!

As an unwanted, unloved teenager with the skin complexion of a hobo and the body mass of an under-fed stick insect, it was impossible for Colin not to find joy in this change.

Colin shaved, showered, and then dressed in the baggiest clothing he owned. He packed his notepad and—

Bacon!

The enticing aroma of cooking bacon hit him, and his stomach suddenly felt less full. Leaping from the top of the stairs and landing lightly at the bottom, Colin was in the kitchen before he'd even decided to leave his bedroom.

His grandmother was frying a pan of bacon, and the smell was intoxicating. A year ago, Colin would have been trying to figure out how a blind old lady was able to cook, but he'd since stopped worrying about it and accepted that his grandmother was more than able to do things. Blind or not.

“What do you want?” asked his grandmother.

“Could I have some of that?” said Colin, his mouth watering.

“Over a year you've lived here and you've never asked
me to make you breakfast,” stated his grandmother. She didn't sound angry, she sounded more surprised.

“I always assumed you wouldn't want to.”

She let out a sharp laugh. “Well this is just a week for surprises, isn't it?”

Colin gratefully accepted a plate piled high with over half the bacon from the pan. He sat at the small table and started to devour it. “Thank you,” said Colin between bites.

The old woman plated her own food and sat across from Colin. “Something's happened to you, boy.”

Silas's advice of keeping a low profile rang through his head. Interacting with his grandmother was definitely out of the ordinary. “Probably just, uh, a growth spurt?”

His grandmother's eyes narrowed. “Not just the food, there's something else. This gallivanting around at night with strange girls. Watch out for that Emerson girl, she can raise hell!”

“I … it's … well—”

“Can it! Over a year you've been here. Barely any friends, nothing special about you at all, and all of a sudden you're eating like a horse, talking back to me, and hanging out with a girl. And you look different too!”

“Grandma, you're blind.”

“Not so blind that I don't see what's going on in my own town. You mark my words, boy! You be careful. Elkwood is a fragile town. We all do our part. You be careful you don't break it.”

“I have to go.” Colin left the table and headed down the hallway.

“Colin,” said his grandmother, “I'll be watching you.”

Colin headed out the front door.

Well that was creepy and uncomfortable.

The fog was thick as Colin started his trek to school. He was tempted to run, to feel the wind in his face; he could be at school in less than five minutes. But the conversation with his grandmother had shaken him and running at inhuman speeds through town, even with the fog, would likely raise suspicion. Colin couldn't figure out whether his grandmother knew something or if she was just essentially unsettling. Maybe it was both?

Colin walked past the cemetery on his way to school and saw that Sam's empty casket was now buried.

Colin passed kind, old Mrs. Flipple walking her yappy dog, Jinx, who took one look at Colin and bolted, ripping the leash out of Mrs. Flipple's hands.

“Yipe! yipe! yipe! yipe!” was all that could be heard from Jinx as he vanished into the fog followed by a shuffling Mrs. Flipple.

“Come back here, Jinxy! What's gotten into you?” called Mrs. Flipple.

Colin smiled.

Yappy mutt.

When Colin arrived, the imposing figure of Principal Hebert guarded the school steps as usual. The schoolyard was busy this morning as students gathered, whispering about Sam Bale's mysterious death. Colin's ears picked up everything.

“I heard that it was a mountain lion.”

“—human sacrifice—”

“—drug problem—”

“Gareth Dugan killed him over a candy bar.”

“—people visited the crime scene.”

“Principal Hebert did it because Sam never turned his homework in on time.”

“—a genetically altered goat, bred by the government as a covert killing machine got loose and—”

“The police came to my house on Saturday.”

“—hear a gunshot on Friday?”

“Do you think it'll happen again?

“Who will be next?”

“Mr. Strauss,” boomed the deep baritone voice of Principal Hebert.

Colin found himself standing in front of the imposing figure. “Oh, hello, Principal Hebert.”

“It's nice to see you on time for once.”

“Yes, I made a special effort this morning.”

My stomach alarm went off.

“Let's try to make it a habit, shall we?”

“I'll work on that, sir.”

“See that you do.”

Colin entered the school and grabbed some books from his locker, immediately picking up two familiar scents. One made his heart skip a beat, the other made him feel a little ill. Down the hallway, Becca was opening her locker when Gareth Dugan approached her. Even with all the kids in the hallway, Colin could pick up their voices clearly.

“Becca,” said Gareth.

“Hi, Gareth. How are you feeling?”

Colin watched as Gareth rubbed his shoulder.

“It feels cold sometimes, but otherwise I'm fine.”

“That'll happen for a while. You're lucky it wasn't worse.”

“Yeah, well. I just wanted to … uh … say, um, thanks. I don't fully remember everything but I … well, thanks.”

Becca smiled politely as Gareth turned and walked away.

What was that about?

The first period bell rang, and Colin felt like someone was trying to pull his brain out through his ears. He crouched down and covered his ears until the ringing stopped. When he stood up, Becca was next to him, concern painted across her face. She smelled good.

“Hi, Colin, you okay?”

“Becca, hey. Yeah, just a headache.”

“What did you do to your hair?”

Colin's hoodie had slipped off. He must look strange. “Oh, that. It's a, uh, new shampoo. Natural ingredients adds a, uh, lustrous shine.”

Becca smiled. “It looks good. Suits you. Come on. Winter will have our heads if we're late.”

Ugh, Monday morning biology. As if turning into a hairy killing machine wasn't enough!

As they walked into class, Colin's nose was hit with an overwhelming blast of strong aftershave. Like someone had bathed in it.

“Take your seats, take your seats!” barked Mr. Winter.

Colin could practically see vapors rising off Mr. Winter. He was the one wearing the aftershave. A gallon of it. It made Colin's head swim. Had he always worn so much? It was highly likely and Colin had just never noticed before. Now, thanks to his super sense of smell, it was impossible to ignore. It was like being slapped in the nostrils over and over again.

Colin and Becca took their usual seats. Jeremy looking as spritely as ever.

“Hey, Col. How was the weekend? Did you hear that someone went out to the crime scene?”

“Oh yeah? Was that you?”

Jeremy looked disappointed. “No, couldn't convince anyone to go with me. But apparently there was a gunshot out there on Friday night.”

“I heard something about that. But you know me, stayed home all weekend.”

“What do you think of Winter's new do?”

“What?”

Looking at Mr. Winter, Colin realized the grumpy old teacher had shaved his head.

“He's gone full militant!” said Jeremy, stifling a laugh.

Wondering what else he hadn't noticed, Colin looked around the class.

Gareth and Kevin were in their same old spots, but they both looked tired, and Colin could smell their depression.

Nothing like one of your friends being killed to take the fun out of bullying people.

The goth twins were absent.

Tori wasn't here yet either, but she was often late. When you're gorgeous, you can get away with pretty much anything.

“Principal Hebert,” said Mr. Winter, “has asked me to remind you all that a grief counselor will be available all this week if anyone wants to talk about the unfortunate passing of our friend Mr. Bale. I for one will miss Mr. Bale's inability to hand in even one piece of homework on time.”