Vidar

The humiliation of a cancelled wedding does not fade easily. Rob left town a day before we were meant to stand at the altar, leaving only a text message stating he was already married. No explanation. No forwarding address. Just a void where my life used to be. According to my sister Ersa, who was his assistant at Dr. Vols Vet Clinic, Rob was always an enigma. The clinic staff knew nothing of his personal life but his manners had blinded me completely. When Ersa refused to breach clinic policy to give me his file, desperation took over. I stole her keys during Sunday dinner. At 1:00 AM, I was at the clinic. I found the desk computer & opened the employee records. Then, the front lock clicked. I killed the monitor, dropping to the floor as the door slid open. Drained of color, I crawled blindly on my hands & knees, my chest tight with a sudden panic attack. Footsteps neared, then stopped. A phone buzzed in the corridor. Dr. Vols muttered something & walked back outside. Shaking, I stood up & ducked into the restricted back lab, locking the door. In the pitch black, a low, guttural growl made my blood run cold. Two amber eyes glowed in the dark. I raised my phone screen. On the floor sat a heavy cage. Inside was a man. He bore a human figure but when he swifted a thick, canine tail swept the floor. My phone vibrated with 35 missed calls from Ersa. I called my mother having left without options. By dawn, the mess was temporarily managed. Mom, practical & ruthless, hacked the clinic server, wiped the security footage & casually returned the keys to Ersa with a story about a mix up. Now, the man sat in our kitchen, his files naming him Vidar. Mom & I were standing over him, arguing loudly about the sheer insanity of the situation.  A heavy growl cut through our bickering. We turned. The nylon restraints lay severed on the floor. Vidar leaned back in the chair, completely free, watching us with a cold, amused smile.