[Part 12]



   Someone had once told me that there were several stages of grief
 you went through when you learned of some terrible news. I knew denial
 was one of the stages but I didn't know where it fell in the order of
 things. Nor did I care either, all I knew was that there just could
 not be any way that this stupid box of wires was telling me that the
 male who'd I'd thought I would finally be the one to be perfect for me
 was now missing and presumed dead! But there it was, homing in on the
 scene of the truck, still smashed through the side of the bridge, it's
 cab hanging out over the bridge and the driver's side door hung
 open...

  It was a rare and unlikely occurrance for a person to turn up alive
 after being thrown from a truck and landing in the rushing waters of a
 river. Especially after several severe storms having occurred earlier
 to fuel that raging river. A normal human would perish within minutes
 even if they survived the fall. But one thing I knew that was not
 public knowledge was that judging by the kind of truck that was, the
 driver was not a normal human, but in fact, a Were... like myself.

  Morise had come over, paying me a visit and right off our time
  together only seemed to mirror the extraordinary lives we led. We'd
  both learned rather painfully that we each were Weres during the
 night and numerous, uncanny events had transpired to forge a rough and
 rugged bond between us that although it lacked the test of timed
 endurance, was growing as solidly as any paired animals' bond came
 about. There would be no denying that although we both retained the
 freedom to explore and experiment that single males relished, we, and
 anyone with even the slightest awareness of such matters would
 recognize that male who had himself a steady mate would see.

   I knew that Morise would have survived the fall and rapids of the
 river even if he were a werewolf like me, but Morise was a Were of an
 even sturdier phenotype. One that made me presume that his survival
 was all the more promising because Morise was a werebear! And as large
 as I may become in my own werewolf form, Morise still nearly doubled
 my height and was definately more than twice my weight!. A dunking
 like that would be about as problematic for him as a bird landing in a
 birdbath!

  I shook away my fears and tried to busy myself with cleaning up the
 mess I'd made, chiding myself that such news had caused such a
 reaction in me when I should have known better. I got up from the
 couch and wheeled off a few sheets of paper towels and made my way 
back to the living room, kneeling with my back to the ridiculous and 
offending television for trying to psyche me out of my new-found 
happiness. Kneeling before the darkened stain that lay on the carpet I
 began sopping up the stain as much as possible while the news program
 continued to replay and update itself over the recent events that
 concerned 'my neighborhood and the world around me' with disintrest.

  Finally satisfied (or rather with resigned contentment) that I'd 
gotten the offending stain as cleaned up as I could I got up, wadding
 the soiled paper towels into a crumpled handful and made my way to the
 small kitchen area of my little apartment to toss the mess in the can,
 having brought along my empty glass with the purpose of refilling my
 beverage. The floor on this part was tiled was kitchens and bathrooms
 in such complexes usually tend to be and my bare feet registered the
 cold, hard floor as I poured more juice into my glass.

  I'd woken from a nightmare to find Morise had already gone, the dream
 so vivid that I'd transformed into were-form and my subsequent worry
 over the newscast having kept me in that form but as I'd reassured
 myself and made myself busy I had begun to revert back to human form,
 most of my body-fur receeding and diminishing until I looked more like
 one of the dreamy hirsute males that I'd always lusted after while my
 more wolfish attributed were beginning to revert back into more human
 proportions. But my hearing was still a bit keen and there was still
 enough mobility in my ears when I caught the last portion of the
 newscast...


  "...ody of the truck-driver has been recovered but there was nothing
 that could be done for him... He'd been submerged for too long before
 rescuers had gotten to him... Speculation on the matter suggests that
 he must've been knocked unconscious by the force of his collision with
 the gaurdrail and was thus in no condition to survive either the fall
 or the water..."


  This time there was no carpetted savior to rescue the glass or the
 carton as they shattered and clattered upon impact with the floor,
 spilling their contents all over.


 
 [To be continued...]