‘This is not her handiwork’ the driver said to himself for what must’ve been the thousandth time tonight. A massive winter storm system of ice, snow and gale force winds was stretching from Cape Breton to Michigan’s upper peninsula- and here he was in the thick of it, trying to keep one of the state’s highways open with metal on asphalt and thousands of pounds of silica and salt slowly draining from the dump body behind him.
Tonight’s storm had an especially harsher and far more unforgiving edge to it. Her handiwork had a seemingly more personal and almost warmer touch to them.
It was basically the difference between a snow day from school and the snows that trapped the Donner Party.
“My Predecessor?” I inquired.
“Hai!” she returned, and then leaned over to whisper into my ear, “Food Poisoning.” She said in the quietest of whispers. I gasped involuntarily.
“He is still on Emergency Matrimonial Leave,” she continued, “and I expect him to remain in that status, until such time as his wife feels that he can be trusted out of her sight.”
The wolf-girl still looked fairly young, but not so young that I felt the need to ask if I should call her parents or admonish her that it’s a school night.
For some reason, I somehow knew that this bluster and bravado about attacking and raping me after breaking in was just that- all talk.
“All right- so now that you’re here, what do you think is going to happen?” I ask.