“Maybe…Maybe it’s a trick of the light. It is dark out. Maybe.”
He approached the house.
And it was clearly dead.
He closed his eyes and searched for any trace of her scent.
He smelled Virginia creeper and dirt and stale ash and charred materials.
And a thin thread of lily of the valley and musk.
Ambrose opened his eyes and marched into the burned out structure. He bared his claws and dug through the weeds and vines and rubble.
If she’s here, there must be some trace. Some small piece. Some proof. I need to find it. I need to know. Elsie.
His chest hurt and it was hard for him to breathe.
Elsie. Please don’t be here. Be somewhere else.
What if she is somewhere else?
He pulled out his cellphone, turned it on, and went into his Contact list. He tapped her name and pressed Call Now.
Ambrose held the phone to his ear and listened to it ring.
“Pick up. Pick up. Elsie, please pick up.”
The bored, unenthusiastic woman said, “I’m sorry, but this is no longer a working number. Good-bye.”
He slammed the phone on the ground. “WHAT THE HECK DOES THAT MEAN?” He sat back on his feet. “And what do I do now?”
Ambrose cleaned the dirt off his phone and put it back in his slacks pocket.
He contemplated the ruins.
“I need to know.”