Ambrose ran all the way to the train depot at the far end of town. He burst into the building and rushed over to the desk. “I need a ticket to Pinkerlee.”
The man behind the desk gave him a lackluster look that said more than words just how much he didn’t care.
Ambrose banged his fists on the counter. “I need it NOW!”
“See? That’s what’s wrong with the whole world today. Everyone wants what they want right now. No one believes in waiting in line. Waiting at red lights. Waiting—”
“I’m sure you’re building up to a very important point, but I need to get to Pinkerlee.”
“See? If you’d just let me finish my well-thought out screed, you’d find out that you just missed the last night train to Pinkerlee.”
“Yep. Train left forty-five minutes ago. No other trains headin’ out that way. Now, there is a train going to Columbus.”
Ambrose glared at him. “Columbus is nowhere near Pinkerlee.”
“Hmn. True that.”
“Forget it. I’ll walk.”
“See? What did I tell you? No one wants to wait for anything nowadays. Why, when I was a lad, I had to wait for stuff all the time. It was good for me. It built my character into the man I am today. And you know? Darn it! I love waiting for stuff! It’s…”
Ambrose had heard more than enough of his happy waiting spiel. He turned his back to the man and left the depot.
So, now what?
Not likely to be any buses running this late at night.
Taxi would be too expensive.
His pupils widened.
I have problems enough behaving when I’m in a car with Barbara. If I were with Elsie, I can’t even guess what I would do.
No, actually I can guess.
I don’t want to face that temptation.
Arrgh! I’m wasting too much time.
I need to just go.
He ran alongside the train tracks leading away from Havaton.
Please, God. Please. Keep my Barbara safe.
As he approached Pinkerlee, Ambrose found it harder and harder to breathe. And not because he was out of breath.
What am I going to see when I get there?
Will she be home?
Will she be safe?
Will my Barbara be safe?
What if she isn’t?
What will I do?
What if she’s hurt?
What if he’s hurt her?
The plaintive wail of a lone werewolf sang out in the air.
Ambrose tripped over a trestle and fell hard on his hands and knees. He bowed his head.
He felt too upset and worked up to actually cry.
I’m too late.
I’m too late.
I don’t care.
I can’t stop.
Need to get home.
Need to see her.
Need to just hold her in my arms.
Need to go.
He stood and ran all the way back to Pinkerlee.