Erin and Sinclair sat across from each other in the meeting room, sifting through the pile of paperwork between them.  The coffee maker, which joined the meeting after batch two, burbled with the fourth pot of coffee.  Sinclair put the finishing details of Alex Stanton’s case in the report, signed it, set it aside, grabbed another packet off the pile, and wrote Jericho Khalid at the top.

Eden knocked on the door before peeking inside.  “Sheriff, phone for you.”

Sinclair set down his pen.  “From who?”

“Um, an Ophelia?”

Sinclair stood up from the wobbly folding table, the aluminum legs quivering.  Erin cursed as her pen slipped on the paper.  “Transfer it to my office,” he told Eden and added after he noted her confused expression, “that’s my sister.”

A look of surprise flashed across Eden’s face as he rushed past her.

He closed the office door behind him and picked up the phone.  “Ophie?”

“Clair, thank God!” She let out a breath on the other end of the line, “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for ages!  You’ll never believe the shit mom and dad tried to pull.”

“Yeah, I meant to send you a letter with my new address and number but it’s been crazy down here.  Can the gossip wait, or is it real pressing?” Sinclair rubbed his eyes, the dark office triggering the urge to take just a small nap.

“I really, really wish it could,” her voice dropped to a hiss.  A motorcycle roared by in the background.

Sinclair straightened up.  “Ophelia, where are you?”

“A pay phone in St. Louis, listen, Clair --”

“Ophelia, what did you do?” Sinclair demanded.

“Nothing!  Nothing, I -- Clair, listen, they went through with it,” she explained.

He sat back and groaned.  “They didn’t.”

“He’s awful, Clair.  I had to leave,” her voice wavered with barely contained frustration, “I’m sorry I didn’t get ahold of you sooner.  I know you like some warning ‘fore company.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, taking the phone away from his face so he could curse under his breath.  One thing after another after another.  He put the phone back up to his ear.  “Are you safe?  You got enough money to get you to Cobalt Peak?”

“I’m taking a Greyhound to Flagstaff.”  The phone on the other end beeped, a warning of their time running low.

“Okay.  Hey Ophie, I’m going to give you Mattie’s home number.  Call me as soon as you stop and if you can’t reach me, call the station.  I have to get back to work, we’ll talk more when I’m home, okay?” Sinclair listed off his number twice.

“Got it,” Ophelia said, “Thanks, Clair.”

“I’ll talk to you soon.  Be safe, Ophie.” He spun in his desk chair, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I will, Clair.  I love you.” The phone beeped as she hung up.

“Love you too,” he said into the dead line before setting it down.  He wandered back into the meeting room with worry written deep in the lines of his face.

Erin glanced up at him.  “What’s wrong?”

He sat down and resumed his paperwork.  “Family troubles, nothing to worry ‘bout.”

Erin grunted and left it at that.

✴ ✴ ✴

Jericho poked at the Jello cup on his tray and adjusted the flimsy hospital gown around him.  His body still ached from a night in the rain, an IV pumping his body with saline to recover from dehydration.  Sometimes his vision swam when he stood up, but other than that he felt fine.  Ready to go home, escape the needles and concerned stares.  At least the man in the bed next to him didn’t look at him like an animal in the zoo.  He and Alex were in the same boat, after all.

“Hospital food, am I right?” Jericho looked over at Alex, reading a magazine his boyfriend had brought him.  He felt a pang of jealousy.

“Yeah, nasty shit,” he grinned, “you’d think they’d hire a decent chef, given how much our hospital bills are going to cost.”

“What’s your boyfriend’s name?” Jericho asked.

“He’s not my --” Alex cleared his throat and blushed, “his name’s Chris.”

“How’d you guys meet?”

Alex shrugged.  “Oh, you know.  The usual way,” he smiled despite himself, “It’s a really good story, actually.  I met Chris first in a gay bar in Phoenix.  During a police raid -- I was smashed, really off my ass on whatever people were willing to give me.  Pills, shots, powder, whatever.  He grabbed my arm in the middle of my sixth tequila shot and dragged me out to the back alley when the cops showed.  Didn’t even know who he was, but he cared enough to drag a stranger out of there.”

Jericho laughed. “That’s wild, did y’all get away from the cops?”

Alex nodded. “I know.  I had no idea who he was or why we were outside so I just started making out with him right there.  I think he was too surprised, didn’t stop me until the cops had lights on us.  He invited me out for dinner while we were both cooped up in the drunk tank,  his brother bailed us both out.”

Jericho wondered what that must be like, to have someone bail you out.  “So the cops got you in the end.”

Alex shrugged.  “Don’t they always?”

Jericho jabbed the jello with his plastic spoon.

“One thing led to another and he bought a cabin in Cobalt Peak, invited me to stay,” Alex continued, “I didn’t really have anywhere else to go, so I did.  Best decision I ever made.”  Alex grinned.

Jericho smiled with him.  “Would you marry him, if you could?”

Alex nodded.  “I’d find a way, if he asked.  I never thought I’d be so lucky.”

“You’re making me jealous,” Jericho said.

“You’ll find someone,” Alex assured him.

Jericho shrugged.  “Sure, a knight in shining armor, come to carry me out of here on his noble steed.”

“The Peak, or the hospital?  Don’t you wonder what happened to us?” Alex asked, “that’s what they’re trying to figure out, after all.”

He shook his head.  “Not the Peak, here.  They won’t figure out what happened to us, just like they’ll never get to the bottom of the other weird shit that happens around here,” he smirked, “maybe we’ll run away into the forest again.  They could make it into another tourist trap: Running of the Omegas.  Send us all off and have a team of ‘heroic alphas’ come catch us.”

Alex laughed, but his grimace said more.  “God, I hope not.”

“We’ve always been a sideshow attraction.” Jericho picked at the peeling skin around his fingernails.

Alex went quiet again, sinking back into his magazine as though it was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen.  

Jericho let his mind wander through the jigsaw of memories from that night and the day after.  He tried to hone in on the light in the forest, a white-blue ball floating cold in the rain.  It was all he could recall, a tunnel with that light at the center, running for it.  His body buzzing with an energy he had never experienced, ozone permeating the air around him.

Then nothing.

Then the smell of Sinclair, the sweat clinging to his skin and spice of his cologne.  The fabric of Sinclair’s shirt against his face, Sinclair’s hands on his bare body in the blinding sunlight.  Sinclair’s voice, laden with worry, echoing in his hollow skull.  Sinclair’s shuddering steps as he carried Jericho through the forest on his back.  The tenderness of Sinclair’s grip when he finally placed Jericho on his own couch and draped a blanket over his cold body.  The empty space Sinclair filled in his house, his voice on the phone, the feeling of falling asleep knowing someone was looking out for him.

He shoved his food aside.  A nice dream, better than any one-night stand, but a dream nonetheless.  People like him didn’t get a Chris.  And he wouldn’t be landing a cop anytime soon -- definitely not the sheriff.  No one would risk their reputation like that for Jericho.

Jericho left the hospital later that day on his own two feet, stepping out onto the sidewalk in Goreman’s busy city center, rife with summer tourists taking advantage of the camping and backpacking the Coconino National Forest had to offer.  He prepared to step out into the parking lot when a cutlass pulled up in front of him.  Sinclair reached over and opened the door for Jericho.

Jericho stared blankly at the empty passenger seat.

Sinclair waved shyly.  “I had the doc call me.  Thought you could use a ride,” he sat back in his seat and smoothed out his hair, “it’s not weird.  I try to take care of all my vics,” Sinclair’s face dropped as he realized what he said, a blush spreading over his cheeks, “Not -- not that you’re a victim.”

Jericho got into the car.  “Thanks.”

“So… How are you doing?” Sinclair asked after thirty seconds of silence.

“I’m glad I don’t have to hitchhike back,” Jericho smiled at Sinclair, trying to put him at ease, “did you find everyone?”

Sinclair sighed.  “Didn’t get there in time for one, but everyone else is home or in hospital.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“It happens,” Sinclair said, “with the thunderstorm I’m surprised we didn’t lose more.”

Jericho noticed his glance at him and looked out the window.

“We got lucky,” Sinclair assured him, “most folks aren’t hurt, just bruises -- you aren’t hurt, are you?  I didn’t see any bandages.”

Jericho shrugged.  “Just cuts and scrapes.  Came in real dehydrated.”

“I’m used to a lot worse,” the nervous laughter colored Sinclair’s voice.  It faded out and they rode for a while listening to the sound of the engine.

“I wanted to apologize.” Sinclair’s voice cut through the drone of the tires on the pavement.

Sinclair’s words shot through Jericho like lightning.  He stared at Sinclair, totally baffled that someone might apologize to him.  Of all people.

“That’s why I went to see you that day.  To apologize,” he elaborated, his ears going red, “I -- the Decker’s house burned down.  Bean’s too, right down to the foundation.  The storm put it out.  You were right.  About the cover up, I mean.  I shouldn’t have brushed you off like I did.”

“They burned down?” Jericho’s mind raced.  The omegas go running into the forest, meanwhile all the evidence of a shapeshifting monster burns to nothing and the only people invested in the investigation are busy with a freak storm and a plethora of missing persons cases -- not an accident.  Of course Sinclair saw it, too.

“You calling the state and county really saved our asses there, and all I could focus on was the fucking journalist,” Sinclair sighed, “and now we really have nothing for the investigation.”

“You have me,” Jericho said, “I saw him too.”

Sinclair smiled at him and Jericho’s heart fluttered.  “Lucky for me, eh?”

“Hey, do you want to --” go to dinner was what he meant to say.  Jericho stopped himself, “maybe we should put on some music?”

“Yeah, sure,” Sinclair said, tuning into the local radio station.  Dolly Hall’s smooth voice introduced the next song, rolling into the music.  Jericho hummed along.  Sinclair relaxed back into his seat and rolled down his window, enjoying the warm breeze drifting through the car.  The view of the canyon sprawled out before them as they rounded the corner, twisting road laid out before them on the lazy summer day.

“Maybe you could come over sometime?” Jericho asked after they’d been driving for a while, “y’know, discuss the details of the case.  If it really is just us left.”

“Well, us and Mrs. Decker,” Sinclair said, “that would be nice, Jericho.”