The Things We Bury - Part 1: In Anticipation of the End of the World [Completed]

Chapter 7: The Ring of Fire (Part 3 of 8)

The tired dining room seemed to have a haze blurring the details beyond the table's chipped wood top.  Exhaustion was bordering on sleep deprivation.  As the breakfast crowd began to be replaced by people arriving early for lunch, R.J. took no notice of the activity around him.  He kept his head down and ate the number four platter mechanically.

This wasn't the type of place people came to for brunch.  At 11:30 the laminated menus featuring pictures of bacon and eggs, pancakes, and waffles were replaced by those featuring photos of burgers, club sandwiches, and an unappetizing bowl of brown crap that the caption identified as chili.  Everything was numbered to simplify ordering. The patrons pointed at what they want and a numeral was logged on the order pad, no one needed to think too hard about a process.  Once, dozens of these outposts of reliable, facile dining dotted the country, but that was back when Reagan was in the White House.  Now the few that remained stayed in business as if by black magic—some unnatural force that drew people through the doors—a charmed blend of nostalgia and ignorance.  

R.J. burped discreetly into his paper napkin.

The two glasses of orange juice with his cheese omelet and sausage patty had left him with severe heartburn.  Acid clawed its way up his throat like a physical reminder of his anxiety.  Anticipation and worry braided around themselves in the depths of his gut. 

R.J. had been up for over twenty-four hours.  He desperately needed to get a few hours of sleep before the next transformation.  But he doubted he would be able to do more than doze, even with taking caffeine out of the equation.

Alone in the quiet of bed, R.J.'s brain had begun to betray him.  The journey to slumber was no longer a simple one.  His mind would spring thoughts on him as soon as that elusive land of dreams was in sight.  As unwelcome as they were, the dredged up memories and ideas were impossible to ignore no matter how many times he dwelt on them.

One of the more frequent topics that was turned over in his head ad nauseam was the upcoming eclipse.

The exact influence of the moon on LARS's transformation remained a mystery.  By putting the Subject underground, they had proved that it had nothing to with its light being visible.  R.J.'s current theory was that it was a result of the gravitational pull, like the tides.  And it was no secret that a lunar eclipse affected the tides, so what might it do to a lycanthrope?  He'd been waiting almost a month to find out.

Behavioral changes were to be expected, but if a nocturnal animal would become less active during an umbral eclipse, then what would happen with a creature who experienced such dramatic physiological changes?  Would she revert to her girl form completely or partially?  Or perhaps it would weaken the wolf and take some of the fight out of it.  What if the girl's psyche regained control while the moon stayed hidden?  If that were the case, maybe they could have her submit to a physical exam while conscious. 

The possibilities were dazzling.

Of course, there was always the chance that nothing dramatic would happen.  It could just be a minor blip in the EEG readings, or simply nothing at all.  He was pondering the effects of shadows and light—who really knew how any of it affected the creature?  But R.J. skirted around the pessimistic thoughts too enrapt by the exciting possibilities.

The air conditioning of the restaurant disappeared behind him as the door shut.  The sun was beating down on the parking lot with fire-like intensity.  He only had a vague memory of paying the tab with a few ragged bills from his wallet.

Looking out at the streets and strip malls blotting the desert horizon, his mind skipped like a warped record and landed in the deep scratch known as Mila.  It seemed that he didn't need to be lying in bed to get waylaid by thoughts of her.