Coming Home to You

Her POV

He’s not coming home.

I opened my eyes to the busy lab around me. After the tour of the prison cells, I needed to regroup my emotions. I didn't think I would have been able to hold back my thoughts standing in that hall and seeing the prisoners.

But I had to resist. Nothing good would come from me losing it.

The research and development laboratory sat in the north annex of the complex building. The space was extremely large to accommodate the various projects being conducted at once.

After starting this position two weeks ago, I still struggled through understanding my role here. After studying the previous doctor's notes, I was tasked to develop a serum that would make the animal genes in shifters dormant. Effectively, I was designing a drug to make them seem human.

The hunters wanted a better weapon to make the fight easier. One of the scientists even said that the serum could one day be a cure for supernaturals. But I knew better. They wanted an even playing field.

As I start to think about their fight, the image of the burning car fills my thoughts. The claw marks slashed into the metal. The body inside that was so burned, it couldn't even be identified.

The phone call telling me he wasn't coming home.

A small cough draws me out of my thoughts as I focus my eyes on the person in front of me.

"I wanted to ask sooner, but I didn't want to seem rude," the male scientist whose station was across from mine spoke up as he stood there. I noticed that Dr. Anderson reminded me of a small pool noodle as he shuffled back and forth, "Why did you decide to join our research team?"

He watched me behind his thick glasses as he tried to assess me. He knows I'm a geneticist and my job is to use DNA to stop the supernatural creatures. With his study in weapons development, he can't understand why I wouldn't want to kill every living thing in that basement.

"I don't think that's any of your business," I tell him. I've been avoiding this discussion with everyone who asks.

They all have stories about how some creature had hurt them. They think that just because they open up, everyone else should too. But I can't do that. I don't want to talk about what happened because it only pisses me off.

"Come on," he goads, "I read your research papers. You had a promising career in the field. Then you start writing about werewolves like it's a personal mission to stop them all."

"Seriously, I don't talk about it," I say, feeling my anger spike and hoping he'll drop it.

But of course, I don't get what I hope for.

"What did a werewolf do to you?" he asks, prodding for his answer, "You see him shift and he attack you?"

Standing up, I place my palms flat on my desk loudly. The effect shuts him up immediately.

"Since you apparently have to know because god forbid I have some privacy, something did happen," I tell him, my voice low so no one else in the room can hear our conversation, "My husband was taken from me and I'm not going to stop until I get justice for him. That enough for you?"

His face falls as he holds his hands up in surrender, "I'm sorry I pushed you," he tells me, knowing now he shouldn't have. I can hear the genuine sincerity in his tone, "I'm sorry you lost your husband. The loss never gets easier."

I remember one of the lab techs telling me that he lost his girlfriend to a vampire. He knows what it's like to lose someone you love. He probably knows how I'm feeling, but that doesn't mean he deserved to know about me.

I nod once, "Thank you. I would appreciate it if you wouldn't bring this up again."

"Okay," he gives me a small smile, "I can do that."

I grab my travel coffee mug off my table, "I'm going to go down to the cafeteria. I'll see you later Dr. Anderson."

"Sounds good," he says before taking a step back, "I am sorry Dr. Keene."