R.J. was still in the truck waiting. Amy wasn't sure if he was watching to see if she'd be okay or to see if she would stick to their agreement.

The plan had sounded so simple, but stumbling over the rough terrain as the sky darkened, she thought about all that could go wrong.

A queasiness rocked her stomach that had as much to do with her worry as the meatloaf that sat in it like lead. Her dinner had eliminated the emptiness of her belly but had done nothing to satisfy her; much like how R.J.'s plan solved the immediate problem but created so many more new ones.

"How will I find you again?" she had asked at the restaurant.

"You will need to keep some control. Do you think you can do that?" R.J.'s jaw was so tense she could hear the muscles squeak over the bone.

Amy shoveled another forkful of mashed potatoes into her mouth. The greasy gravy dripped on her chin and she used it as an excuse to cover her mouth with the napkin. "Of course I can."

She wasn't nearly so confident. Down in the cage, deep beneath the rock, she was able to. She could stand still and resist the urge to kill her captors as they poked and prodded her, examining every detail of the wolf. Even when they pointed a painfully bright light in her eyes, she held back from growling and let them do their work. All the instinct was still there. Her human thoughts were dim, almost non-existent, but her will was in control. So long as she was determined enough, she could keep from giving in blindly.

But up here everything was different. How could she be sure that even a glimmer of her consciousness would remain after the change? There was so much she didn't understand. What she did to that creep this morning was only the latest in the string of mysteries about her existence.

If only her life was like one of her books. In her books, she would meet others of her kind—maybe even a handsome alpha wolf—and they would take her in and teach her about who and what she was. The people in The Music Box, despite all their tests and experiments, knew even less than she did. And a life on the run, hiding who she was, wouldn't bring her any answers either.

R.J. didn't seem to notice the doubt in her voice. He was too busy glancing around the restaurant, making sure no one was watching them. It was still afternoon and the homey, little spot was almost empty. It was mostly just a few old people taking advantage of the early-bird special. And no one was paying their dark booth by the corner any attention.

Amy could only see the room through a narrow strip of mirror on the wall. But that didn't mean she was unaware of her surroundings. Everyone's body heat and the beating of their blood pinned them in place. She could smell their soaps and perfumes under the food. And under that, the unique fingerprint scent of each one's skin. By comparison, sight seemed practically useless. It was more of a distraction than anything else.

She had become fixated on a man in the mirror. A glob of mustard was slowly running down his black sweatshirt. He didn't seem to notice as he attacked his burger. The bright yellow inched down, making a crooked child's one on the front of his chest, until his girlfriend finally pointed it out. A thin, feminine finger entered the frame and although she didn't speak loudly, Amy caught the words: you're a fucking slob.

The man dunked a napkin in his Coke and began scrubbing at his shirt, leaving trails of white lint and spreading the stain into a blob. His head was ducked down and strangely, he had long hair pinned up on the top of his head like Katie used to do for working out. Amy had never seen a man do that before and her casual glances became a stare.

When he looked up, their eyes met and Amy quickly returned her attention to R.J., who was going over the plan again.

"All you have to do is make sure you return to the same spot where I drop you off. Get there before morning—before you change back. I'll pick you up and we'll get out of here. Got it?"

What was there to get?

Wander off into the vast, unpopulated area of a state park, transform, run around all night staying away from people, then return to the trailhead in the morning. Easy-peasy.

But now that she was doing it, the night of her very first transition haunted her. The vivid memory of waking up cold and alone in the middle of nowhere kept returning no matter how hard she tried to push it out. She had to fight to get back here before dawn. Amy took in every landmark—every smell. She couldn't go through that again.

The light was fading and Amy was no longer sure she was on a trail. She seemed to be just weaving her way through gaps in the scrubby plant life. There was no hint of the car anymore. Not even lights from town or the highway. She wondered how many miles into the park she had gone.

A dead mesquite tree stood by itself. Amy undressed behind the screen of its bone white branches and put a stone on top of her clothes to keep them from blowing away. Her skin felt the chill of the approaching night. She wrapped her arms  around her body as she pressed further into the wilderness.

The change would come soon. The impulse hadn't become uncontrollable but she couldn't put up with the cold or the rocks and needles tearing at the soles of her feet much longer.

Amy forced out the air from her lungs and tried to relax, letting the tension drain and the walls in her mind fall. The chill was replaced with the prickle of a fever sweat. She reached the top of a small hill and the moon came into view, low on the horizon, bloated and welcoming. Her muscles filled with heat and a spasm began to build in her groin, spreading up through her stomach. Any second, it would force her to pitch forward on all fours.

A wrenching breath escaped her and Amy was no longer on a mound of dirt staring at a parchment moon against an indigo sky. She was in a rich forest standing on a wooden platform high above a throng of people. The midnight air was thick with the scent of pine, green wood, and sweet pollen. Torches along the base of the stage blinded her and the people were just rough forms and the stars were lost in the black sky.

A familiar presence approached from behind with whispered steps. As she took a spot beside Amy, Ylva's white dress billowed in the breeze. Amy didn't turn toward her. It was like her head was fixed in a vice and she was forced to look straight in front of her. But she didn't fight it. A fear only felt before in nightmares kept her from looking. She was certain that Ylva's face held a dreadful secret, although she didn't know how that could be. She had seen this woman so many times before.

High on a post, a brass bell tolled as someone yanked on the rope from below. It rang out into the night and it seemed as though all other sounds stopped.

"It is time." A man at the head of the crowd addressed Ylva as he approached. He looked like he was from a motorcycle gang, fat and hairy, wearing leather. "The interloper has had his head start. We await your command."

Can you smell him? Ylva's voice spoke in her head. No, not that fat bastard. Can you smell the rabbit in the woods?

Even over the great stink of the mob, she could. It was far off in the forest. A cold sheen of terror darted around the trees as a man ran for his life.

Ylva thrust a hand out. The thumb was arched back against a perfectly smooth palm with her long, elegant fingers stretched out.

"Four champions," the fat bastard called and the crowd churned until four young men stepped forward. They waited expectantly at the base of the platform and the rest of the people split creating an aisle behind them stretching to a yawning black gap in the trees.

So we are here again, you and I. You are the stupid one now.

"I'm not stupid."

Yes, you are. Believe me. I know. You don't even understand what is happening, but you will. You won't be stupid much longer.

"Explain it to me."

There is no time. You have to go back. Besides, the sands are always shifting. There is danger in too much information. But I will tell you three things that will help you, if you are smart enough to obey. Human life isn't for you; it will only lead to tragedy. More people want you dead than you know. In the days to come, trust only in the sign of the snake.

Amy had a hundred questions on her tongue, but before she could ask even one of them, Ylva let out a howling shriek.

It was the call to the hunt.

Everything faded from thought except the desert terrain in front of her and the scent of a young pronghorn. Amy raced off in pursuit under the yellow eye of the moon.

***

The minutes ticking past dawn turned to hours. R.J. got out of the pickup and as he had done so many times that morning and marched up the trail calling for Amy.

She should have been here by now. Something had gone wrong. Maybe she changed from the wolf too early. It could take her hours to walk back. What if she had gotten hurt? What if she had fallen into pit and couldn't get out? Or twisted an ankle? What if she had gotten caught in an Agency trap?

Panic began to eat around the edges of his mind. He had lost her. He had told her he'd protect her and in the end, he sent her off by herself into the wilderness with the overly optimistic expectation that she would be there waiting for him when he drove up.

His head whipped around as though someone had spoken in his ear.

The immensity of the terrain weighed on him, overwhelming his senses. She could be anywhere.

And then his worst fear crawled out of the dark hole in his mind: what if she didn't come back on purpose?

Amy had been different ever since they had left The Music Box. At first, R.J. had figured she was having trouble adapting to the outside world again. But then there had been her growing defiance. It was easy to dismiss as her normal irritation during the full moon or teen angst. But what if it was something else?

What of Amy wasn't satisfied with the limited glimpse of freedom he had given her? What if she wanted more?

Whatever had happened, wherever she was, one thing was clear: Amy was gone. And R.J. was entirely alone. 

***

Author's Note: So how do you feel about this ending? Did the cut between these last two scenes work? 

I'm really excited about starting to post chapter 6 next week.  If I can pull it off, I'll give you folks the first three scenes of this epic, pivotal chapter. Amy is all alone in the outside world--it's time to have some fun.

I originally planned to pair a Taylor Swift song with this chapter. She gets slammed a bit in this book, but I actually enjoy her music. The truth is, I needed some major pop star for Katie to like and it could have been nearly anyone and the country vibe worked for the mood of the book.

That's what I planned.

But the week started off with the news of David Bowie's death and I couldn't let it go by unmentioned or uncommemorated (even in this admittedly small way) . Bowie and his music has been a huge source of inspiration and joy in my life, so it was hard to hear of his passing, as I'm sure it was for many of you.  I leave you this week with an unusual video of The Man Who Sold the World. This is actually taken from the last season of Fringe. I think it wonderfully illustrates the web of Bowie's influence. He obviously inspired the creators of the show and the show helped inspire TTWB . And as this is the third song of his I'll be tacking onto a chapter ending, it is fairly obvious that Bowie was an inspiration for it as well.

He is a force who will be missed. 

As will eminent Alan Rickman.  It was a sad week.