Animal Behavior and Other Tales of Lycanthropy (17 page)

“You up for it?”

“Depends.” He fought back a smile.

“On what?”

“If you’re going to make it worth my while.”

She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “You think this is the time to be joking around?”

Guess not
. “I’ll get to work.”
Stupid idiot, you make a joke of everything. Why do you always do that?

Paul inspected the chain and the lock, and decided he had a better chance at sawing through a chain link rather than the lock’s arm as it seemed to have a smaller diameter. He rested the blade against a link and gently scored the metal.

Ching-ching.

Paul jumped backward, startled by the woman’s aggression. “What the hell, lady?”

“Don’t be upset. It’s not her fault. She doesn’t understand we’re trying to help.”

“I’m a little past upset.” He eyed the woman, then returned to the chain. He worked slow and steady at first; making himself a nice groove so the blade wouldn’t slip when he gave it more vigor.

The woman remained in the center of the cage as he increased his momentum. After fifteen minutes of steady sawing, his shoulder started to protest. Tightness spread in the muscle and all he had to show for his effort was a fine layer of silver dust on the web of his thumb and index finger, with a little excess on the floor.

“This is going to take forever,” he said.

“If you’re tired, I can take over for a bit.”

“I don’t think this is such a good idea. We’re taking an awful big risk.”

“Let me try,” Francesca said in a soft but firm voice.

“All right,” he replied, handing her the saw. “But we won’t be doing her any good if we get caught ourselves.”

Francesca immediately went to work, the blade flying back and forth within the groove Paul made.

“You’re going to burn yourself out faster that way.”

“This was all you found to use on this?” she asked. The arm holding the saw dropped to her side.

Paul stepped toward her and reached for the saw. “Let me take over again.”

She allowed him to take it. “I’ll admit, it’s tougher than I thought.”

Paul continued to work the chain over and was approaching the half-way mark when the sound of a diesel engine pulling up to the cabin caused him to stop. He swallowed hard, but he tried not to show his fear for Francesca’s sake.

“What are we going to do?” she said.

“I want you to hide.”

“Where? There’s no place down here.”

The front door slammed shut.

Crap! No time for her to hide upstairs
. “Get a hammer out of the drawer. We’ll fight if we have to.”

She nodded and obeyed. Paul looked up to the ceiling, following the thumps of the footsteps. Francesca returned to his side, hammer clutched in front of her chest with both hands. He stepped in front of her as a shield when the door at the top of the stairs opened. The silhouette of a man filled the doorway.

He’s not searching the place. He knows we’re trying to save her.

“Whatever you’re doing, I suggest you stop it. This isn’t what it looks like.” The man took a step. “Just so you know, I have a gun. Don’t make me use it.”

Francesca leaned in close and whispered, “What are we going to do?”

“Nothing yet.”

The man reached the bottom of the stairs and trained his shotgun on Paul. He was nothing like Paul expected: clean-shaven, black hair trimmed short, blue jeans with a brown belt and a non-flannel, button down shirt. In his hand holding the barrel of the gun was a brown paper bag. It was pinched tight at the top and Paul could make out the shape of a bottle.

More tranquilizer, I bet. Not big enough to be booze.

The caged woman snarled at the sight of the man. Though he looked like any other neighbor, she seemed to know otherwise.

“You kids step away from the cage. It’s dangerous,” the man said.

“The only thing dangerous here is that gun,” Francesca said from behind Paul.

Paul put his hands up. “Let us go. We won’t say anything.”

“I can’t do that,” the man said.

“Yes, you can,” Francesca said. “You can let us all go.”

“My wife stays.”

“Your wife!”

Paul winced at the sound of Francesca’s high pitched accent on the last word. “How could you treat her like this?” he asked, taking his eyes off the man to look at the woman, who was pacing the perimeter of the cage. Her gaze locked on her husband with malicious intent.
She’s been in there so long she believes herself to be an animal
. He turned back toward the man with a gun.

“You think I like locking her up? You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Then enlighten me,” Paul said.

The man shook his head as if he contemplated the thought. “I’m afraid you’re stuck here ’til morning. Now” —he waved the barrel of the gun to the right— “step aside.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I need to give her some of this,” he said, raising the bag.

The gun’s not loaded with bullets. It’s got to be tranq darts. But I don’t think I can risk it.

The barrel was shifted from Paul to the caged woman. She snarled and leapt at the cage door. It buckled under the weight, but held.

“Easy, Maria,” the man said softly as he took aim.

If you’re going to do it, do it now.
Paul lunged forward and gripped the barrel.

“Paul!” Francesca shrieked.

“What are you doing?” the man asked as he struggled to maintain his grip. “You’re making a mistake.”

“Give me the gun,” Paul demanded.

“No!”

The gun fired. A pinch in Paul’s abdomen. Heat. Francesca screamed.

Paul winced as he pulled the dart out of his gut. The caged woman slammed her body into the steel door. The chain snapped, the compromised link unable to withstand another blow.

“What have you done?” the man said as his wife darted up the stairs on all fours.

The room swayed and Paul fell to the floor. Everything seemed distant; he didn’t know how long he’d remain lucid and feared for Francesca.

“You shot him!” Francesca said.

“He’ll live, but not if we don’t get inside there. As soon as she sees the moon, we’re doomed.”

The man grabbed Paul by the left shoulder and dragged him toward the cage. He tried to grab the man, tried to fight against him, but his body refused to obey.

“We are not going in there,” she said adamantly.

You tell him, babe
.

A howl echoed in the night.

“What was that?” Francesca asked.

“What I was trying to keep locked up. Get inside or I’m closing it without you.”

Paul tried to tell her to listen to the man, but only a moan escaped his lips.

“What is it, baby?” she asked him, leaning toward his mouth as if doing so would allow her to understand him.

It took every ounce of strength and will to lift his hand and point to the cage. She nodded.

“Okay,” she said, then grabbed Paul’s other shoulder and together she and the man dragged him inside the cage.

Fingernails scraped along the outside wall and the man immediately went to work on the lock. He pulled a key out of his pants pocket, disengaged the lock, and tightened the chain. All Paul could do was watch helplessly. His life and the life of the one he loved most was in the hands of this man who, moments earlier, he thought a psycho.

“Thank God there’s enough slack in this chain. If your boyfriend had cut a few links lower we’d be utterly . . . well . . . you know.”

Darkness closed in from the corners of his eyes as the lock was engaged and the man stepped toward the center of the cage. A loud thud caused Francesca to scream and the man to raise his gun. The upstairs door crashed at the bottom of the steps; splinters of wood and dust flew into the air. A shadow stretched along the wall. Paul’s vision blurred. All was dreamlike as a silhouette of a wolf the size of two men grew larger with every creak of the stairs. Unable to fight the drug any longer, the last thing he felt was Francesca taking his hand in hers.

* * * *

Paul awoke with a start. “Look out!”

“Easy,” Francesca said in a hushed voice. “It’s okay. We’re safe.”

He took a moment to gather his bearings. He sat in the passenger’s side of his car. The morning sun coming over the horizon stung his eyes. He looked out the side window and saw Francesca’s house. His head swung round to look at her.

“I’m too scared to go in. My father’s going to kill me.”

“How’d we get here?”

“You were so brave. After you got shot with that tranquilizer, I clubbed that sicko with the hammer. I dragged you out of there and called the police, but I got us out of there before they arrived.”

“What about the monster?”

“Monster? There was no monster,” she said, one eyebrow raised higher than the other.

“I could of . . .”

“You were probably trippin’. Who knows what kind of drugs he was using and how much.”

“I guess,” he said, though he doubted it.
Why would she lie, right?
“What about the woman he had captive?”

“She got outta there. Probably ran off in the woods. I better go. Are you gonna be okay driving home?”

“I’ll take another minute to collect myself, but if your father charges out here with that crazed look, I’m gone. Lucid or not.”

She chuckled. “I wouldn’t blame you. Call me when you get home, okay?”

“I will.”

She kissed him lightly on the lips and exited the car. He watched her head up the walkway then saw the front door open and her father fill the doorway. The man looked at him with daggers in his eyes and he quickly scooted over the shift and into the driver’s seat, turned the engine, and smoked his tires as he pulled away.

I hope he takes it easy on her. It’ll be easy enough to prove if he doesn’t believe her.

When Paul got home he, too, had some explaining to do. After hearing his story, his mother made a big deal of it and was about to call the sheriff for confirmation, but his father talked her out of it. He looked mighty pleased with him. There was a wide smile on his face and Paul could almost read his mind.
He’ll be even happier when I finally do become a man
, he thought as his father dismissed him to talk privately with his mother. He walked out of the living room, rounded the corner and walked up the stairs to his room all the while wondering what kind of punishment they’d lay down.

Can’t worry about it now. Could be worse
. The vision of the shadow on the wall inside that basement returned.
I could be passing through the lower intestine of that creature I saw. It was so real.

He threw himself down onto his bed, still groggy from the tranquilizers.
That was some powerful stuff.

He folded his arms behind his head and leaned into them. He closed his eyes for a moment and an image of a gray wolf with jaws large enough to swallow his head came and went.

“I’ve got to go back.” He sat up and a knock wrapped against the door. “Come in.”

“Hey, champ,” his father said as he opened the door and entered.

“How bad is it?” Paul asked.

“Well . . . your mother’s not happy. Not happy at all. But I convinced her that you’re seventeen—”

“Almost eighteen.”

“Yes, almost eighteen and there are certain freedoms you should have. However, we both agree that staying out all night is not one of them.”

“But—”

“Last night will be an exception. Your mother called the sheriff, but couldn’t get a hold of him as he’s not in right now. Your mother couldn’t get specifics, but it’s safe to assume you’re telling the truth.”

“I really should go out there and try to help. Francesca was scared and panicked.”

“Understandable. If you feel it’s something you should do, then go ahead. I’d go with you, but I have to go into the office.”

“On a Saturday?”

“Yeah, I know, but we have a huge Navy contract to bid on. It could mean work for a lot of people.”

“Good luck, then.”

“Thanks . . . and should you be out all night who knows where with Francesca again, I don’t need to tell you—”

“No, Dad, you don’t.”

His father smiled and nodded, then left the room. Paul was about to follow him, but when he stood, he got a whiff of himself and decided to shower and change his clothes.

Once he was ready, his father had already gone and his mother was on the phone. He waved to her as he walked by. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her put her hand on the receiver and raise her hand to halt him, but he pretended not to see and carried on his way. She said nothing, so he was guilt free.

He drove to the cabin, obeying the speed limit for the first time since passing the driving test, knowing cops would be on, and around, the scene. When he arrived, he was shocked to see no officers there, no yellow caution tape, no anything. He drove around back, hoping to find someone, but he was alone.

He parked in the same spot he had last night and went straight for the flower pot. The key was still nestled in its hiding place. He grabbed it, then opened the front door. Though he wasn’t sure why, he put the key back before heading downstairs.

Well at least I know part of it happened,
he thought as he approached the cage door. The chain was broken, as he remembered, but the lock was open.
Strange.
Why did Francesca lie? There’s no way she called the police. And now that guy is long gone. I should call her.

He retrieved his phone from his front pocket and as he dialed, he thought about what he would say should her father answer it. He flipped it closed.
Better to just show up. That way I can at least get a word in.

He left the cabin and headed for Francesca’s place. She lived in one of the more rural areas, nearly a forty-minute drive from the base of the mountain. When he arrived, he knocked on the door expecting Mr. Madaffari, but no one answered.

“Hello,” he said after checking the knob and the door opened. “The door was open.”

Paul closed the door behind him and stepped into the foyer. He craned his neck to look up the stairs and saw no one; looked to the right and found nothing in the den; then turned to the left and saw a pair of feet on the floor behind the sofa in the living room.

“Are you all right?” he asked as he dashed into the room.

Francesca’s father lay face down on the floor in a pool of blood. He knelt down beside him and gently rolled him over. The cool liquid pressed against his knees as it soaked through his jeans.

“It wasn’t a dream,” he whispered, seeing Mr. Madaffari’s throat ripped out by a single bite. “Francesca!”

Fearing the beast had somehow followed them, he dropped her father’s lifeless body, stood and turned around in time to see an aluminum baseball bat careening toward him. It hit in the center of his forehead and darkness claimed him as his body fell backwards.

When he awoke, Francesca hovered over him. Her beautifully sculpted naked body calmed him for the briefest of moments.

What’s going on?
he thought. His arms and legs felt stiff. He tried to move them, but soon realized he was tied to her bed frame. He was cold and naked. As she placed the palms of her hands on his chest, he noticed the scratch the caged woman had given her and the brown hair growing from the wound.

“Figured it out, have you?” she asked as she pressed her weight against him. There were tears in her eyes. This demeanor of hers seemed forced.

“Why did you lie to me? I thought you were better than that.”

“You really gave me no choice.”

“What?”

“By the middle of the night I was experiencing . . . unnatural urges. I figured out what was happening. I was becoming like her. You called that woman a monster. What choice did you give me?”

“No . . . I . . .”

She shook her head. “Even now, your contempt is evident in your eyes.”

“And what about your father? Did you kill him?”

“And Mother, too. She’s in their bedroom. They wouldn’t shut up. Kept scolding me like I was a child. I just wanted them to shut up. I—” She sniffled. “I exploded. Then I . . . I liked it. No, wait. I didn’t! I did.”

“Then you are a monster.”

“Well, I still love you, and if you survive this, we can still be together. It’ll mean we were indeed meant for each other.” Hope filled her eyes. Her sudden swap between mad dog and princess made a shiver run through him.

“Survive what? What are you going to do to me?”

“I’m going to do what I promised. We’re going to make love.” She shifted her waist toward his pelvic region. He felt her warmth encompass him. “You’ll be my first. And we’ll do it by moonlight.” She opened the curtain as she continued to gyrate on him.

Paul looked out the window over her bed and wondered how long he had been out, then he felt movement across his thigh and waist. He straightened his head to see Francesca bathed in moonlight. Her skin bubbled as thick hair sprouted and covered her body. Her ears elongated and tapered to a point. Joints popped and twisted. A wail turned into a howl as her mouth stretched toward him, her button nose blackened over and her blunt teeth unrooted and rained down upon his chest as sharp, canine teeth forced their way through the gums.

“Francesca . . . please . . . if you’re in there, let me go. I love you,” he said.

He looked into the beast’s eyes.

She leaned in.

He prayed it was for a kiss.