Animal Behavior and Other Tales of Lycanthropy (3 page)

He has a look. What did he find out?

The sheriff approached him, hand hovering over his holstered pistol.

Got to act quick.

When the sheriff was in range, Jim leapt to his feet, shoving the sheriff and grabbing the key ring hooked to his pants. The belt loop tore and the keys came loose.

“What are you doing?” asked Don and both the deputy and the sheriff drew their weapons.

Jim ran to the jail cell, closed the door behind him and locked it.

“Does this mean you’re ready to tell us the truth?” asked the sheriff, hand still on his pistol.

“What’s he talking about, Jim? Did you do that to Mr. Moore?”

“Not me per se,” he said. “You should all leave. You’re not safe. I’ve never hurt anyone and I don’t want to start now. Please.”

“Are you really going to stand there and tell me you’re a werewolf?”

“Yes, Sheriff.”

“The guy’s crazy.”

“Shut up, Bart. The kids said an impossibly large wolf attacked them. Claw marks bigger than a grizzly’s were ripped into the side of their car and the casket. His hands itched from fiberglass particles stuck under his fingernails and Ernie says there were traces of DNA that matched both human and canine in the wounds on Mr. Moore’s face. Add it up and you’ve got the irrational.”

“Sheriff, there’s got to be a mistake. I’ve known Jim for . . .”

“No mistake, Don.”

“But, Jim—”

“Don, in the twelve years you’ve known me, have I changed one bit? Any gray hairs? Wrinkles?”

He took a moment, processing the question. “No,” he finally answered. “It doesn’t matter. He’s a good man. In the same twelve years I haven’t heard of one single animal attack.”

“It doesn’t mean I’m not dangerous. I can’t control it. I can only manipulate it to a degree. Trick it into doing what I want, but it’s too late. I made no preparations tonight. Nothing would stop the beast from going on the hunt. I have denied it the thrill of the chase and the rapture of the kill, but last night it got a taste of what it’s been missing, and tonight it will be ravenous.”

“So Mr. Moore’s body isn’t the first?”

“No. On the nights of a full moon I usually have a body lined up that hasn’t been embalmed and I get the wolf to dig it up and feed on it rather than hurt anyone. I’m sorry, Don. I tricked you, too.”

“I understand, and I forgive you.”

“Thank you. It means the world to me. If only our Father could do the same. I’ve been cursed for a hundred years. I was once a priest, but I was excommunicated when the Church discovered I was cursed after a failed exorcism. I’ve done everything I could for redemption, but I’ve seen no sign of forgiveness from our Father. My penance is not complete. Please, you must go or it will set me back even further.”

“We should just shoot him now, before he turns.”

“Bart! You’re not helping.”

“It won’t do any good, Sheriff. Your bullets will not stop it. Only aggravate the beast.”

Bart looked around. “Silver! We need silver.”

“We are not killing an innocent man. Besides, I need to see proof.”

“Are you insane?” Bart asked.

“If you’re afraid, then go, but I’m staying.”

“I’m staying with you, Sheriff,” Don said.

“It’s not safe. I’ve never tried to cage the beast.”

“We’re going to find out. Together,” the sheriff said and there was no more argument.

The men waited for nightfall with little conversation. Jim could hear the beating of their hearts grow faster with each passing hour. He didn’t know what to say, so he just sat there not wanting to add to their anxiety. He feared the worst for them, but admired their courage.

If I was half as brave as them, I’d take my own life and end this nightmare. But I am afraid. Afraid the Lord our Father will cast me out, shun me as my peers have.

“It’s happening,” Jim said, feeling his insides twisting and contorting. “Ready yourselves.”

The men stepped further away from the jail cell and watched wide-eyed as Jim pulled off his shirt to reveal bubbling, expanding skin. He dropped to all fours, hair sprouted over every inch of his contorted body. The sound of his bones cracking echoed in the jailhouse and his weeping moan turned into a blood-curling howl.

“Oh my . . .” said the sheriff.

Don made the sign of the cross over his chest and the deputy wet himself.

The beast roared and hit the bars with all its strength. It reached through the bars and swiped at the air.

Do not do this. Calm down.

The beast grabbed the bars with its clawed hands and pushed and pulled. Dust fell from the ceiling as the bars wiggled in the concrete.

“There’s no way that cage is going to hold it. We have to go,” said the deputy.

The sheriff shook his head and looked to his desk. “No, we’ll have to put it down.”

“How?” asked Don.

“There’s a silver letter opener in my desk drawer.”

“You can’t be serious?” said the deputy. “You know how close you’ll have to get?”

“It doesn’t matter. This thing could kill the whole town. I have to try.”

Stop struggling. I’m not ready to die.

The beast continued and one of the bars broke free.

Don stepped closer to the door. “Hurry, it’s getting out.”

Bart drew his pistol and shakily aimed it at the beast.

“Got it,” said the sheriff with the letter opener in hand.

“You better hope that’s real.”

“Thanks.” The sheriff approached the beast; it growled, but didn’t back away as if it dared him to get close enough to use it. “Shoot it in the leg, Bart!”

Bart lowered the gun and fired two shots. The beast yelped as it dropped to its knees. Without hesitation, the sheriff jammed the silver letter opener in the beast’s left eye. It howled in pain as it fell to the floor, the letter opener still in its eye socket. Smoke snaked into the air from the wound.

It burns. This is it. I can feel it dying.

“Great, our only weapon and you lost it.”

“It couldn’t be helped,” Don said, backing the sheriff.

“Look!” said the sheriff.

Out of the beast’s good eye, Jim saw the man pointing at him. There was a sudden chill in the air as if the warmth of the fur coat had fallen away.

I’m changing back.

Don knelt down in front of the jail’s bars and reached in. “Jim,” he said.

Jim reached toward his friend with his misshapen hand. The burning sensation in his eye was almost too much to endure and Jim knew all too well the power of a compassionate touch. For a brief moment it would calm the pain.

“What’re you doing?” The sheriff grabbed Don by the shoulders and pulled him back as Jim’s hand was a mere inch from Don’s.

Don pulled free of his grip. “He’s dying, can’t you see that?”

“He’s still dangerous,” the sheriff said, and Jim couldn’t deny the fact as he looked at the claws still exposed on his fingertips. His hand bubbled and oozed as it returned to its human form.

“Before today, you didn’t even know who he was. He’s my friend!”

“That doesn’t change the fact—”

“Please . . . forgive me,” Jim said, his naked body trembling.

“There’s nothing to forgive, Jim,” Don said, kneeling once more. “You didn’t hurt anyone.”

“But I put all of you in danger.”

“Shh!”

Hot white light formed on the outside of Jim’s vision and slowly consumed everything in his line of sight. As it did, the pain subsided. He could no longer sense the beast’s presence. He felt peace.

Within the light a figure approached him.

Father!

* * * *

“Come quick. He killed him. He ripped the doctor’s throat apart with his teeth!”

Officer Chase looked over the hysteric nurse. His gaze traveled up and down her slender frame.
Something’s off
, he thought. Even after the woman adjusted it, her white uniform was twisted slightly to the left and provocatively undone. “Calm down, ma’am. Where’s the suspect now?”

“He was moved to the adjacent cell. The orderly sedated him and we put him in a straitjacket.”

“So he’s not a danger to anyone right now?”

“No,” she said, then looked over her shoulder.

Chase followed her line of sight; the arm of a black man vanished behind a corner.
A few seconds too late. Should have known someone was watching me. Should have sensed it. Don’t let her distract you, you’re better than that.

She faced forward and her hands shot toward the blouse to button it. “Are you going to come in or are you going to stare at my breasts?”

What the . . . I wasn’t even . . . that’s some mood swing
. “One second.” Chase grabbed the radio pinned to his left shoulder sleeve and leaned toward it. “Dispatch. Sixteen-twenty on the scene. Suspect subdued.” He released the button.

“Copy.”

“ETA on Homicide?”

A burst of static, followed by, “Ten minutes.”

“Is the crime scene secure for the moment?” Chase asked.

“Yes.”

Though it went against his training, Chase knew the scene had already been compromised and there was no point in wasting any unnecessary time, so he made a judgment call. “Ma’am I’m going to get some caution tape out of my car, then I’m going to need you to take me to the crime scene.”

“Okay,” she said, then turned back to look down the corridor again.

Suspicious
, he thought, as he walked away. He remembered the way she fidgeted with the bottom of the uniform’s skirt; she tugged it down when she opened the door.
She was having sex during working hours with mystery man around the corner. Had to have been. Duly noted.

Chase popped the trunk to his squad car. With seven years on the force, everything he could ever need was stored in here. He saw to that. His hand roamed over the supplies: road flares, first aid kit, folded blankets, bottles of water, a couple of teddy bears for children that might need a distraction, and finally the rolls of yellow tape.
One should do it
. He slammed the lid shut and walked back up the hospital’s stone steps. He looked upward toward the face of the building, then to the left and right. The brick seemed to go on forever, and with the light cast down from the roofline he could clearly see the Florida sun had stolen the brick’s vibrant red coloring. Wrought iron bars covered every window and he couldn’t help but wonder about the people locked behind them. As far as he knew they were always sedated to some degree; the need was lost on him.

“Right this way,” the nurse said as he crossed the threshold. “Dr. Ebby was a pompous ass, but no one deserves to die the way he did. That awful gasping and gurgling sound as the blood spilled from his airway.” The woman’s shoulders twitched.

Chase pulled out his notepad. “Where were you when the attack happened?”

“Taking care of other patients. We have nearly three hundred here, you know.”

“And what about the rest of the staff?”

“I’m not going to pretend to know what everyone was doing. Are you treating me as a suspect?”

“No, ma’am, these are just routine questions.”

“Well, anyway, the hospital is understaffed and over budget, but it’s not like the patients are demanding. Most are catatonic in their psychosis.”

“I see,” Chase said, jotting the info down. “The detective is going to need to speak with the entire staff when he gets here. Any precautions we need to take?”

“Not if he does it on an individual basis. Dr. Thompson has been called. He’s on his way.”

“Good to know.”

“About time you showed up,” said an orderly, standing by a door.

The man was dark-skinned and Chase stole a quick glance at the nurse by his side.
Definitely lover boy
, he thought, noticing the way she looked at him.
Suppose there’s some truth to the old ‘once you go black’ adage.

The orderly’s eyes fixated on him. Chase looked the man over. He figured the guy to be at least two inches taller than himself and with the same muscular build. His hands were balled into fists and he gnawed on a loose piece of skin on his lip. Chase had seen this kind of behavior many times from those who had something to hide.

I could take him without the allotted protection of the badge
. He stepped right up to the man, getting in his face. “Move aside.”

The man stepped away from the door and Chase peered into the small window. A man lay curled in a ball on the padded floor, the straitjacket still secure. The man looked to the door, his chin and mouth stained crimson. He looked upon Chase with a distant gaze, then lowered his head.

Good. The drugs are still working.

“The doctor is in this room,” the orderly said.

Chase turned away from the glass. “Who’s been in the room?”

“Just Julia, me and Franklin. We pulled him off the doc and sedated him while Julia tried her best to save him.”

“And you are?”

“Name’s Lamont.”

Julia jumped in, “There was nothing I could do. The wound was too deep and I couldn’t stop the bleeding.”

There was guilt in the woman’s eyes and he doubted she believed she’d done everything she could have.
That doesn’t make her a suspect
, he thought. “Where’s Franklin now?”

“Down the east wing. Francesca needed some help.”

“With what?” Chase continued to write.

“The doc’s screams disturbed a lot of the patients.”

“What, did you guys forget to pass out meds before you dashed off to the broom closet?” As soon as he said it, he regretted it. Not because he was concerned with getting into a brawl, but because he betrayed his training.

Julia looked away.

“Hey, man!” Lamont stepped forward, stepping right up to Chase.

Chase unsnapped the strap holding his gun in its holster. “Back off.”

Lamont pursed his lips, obviously thinking over his next course of action.

Julia grabbed his arm and pulled herself close to him. “Lamont . . . no.”

The man’s shoulders relaxed. “Look, man, no one told us what he was up to. The doc acted on his own. Everybody here has their routine. It’s not our fault.”

“Fine, I’m sorry for my outburst. This all just seems like it could have been avoided,” Chase said, dropping his hand to his side. “I need you to help Franklin secure the patients and get him back here.”

“A’right.”

“Julia, I need you to go wait for the homicide detective and bring him back here when he arrives.”

“Okay,” she said and started to go.

“Before you go, where’s the doctor’s office?”

She pointed behind Chase. “Down that corridor, take a right, second door on the left.”

“Thank you,” he said. She and Lamont left.

Chase was tacking the caution tape across the door to the padded cell when his radio blared. “Sixteen-twenty do you copy?”

He pressed the red button on his radio. “Go ahead, dispatch.”

“There’s an accident on I4 with two lanes down. Homicide is stuck in the middle of it and will be there as soon as possible. Do you require backup in the meantime?”

“No, but you may as well call in the coroner. Get him over here.”

“Copy.Over.”

Seems every other day there’s an accident on that highway
, Chase thought as he walked down the corridors to Dr. Ebby’s office.

With a silver plaque reading Dr. Wayne Ebby there was no mistaking Chase stood before the right door. The door was closed, but unlocked; he walked in.
Impressive
, he thought as he looked around. Framed certificates and newspaper articles occupied every inch of wall space, and bookcases from the floor to the ceiling were stocked with textbooks and plaques. Everything had a place except for a few pages of paper sitting by themselves in the center of the kidney-shaped mahogany desk.

Chase moved toward it, snatched up the bundle, and read:

If you’re reading this, than I have made a grave error. One, hopefully, you can ensure never happens again. By now you should already know who I am and what I do, but I’ll err on the side of caution.

My name is Wayne Ebby and I am the leading psychiatrist here at the North Floridian Mental Health Institution. I have aided Federal agents on high-class cases, been consulted by fledgling psychiatrists to the stars,and have written numerous papers on all forms of psychosis. Envied by my peers and fantasized of by women, I am the best there is. And, unfortunately, you reading this now proves my ego was my downfall.

Shaun Robbins came into my care twenty-three days ago suffering from paranoid delusions. He was found squatting beside the body of a young woman, naked and covered in her blood. The first officers that arrived on the scene reported he had been chewing on a sizable chunk of the girl’s thigh, and defended his kill, growling and snarling as they approached.

Needless to say he was arrested on sight. It took two taser shots to bring him down. When he awoke in his cell they say he bounced around in an animalistic frenzy and didn’t settle down until dawn. He was brought here to deem whether or not he was competent to stand trial. The District Attorney’s office believed the man’s rantings of being a werewolf were nothing but a farce to elude a prison sentence. It was left for me to decide before wasting taxpayers’ money.

At first, Shaun was reluctant to talk to me. His demeanor was rational and non-violent. A far cry from the murderer the papers made him out to be. He showed no signs of remorse. That worried me. That is a classic sign of a serial killer who has been doing this for quite some time and grown desensitized to the act of murder. I implored the DA to have someone reevaluate recent unsolved crimes when Shaun finally confirmed my suspicion that he had in fact murdered many others. As of yet, the DA has not. I am aware of three human victims, but there is no way of knowing if Shaun withheld information.

Shaun’s reluctance came as no surprise to me. It was natural behavior. Many before him cracked under my strong will and he, too, eventually succumbed. In the days leading up to him opening up to me, I studied the numerous myths and legends revolving around Lycanthropy. The Argentina and Brazilian belief of the seventh consecutive son being transformed into a werewolf on their thirteenth birthday; Norse mythology where one can become any animal one desires just by wearing the creature’s skin; the Russian belief of a ritual and incantation followed with stabbing a tree with a copper knife to invite the spirit of the wolf into one’s being; bewitching, pacts with the devil, and surviving a werewolf attack are also commonplace in many societies. However, none of these came remotely close to what Shaun confessed to me, and that is why I dismissed the notion out-of-hand.

As a child, Shaun’s older brother teased him. He used the boy’s fear of spiders against him and twisted that fear with lies and exaggerations. Shaun was made to believe that if one was bitten by a wolf spider, a common sight here in Florida, than he or she would be cursed as a werewolf.

I know it sounds absurd and silly, but one must not criticize. One should rise above the mockery and see the phobia for what it is and try to correct it. The wolf spider was given its name because of the class the spider belongs to, Lycosidae, which comes from a Greek word meaning “wolf,” and not because of some concoctedcurse. At least that’s what I believe and told Shaun on numerous occasions without success.

Despite his older brother’s teasing, Shaun grew to be a responsible, fully functioning, law abiding citizen up until five months ago when he was bitten on the hand by a wolf spider. Now, all spiders have venom, but this particular spider’s venom does not pose a threat to humans and it is not hallucinogenic. In the days that followed the bite, Shaun noticed several changes happening to him. He claims to have had an increase in appetite, that hair was starting to grow longer and thicker all over his body, and he could smell things deeper than he ever could before.

These are all things that could be classified as a trick of the mind.

However, I really didn’t understand what he meant by “smelling deeper.” I just nodded my head and let him know I was listening without judging. In that same session he described, in great detail, his first kill. How, on the first full moon after being bitten, he caught the intoxicating scent of a deer. The thrill of the hunt called to him and awoke something primal within. As he approached, the doe was alerted to his presence from a snapping twig. She bolted off, her prints showing a terrified gait. He pursued her through the everglades, the scent of her fear urging him on. The doe’s neck was covered in a white, slimy foam from its slobber as he chased her further and deeper into the marsh. She slipped in a puddle of murky water and he capitalized on the opportunity with a leap. He knocked her to the ground and sank his teeth into her neck, simultaneously snapping the bone with his bare hands. He gorged on the tender venison, then with his belly full, howled in delight.