Hair, Greg - Werewolf 01 (6 page)

In the distance, sirens wailed, coming fast. The beast stood and, giving one last glance at the woman, turned, moving with incredible speed into the park, darting over the open areas until it disappeared in a thick gathering of trees.

Landon did his best to remain out of sight, ducking in and out of the shadows, moving quickly enough behind passing cars that the drivers convinced themselves that what they saw in the rearview mirror was their imagination. There wasn’t a bear on the loose, though that’s what their minds saw. It never occurred to any of them that it was actually a werewolf.

As the night wore on, he wondered if he was doomed to remain in his present form for the rest of his life. He didn’t know how, or even if, he could change back. He wondered why he was like this in the first place. Was he being punished? Was it karma for a misdeed in a past life? Suddenly he realized that he was actually
thinking
. He was thinking as Landon, and he was self-aware. Then his thoughts turned to something else—hunger. The feeling in his stomach was mild at first, but grew more painful with each passing minute.
Oh, God
, he thought.
What do I eat like this? Do I eat people? Can I keep from eating
someone? Am I a cannibal now?
The questions ceased as the pain became too unbearable. Nature took over.

In the distance, just beyond the present tree line, a young couple jogged on the road. He picked up on their scent and moved in for a closer look. The scent of their breath, their perspiration, and the sound of their rapidly beating hearts—he picked up all of it. Their bodies glowed in the night. He didn’t want to attack innocent people, but he also knew that he was running out of time, and had to eat. Soon.

Then luck stepped in. Moving quickly through the brush behind him was an animal. He wasn’t sure what kind yet, but he could smell that it wasn’t human. He kept his body still and turned his head slowly, following the sound of trampled leaves. A deer. He’d never before seen a deer in Cherokee Park, but there was one here now. Suddenly, the deer stopped, having caught the scent of the beast. Landon didn’t hesitate. The young joggers stopped for a moment when they heard what sounded like large trees limbs falling to the ground. Then they sprinted off when a low growl hit their ears.

Deer had never tasted so good. Actually, Landon had never tasted venison before that night, and having cleaned most of the carcass, he moved deeper into the woods and crouched down, tired. He thought about his mother and what she would think of him if she could see the monster he became. He thought about what he looked like when he was human—his red hair and pale skin. About what he sounded like when he talked, how he walked on human legs, how he ate with human hands.

Then it happened—again. The pain came immediately. The shifting and shrinking of bones and flesh followed. It felt like an enormous pressure pushing down on his body. He had difficulty breathing and felt like he was sinking. His lungs had the sensation of taking on water. The closest description he had to describe the transformation back to human form was drowning.

Within a couple of minutes, it was over, and he lay there in the woods, naked, breathing like he couldn’t get an adequate supply of air quickly enough. He vomited as his human body reeled from its sudden transformation and rejected what Landon had consumed that night. He was exhausted, but knew he couldn’t stay there. The dawn was beginning to emerge, and he was able to find his way back to the clearing where he first changed. His clothes, or what was left of them, were scattered over the area. He knew his apartment was nearby and managed to make it home without being seen. The morning news told of the attack on the red-haired girl in the park, but made no mention of her rescuer.

“You can choose to do what you want with what you’ve been given,” said Landon, returning to LillyAnna in the present, and polishing off his drink. “You call it murder. I ask what’s the difference between what I do and God’s judgment?”

“You’re not God.”

“No, but I’m not a regular mortal, either. Did you ever stop to think that maybe you were given this for a reason? Maybe you were chosen for something,” Landon said. “The ends justify the means.”

“I wasn’t chosen for anything. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“You have no idea how deep all of this goes.”

“What does that mean?”

“I can help you. There are others who can help you. If you want it.”

“Others?”

“We’re not alone,” he said, standing.

“You mean there are more than us and the one who attacked me?”

“Yes, but that’s not what I mean at the moment. We’re not alone here.”

Landon opened the door and stepped outside, smelling the night air. Hearing breathing coming from the line of trees between his building and the sidewalk, he turned back to his guest.

“It’s time for you to go. I don’t think you should stay upstairs tonight—for Scott’s safety, not yours. Here’s some money. Take it and go to a hotel. If you want the help, I’m offering it.”

She continued sitting on the couch, seemingly pondering his proposition.

“I can teach you,” he continued. “I can help you find the right way. I do believe you were chosen, but you must believe it, too. You can help people. You don’t have to be this ugly abomination that you consider yourself. But
you
must choose.”

LillyAnna walked outside, and Landon placed his hand on her shoulder. “It wants to live, too,” he said.

“You say
it
like the creature is separate from us,” she said.

“In some ways, it is. It’s a living, breathing animal. It may be connected to us physically and psychologically, but I believe it has a soul, too. Most of our kind disagree with me. I believe that’s why it’s so difficult for us to commit suicide—it won’t let us kill it willfully.”

“Okay. I’ll give it a try,” she said. “I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know what hotel I’m staying at.”

“You don’t need to call. I’ll find you.”

Landon walked LillyAnna to her car, looking over his shoulder occasionally at the trees near the wrought iron fence. He watched as she got in and drove away, then walked back toward his apartment. Stopping at his entrance, he glanced toward the trees. Then he stepped inside and closed the door.

Once Landon and LillyAnna were gone, Scott stepped out from the trees, his hand gripping the knife from earlier in the evening ever tighter. Then he dropped it and walked away.

7

The semiprofessionally dressed, overweight man walked over to the young woman in blue jeans and a red sweater sitting at the Seattle coffee house window with her infant son. The sound of the barista steaming milk filled the shop. The young woman looked up from her book as her son slept to the back and forth motion of his stroller. He noticed she wasn’t wearing a ring.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to bother you, but may ask what drink that is? It looks good, and I’ve not had that one before,” he said, gesturing to her tall coffee cup with whipped cream and nutmeg on top. P J Harvey’s “The Mess We’re In” played over the shop’s speakers.

“It’s a caramel macchiato. I’m sure you’ll like it,” she said, smiling.

The man looked down through his thick glasses at the infant boy and smiled.

“He’s beautiful. What’s his name?”

“Thank you. Tyler. He’s three months.”

The baby boy was sleeping in a blue onesie decorated with a bear dressed in a baseball uniform. The outfit read “I Love My Mommy.” A green blanket covered him and his small teddy bear. A blue pacifier lay to the side of his cream-white face where it had fallen out of his mouth. The stroller continued rocking back and forth.

“I have a daughter,” he said. “She’s five. Here’s her picture.” Pulling out his wallet, he showed a picture of a little brown-haired girl. “Her name’s Rachel.”

“Oh, she’s so cute. Where is she now? In school?”

“Yes. Mind if I sit?”

“Sure,” she said, motioning toward a chair on the other side of the stroller.

“Thanks. It’s been so hard on her since her mother passed.”

“Really? I’m so sorry. What happened?”

“Suicide,” he said, running his hand through what was left of his dark, curly hair. “I tried to help her. I tried to be with her, but I just couldn’t get through.”

“That’s terrible. I’ll pray for you and your daughter.” She looked at her watch. “I’m so sorry, but I have to go. My sister’s meeting me at my house in about an hour. She’s babysitting. It was nice talking to you.”

“That’s okay, I understand. The pleasure was all mine. Thanks for the ear and the caramel macchiato tip. Maybe we could meet here again sometime.”

She looked at her son and, looking back at the man, said, “Sure.”

The man reached down, patting the sleeping boy’s head. Tyler stirred slightly, but continued sleeping.

The woman gathered her belongings and pushed the stroller out the glass door. The man followed her out, walking to his car.

Twenty minutes later, the young woman from the coffee shop ran to answer the doorbell.

“Oh,” she said, startled. “It’s you.”

“Hi. I’m sorry to bother you, but I forgot to tell you something,” the man from the coffee shop said.

She looked past the door, into the sitting room, to her still sleeping son, and turned uneasily back to the man.

“What did you forget to tell me?”

“I forgot to tell you that I’m lonely,” he said, reaching in, grabbing her by the hair, and slamming her head into the door. Tyler shook and stirred in his I Love My Mommy onesie, opening his eyes for just a second before they slowly closed again, as he drifted back to sleep.

Hours later the woman awoke to the sound of Bobby Vinton’s “Mr. Lonely” encircling her. She reeled from the pain emanating from her head. Her left eye was swollen shut, but she could make out in her darkly lit surroundings that she was in a warehouse. All windows above had been boarded up.

She strained to listen for the sound of traffic, but heard nothing. Any attempt to stand was futile; she found her wrists and ankles were tied to a chair. She noticed that she no longer wore her blue jeans and red top, but now wore a blue dress. As the song ended, she tried to call for help, but her cries were soon drowned out by the first notes of a replaying “Mr. Lonely.” Her tears stung her eyes as she cried harder. The man from the coffee shop stepped out from the shadows.

“Do you like oldies?” he asked, smiling. “I adore them. I think they contain a kind of human truth, real life experience, that’s missing from so much of today’s music. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Who are you? Why are you doing this? Where’s my son?” she pleaded in a soft scream.

“I’m so sorry. I forgot to introduce myself. My name’s Jerry. Your son is safe at your house. I mean, I’m assuming he’s safe, as long as your sister showed up. I don’t know what kind of person you think I am, but I would never harm a child. They’re hurt enough in this world,” he stated, with a tone of disgust at what
she
was insinuating.

“What about your daughter?” she asked.

“Who? Oh, Rachel. Yes, well, she’s not really my daughter. That’s the picture of the last woman’s little girl. She is cute, isn’t she?”

“What do you mean, the
last
woman? What about your wife who committed suicide?”

“Yes, she killed herself, absolutely. But she wasn’t my wife. She was just some woman I met in a bar. And she committed suicide just like you have. You know, your son would still have his mother if you had just taken my offer.”

She cried harder, barely getting her words out. The song faded and began again.

“What offer? What are you talking about? Please tell me why you’re doing this?”

Jerry swayed to the music, almost in a hypnotic trance. Suddenly snapping back, as if her questions had just registered, he could hide his anger and disgust no longer.

“What offer? Why, to be your boyfriend, of course. But you didn’t want that. You only wanted to be friends, the same thing that all women say. Just like the one before you. She didn’t want to be my girlfriend. She chose to reject me, so she chose to commit suicide.”

He walked around to the back of her chair, running his fat fingers over her lips, his overgrown nails sliding up her face and through her hair. The crying intensified. She felt him lean forward, put his nose to her hair, and inhale deeply. Then he moved in closer to her neck. His scalp had so much dry, dead skin that his head smelled of decay. She trembled as he untied her hands.

“Please,” she begged. “Please let me go. I won’t tell anyone. Please let me go home. My son needs me.”

Jerry bent down, untying her ankles.

“I’ll give you anything you want. I’ll pay you.”

“You think I want your money?” he said. “I only wanted you. I
chose
you. You should have been the lucky one. I would have given you anything you asked for,
had
you chosen to be with me.”

He stood her up, the blue satin dress swishing as he walked her over to the middle of the floor, escorted by the smooth desperation of Bobby Vinton. Taking her hand into his left, he wrapped his right arm around her waist. She sobbed while they danced slowly around the cold, empty warehouse. Jerry whispered the lyrics in her ear.