Hair, Greg - Werewolf 01, page 4
“How do you save lives by committing murder?”
“Just tonight, I took a pedophile and gang of kidnappers off the streets. How is that not saving lives?”
“So you’re judge, jury, and executioner. Nice,” she said sarcastically. “And just how was it that you came upon this higher calling?”
“It was my first change,” he answered, moving into his story.
In the fall of ‘95, Landon sat in his history class at the University of Louisville. He came to the conclusion a while back that he wanted to get his life on track. He enrolled in a couple of night classes to start slowly, not taking on too much. His day job as a teaching assistant with the local school system was helping to pay the bills in the tiny one-bedroom apartment on Eastern Parkway beside Cherokee Park. He had no idea that tonight would change his life, and the lives of many others, forever.
The warm August air encapsulated the evening as Landon walked home, glancing through the week’s assigned reading in his history textbook. Crossing the street that ran parallel with the Natural Science Building, he noticed several people waiting at the bus stop.
One particular individual who caught his eye was a young redhead, probably in her late teens, sitting on the bench reading a book about William Shakespeare. He’d seen her before, with her shoulder-length hair and brown eyes, entering the Humanities Building, but never had the nerve to approach her, nor did he now. With his back to Third Street and moving beyond the bus stop, he left her behind.
It wasn’t that he didn’t usually take the bus home; his apartment was located at the opposite end of Eastern Parkway, quite a distance walking, but sometimes he just liked to walk to the next stop. It gave him time to think. With the sun melting into the western horizon, the bus rolled past with the young redhead on board.
Catching the next bus a few stops down from the student depot, Landon stood in the aisle steadying himself as he prepared to exit near the statue that guarded the entrance to Cherokee Park. His apartment lay just up on the left side of the parkway as one faced the statue, his stop directly across the street. He was nearly home when the faint cries of a woman flowed out of the tree-lined perimeter of the park and moved through the darkness, enveloping him.
He turned his head from side to side, facing the park, attempting to peer through the not quite translucent curtain of trees and get a point of reference for the commotion when another voice called to him from an even greater distance.
Walk away. Run if you have to. Do you understand me? You do not fight.
His father’s words echoed across time from so many years ago. He hadn’t thought about Allen’s cowardly advice in a long time, but now it came back to him, like a warning shot across the bow of a ship. Landon had a perfect track record of never having been in a fight, and perhaps now was not the time to damage that streak. Then again, he thought, it was my father’s advice. What the hell did he know? People always backed down from a fight with him, yet he wanted me to run. And he knew how to do that just fine in the end. Landon moved toward the park.
He didn’t have far to go. At the bottom of a large, steep hill known by locals as a great spot for sledding in the winter, he found what he was looking for, but hoped he wouldn’t find. Three large men had cornered their prey among a thicket of trees. Three, he thought. This is going to be my first and last fight. Drawing nearer, moving through the trees and using the darkness to hide his approach, he noticed something familiar—the redhead from school.
He looked around for something to use as a weapon, but all he could find were sticks too small to defend against a Chihuahua and branches too heavy to pick up.
Walk away, came his father’s voice again.
Finally, ignoring the voice in his head and steeling himself as much as he was able, Landon emerged from the shadows into the clearing, standing approximately fifteen yards from the scene.
I warned you, Allen’s ghost said one last time.
“Hey, you better get outta here. The cops are on their way,” he said, doing his best to hide the trembling in his voice.
The three men turned in his direction, one pausing his previous motion of removing his jeans. The girl lay on the ground, her green, short- sleeved shirt lying shredded beside her as she criss-crossed her bra with her arms.
The largest man spoke up. “This was a private party,” he said through his beard. “And I don’t think the cops are coming at all. But now that you’re here, you might as well stay.”
“Let the girl go and you can do what you want with me.” Landon wasn’t Catholic, but he did his best to say to himself his Our Fathers and Hail Marys.
“Oh, I think we’ll keep the girl and do what we want with you. Tony?” said the large man, glancing to the one with his pants half off. “Get ‘er warmed up for us. We’ll be right back.”
The two men walked slowly toward Landon, each moving farther apart from the other in a flanking formation. The girl screamed as Tony, saliva falling from his mouth, finished removing his clothes and began forcing himself on her. Landon had little time to think and even less time to react. He lunged forward into the space between the two approaching men, racing toward Tony. The smaller of the two men grabbed Landon’s shirt from behind and, pulling back, brought the would-be rescuer to the ground. The large bearded man ran over and kicked him in the right side, the sound of the breaking ribs emanating from within as the pain forced its way through Landon’s upper body and out into the open air in a loud cry.
Landon glanced over to see the red-haired woman, who only a while ago sat at the bus stop reading about the life and times of William Shakespeare, being raped, her attacker smiling and laughing as his hand cupped her mouth, muffling her screams. He could see the tears that ran down her battered face, mixing with the blood that formed a red pool in the green grass beside her head.
In a flash the scene was cut from his eyes as a boot landed in a swift motion directly on his face. Then the real pain began.
“My hand. My arms,” he screamed, as the tormenting agony of every bone in his limbs cracking, breaking, shifting, and stretching under his steaming skin began. Only a moment before, one could still hear the sounds of birds flying from tree to tree and squirrels dashing about through fallen leaves. Now, even the wildlife stopped.
“Man, we haven’t even gotten to your damn arms yet, but we’re gettin’ there,” he heard as he felt the dull pain of a cold knife pierce his flesh just above his groin. He considered the stabbing dull and barely felt the incision compared to what was happening to the rest of his body.
His body convulsed as his skin ripped and pulled apart, his entire body so hot, he felt as if he were burning alive. His screams began to ring out and move like a wave over the surrounding area. If anyone was coming to provide help, he or she surely turned around now.
He hadn’t realized it in his throes at the time, but looking back, he remembered that no more blows had fallen. The sounds of the rape ceased. The men just stood around him, half in terror and half in curiosity. The girl looked at him, dully watching her would-be hero bend and writhe through blood-washed eyes.
Then the last human scream formed deep inside him, and as it reverberated through the air, it changed pitch and tone, becoming a low growl that forced itself upon the ears and spines of every living being that walked or crawled within a quarter-mile radius. At last they could see the creature that was being birthed, its massive fur-covered body beginning to stand erect, turn, and look at them, its burning red eyes and glimmering teeth visible in the cloudy, moonless night.
The thing just stood there, looking at the men. Then it seemed to look past them, to the body lying in the red grass. It saw and smelled the yellow urine that ran down Tony’s leg.
Suddenly, as if the beast understood what took place before its arrival, it leaped effortlessly across the fifteen-yard span to Tony, landing on the rapist and tearing through his chest. Then it turned in the direction of the smaller of the other two men, running toward him as the man rotated to flee, catching him by the flesh of his back and pulling the man toward itself. It ripped its claw through to his spine. The body collapsed to the ground.
The large man knelt, shaking and weeping as the thing walked slowly yet gracefully toward him. It stopped ten feet from him and stared, its eyes locked on his.
“Please, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. It wasn’t my idea. Please, oh God, please…have mercy.”
Both arms of the beast stretched out, its massive claws grabbing the man’s shoulders, jerking him toward its huge body, ripping through the defenseless prey’s neck with its powerful jaws. The man’s head no longer perched atop the neck, but now dangled by scattered strands of skin.
Walking over to the woman, it stared at her unconscious body. It bent down and looked at her as if it knew her, like it recognized her. She was breathing, though laboriously. Reaching out, it brushed the topside of one of its claws against her leg, resulting in a deep moan from the object of its curiosity.
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.
