CHAPTER TWENTY
From the Journals of Caroline Stewart
September 23, 1981
I’m almost at a loss for words. Today Nick’s first regression session was a disaster. Dr. Jerry Boone is a colleague I trust implicitly, so I had great hopes for Nick’s therapy. Unfortunately, bringing Nick back to when he was bitten by the neighbor boy who carried the illness and spread it to Nick before being killed, turned out to be just too traumatic.
November 19, 1981
True, I pressured Nick into the regression, and I swore Boone to secrecy regarding what Nick might reveal. Afterward, Boone seemed frightened—no, terrified. I tried to ask him what had happened in the session, what Nick said that caused Boone—usually the most unflappable guy in the room—to react with such fear. But he stuttered that he couldn’t tell me due to his confidentiality concerns. Which was the right answer, but still not what I wanted to hear. He was a bit of a stiff, Jerry Boone, but his integrity was solid.
Of course, I suspected what might have caused this reaction. Knowing Nick’s secret, I could imagine what he might have blurted out. For some reason, it didn’t occur to me until much later that maybe the session had triggered a change, right there in Boone’s office.
I’d guess that would have torn a large rift in Boone’s view of the world.
I’m so smitten with Nick that I didn’t press him when he refused to tell me. I wasn’t always thinking straight. Our love had blossomed, and our bond had strengthened to the point where I trusted Nick’s word—or his silence—as much as I would have trusted my own. Maybe naively, I believed that Nick’s one session had been a failed experiment and his reluctance to talk about it was ultimately of no concern.
Now, two months later, I understand how foolish I was and how blinded I had become.
Today I learned that Dr. Jerry Boone was found in his East Side office, shot with his own handgun in an apparent suicide. That office was the very same place Nick visited in September for his one and only session. Boone left no note, no clue as to what caused him to take his own life, except that he had pulled every single book off his office shelves. Dozens of books, all flung to the floor as if in anger.
The police will investigate Boone’s patient list, but the trail won’t lead to Nick because his session was kept strictly off the books. Boone had a crush on me, and I used him ruthlessly.
Nick was sincerely distraught when I told him, but I can’t deny that he also appeared relieved.
Only now with hindsight do I wish I had thought through my bright-eyed theory. As much as I love Nick, I don’t know that I can trust the Creature he harbors within. I don’t know that Nick himself trusts that Creature.
Did Nick drive Dr. Boone to suicide?
I may never know, but I suspect I’ll always have the niggling thought at the back of my mind.
Maybe I didn’t pull the trigger, but I might have loaded the gun.
And I’ll always feel guilty.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Tannhauser
He was nearly done stitching the wound where the Indian bastard had sliced him with that silver-bladed knife.
The pain was exquisite, but it reminded him that they took too much for granted.
Just how many people in this place knew about werewolves? He’d taken the job figuring they had a natural advantage, but suddenly the field was crowded with enemies.
His skin had sizzled under the silver blade. He held the last bit of blackened edges together and made one more stitch, then knotted it.
Where was Tef? Half day’s liberty, probably carousing. He hadn’t been right in the head since they’d left Iraq. Tannhauser knew he should watch his back. The kid was sniffing around for an opportunity to challenge.
Now he needed Schwartz more than ever.
Julia Barrett
Darkness advancing. The forest floor nothing but clumps of long shadows.
A light in the sky indicated moonrise. It meant nothing to her.
No idea how long she’d been running. No idea what direction or how many directions.
Naked, bleeding, sweating.
Barrett realized she’d reverted to some sort of primal version of herself. She’d bared her teeth at the motherfucker like an animal.
But he was the animal.
He was a predator, and she refused to be his victim. She was nobody’s victim. Damn them all, including the coward Bowen, and Lupo and his enabler partners.
She’d been running so long, afraid to hear his tread behind her, that she didn’t even realize her feet were a mess of open wounds and slashes. She was weakening, the blood loss finally getting to her. A bony frame didn’t help. She’d been strong, stronger than the bastard expected, but now she wished she had some reserves of stamina to draw from, but she didn’t.
Had she been able to consult a map, she would have realized that she’d run in a chain of tiny little circles on a roughly southeasterly course between Dollar Lake and Eagle Lake, which would have pegged where her attacker plied his trade. Now she spotted moonlight glinting off water on her left. She followed it as best she could. These yokel fishing-type bastards always built on the water, so she’d run into some kind of habitation sometime.
A phone and then a police raid. They had a sheriff here. She’d lead him right to the predator.
Suddenly she broke through the tree line and stumbled forward into a clearing, startled by the lack of obstacles. A dark house stood before her.
Weeping with joy, she dragged herself to the back door and started pounding with weakened, bloody fists.
Jessie
She drove Lupo’s Maxima back to town, following Arnow to the courthouse and leaving him there before heading back to Sam’s.
Arnow was shell-shocked. The term dated back to World War One, but it fit Arnow’s glazed look perfectly. She’d left him with a warning to remember that Nick Lupo was one of the good guys. He agreed, but his distant look spoke to how hard they’d rocked his worldview.
There was a desperate quality to the way he looked at her when she left him. She knew he’d been attracted to her from the beginning. Maybe it would have worked out if she hadn’t had Nick.
She followed the side roads that led around the lakes and channels, past the resorts, toward Circle Moon Drive. She wasn’t sure when she became aware of the shadow pacing her, but every time she glanced out the window, she sensed rather than saw a shape loping along with the car.
Nick?
Or…?
She wished the shotgun was in the car with her rather than in the trunk.
The shadow paced her for a few more minutes, then faded deeper into the woods.
She breathed out in a rush, suddenly aware that she’d been holding her breath.
Arnow
The bottom drawer of his desk called to him. There was brandy there. Brandy was his drink of choice. He resisted, switching his interest to the shotgun shells Jessie had given him. He set them down.
Jesus, what was he supposed to do, believe that crap they were selling?
He sat and put his hands on his head.
No, he shouldn’t believe it. But he’d seen it with his eyes. No drinking. But no sleep, either. Had he been dreaming, hallucinating?
A man turning into a wolf? Something out of kids’ books.
And there were more of them?
But he’d seen it clearly enough. Dammit, his eyes didn’t lie.
And in a crazy sort of way, it explained the crime scenes better than any of the logical, practical, realistic theories he had constructed.
He stood so suddenly that his head spun for a second. He couldn’t be seen like this by his men. He emptied half a box of Sam Waters’s special shells and filled the loops on his old-fashioned gun belt, then spilled a few more into his pocket. He’d figure out a way to spread them around later.
First he had to make a call. The mayor had left a message looking for an update.
Jesus!
Death, death, and more deat
h.
How’s that for a report?
There wasn’t a lot more he could say. A couple of the surviving council members were under protection of sorts. Sam’s cottage was remote, according to Jessie. There was a family huddled there. And a couple of the others were together, watching each other’s back. Arnow didn’t have the manpower to patrol and also protect. He accepted that now. It was time for action; no more cleaning up crime scenes. He had to get ahead of the game.
He thought a few things through, made a mental inventory, then made his phone call.
Out in the squad room, he saw Faber and Arrales, both so weary they seemed to sway. Or maybe he was swaying. Phone in hand, he waved them in. Now to get them to switch the ammo in their riot guns.
Meanwhile, he spoke into the phone.
Tannhauser
Running, running, running through the woods. He felt the wound healing. It was his mind-set, his age, his experience. Wounds healed faster when in wolfskin, so he’d gone out running in the hope of finding Tef and leading him in. And sure enough, he’d found the kid playing with that car, shadowing it and taking a huge risk. Tannhauser caught a slight scent of silver from the rear of that car. Did everyone around here carry a stash?
He nosed Tef’s gray wolf away from the road and led him back to the Hemlock house.
Julia Barrett
In the middle of scrabbling for a rock large enough to break into the house, she heard the door whip open behind her.
“Oh Jesus God!” she shrieked uncharacteristically, as she dropped the rock and dashed for the dark rectangle a skeletal hand held open.
“Thank God you’re home,” she blurted as she stumbled inside, naked and scratched, bruised and bleeding. She knew she must have looked hideous, but the thought of the depraved killer possibly only a few steps behind her propelled her into the darkness of the house. “Please, I need to call the police!”
She tried catching her breath, which came in ragged bursts.
A strange odor permeated the air. She tried to cover her genitals with her torn-up hands. And she turned her attention to the man who had opened the door. He still stood next to it, and she wished he would close it. Close it and bolt it, in case the maniac arrived. She paused and looked him up and down quickly.
He was gaunt, anemic looking. His skin was patchy with some sort of disease or bruises. His hair was thin and oily, sticking up in tufts, the sign of having just awakened.
She spoke fast. “I’m sorry to bother you, but thank you for opening your door. I’m not crazy or anything like that. I’m a police officer.” She’d found that using her police status over her medical status worked wonders for people’s cooperation. Of course, she was usually dressed and made up like a professional at those times, while right now she looked like an escaped lunatic. A naked lunatic. “Someone’s following me, chasing me, trying to kill me,” she blurted out. “I got away, ran through the woods. Ended up here, but I don’t know where I am…”
Her voice faded, and her hands shifted nervously before dropping.
The man at the door was smiling.
Smiling!
He did not look convinced. Or interested. He only looked…What did he remind her of?
Hunger. He looked hungry. As she watched, he licked dry lips with a very long tongue.
“Of course I can help,” he said in a whisper.
What was wrong with his voice?
Why did he look so close to death?
He started to close the door and, for a moment, she con-templated—insanely!—making a run for it and taking her chances outside, where he was most likely still on her trail. But suddenly she felt more threatened here, in this house. It was too late—the door was closing. She gathered her breath, made sure her hands were still covering her strategically, and then her mouth just fell open.
And what was left of her sanity deserted her, this time for good.
Two huge dogs loped in through the door, but as soon as they were inside, the air blurred around them and impossibly—for it was impossible!—they stood there as men, staring at her.
Naked men, she noticed.
One older, distinguished even in his nudity. An ugly black wound stretched across his chest. The other was much younger, punky, godlike…
And oh so aroused.
“Wha—” she blubbered, simply lacking words.
The older man turned to the one who had opened the door and spoke. Was it German? It sounded so military, so guttural. The sickly man responded in the same tongue. The younger man smiled at her, his huge gleaming erection drawing her eyes downward.
In a part of her mind, she forgot her own nakedness. She almost forgot her predicament. Her thoughts whirled. Nick Lupo was the reason she had come here, some vague sense of revenge, payback, in her angered mind. Now she understood that something else was happening, happening to her. All in a rush, she understood that she was looking at the cause of it all.
She was in the lion’s mouth.
“An appropriate image,” said the older man, switching to English. She must have spoken her thought aloud. He smiled too, and she couldn’t help noticing that his gnarled penis was now engorged as well. Now they were all smiling at her, and new tears broke out on her streaked, bloody face.
The air blurred again and the men were gone, replaced by the savage dogs. Smiles turned into toothy grins on long snouts.
Julia Barrett’s highly advanced mind recognized them as wolves and made numerous connections, numerous conclusions.
But it was too late.
The three wolves lunged, their jaws snapping.
They were no longer smiling.
Arnow
“Get your Remingtons.”
He stared at their confused faces, letting them get uncomfortable.
“Remember the bad ammo I told you about last week? I got the replacement shipment.”
Sure enough, neither wanted to admit he didn’t know what the boss was talking about.
“Oh, yeah,” said Arrales.
“Right, right,” muttered Faber.
They hauled ass and returned with their shotguns, ejecting the shells from their magazines.
“Good job. Make sure you spread the word.” He handed out the new shells and watched them jacked into the guns.
There was no need for further explanation when you were the boss. One of the few perks.
“I’m leaving these here on my desk. Make sure everybody else loads up.”
“That all we have, boss?” Faber nodded at the yellow and green boxes.
“Uh, for now. It’s just a demo batch. We’ll get more.”
“We planning a war, boss?”
“You’ve seen the crime scenes. We get lucky, you may get to use it when it counts.”
They smiled through their fatigue, clearly excited.
Fools.
Tannhauser
Their employer’s voice boomed into his ear. If not for the rather sizable secret payments, he might not have taken the call. “Yes.”
“Two rings this time. Congratulations.”
“Aim to please,” he growled.
“Not always, in my experience. Nonetheless, I am calling because I, uh—well, I hesitate to speak of it, but—”
“But?”
“I have had a slight problem with, shall I say, a friend and playmate who wandered off. Sad to say, she was a bit bloody the last time I saw her, the result of an…accident that left her confused and disoriented.”
Tannhauser laughed into the phone. “Ah, yes, the naked lady who appeared to have been played with?”
Pause. “Perhaps it’s her,” Mr. XYZ said cautiously. “I would have to see her.”
“You’ll have to settle for parts of her. Your problem has been resolved by our efficiency.”
And to the great good luck of her stumbling onto our doorstep.
Breath exploded on the other end, and tangible relief. “Excellent news! Was she, er, alone and unencumbered?”
“Very much so.�
� Tannhauser grinned. “Perhaps now we know a little about you, our generous employer…”
“You best forget anything you may think you know. Much better for everyone. I have it on good authority that two remaining council members are sheltering in a house on the reservation. Here’s the address. You can’t miss it—it’s the only Cape Cod around.”
Tannhauser swallowed his retort. There were payments yet to be made—no need to poison the well. The woman had briefly entertained and then fed them. She was Mr. XYZ’s business, and Tannhauser had been taught to follow orders without question.
“We’ll get right on it,” he promised.
“See that you do. I’ll be in touch.”
“Use the secure line,” Tannhauser said.
“Of course. Now go earn my money.”
Tannhauser threw the phone across the room, where it shattered into fragments.
“Gentlemen, the endgame is upon us.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Arnow
Fatigue made him light-headed, after an hour in his basement. He remembered Jessie telling him about Lupo’s recon of the house on Hemlock. It was one of the Timber Shores timeshares on a channel between two lakes. Fancy vacation houses, usually rented by the week or month. During business hours, Arnow would have asked for the company records. But it was late, and he had no time to observe the niceties. He could barge in there and claim probable cause. Ending the killings would erase any improprieties he might rack up meantime.
He wanted to talk to Lupo about the Hemlock house, but he was getting antsy. Why not just go in blazing?
Arnow knew he was slipping the bounds of good sense. What if they were innocent timeshare buddies? Then it would be his ass strung up for everybody to kick. Lupo would be irrelevant. It was his job he’d fuck up.
The Remington lay on the desk like a coiled scorpion with its military folding polymer stock and pistol grip. He jacked in silver rounds, wishing he could feel the power. Wishing he could prove to himself it was all true.
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