“I’ll explain everything if you give me a chance. Will you let me get you some clothes and something to eat?”
She crossed her arms, gave him a dismissive sigh, and turned her head toward the window.
“You are free to leave if you want.” He pressed the unlock button on his door. “But there is a lot you need to know. There are others who are searching for you as we speak. What’s your name?” he asked. “I’m Aiden Talik.”
She hesitated. She seemed to consider not answering, but thought better of it. “Christine,” she whispered, her voice shaking with apprehension.
“I’ll be back in a minute. Please wait here. I truly do want to help you,” he said with a smile, then added, “I mean it, Christine.”
Putting his keys into his pocket, Aiden climbed out and quickly headed into the store.
He hoped she would wait while he shopped. He gathered a pair of women’s sweatpants, socks, undergarments, and a grey sweatshirt with a block “O” for Ohio State on its front. He hesitated once he reached the shoe department. With so many choices and so many sizes and feeling slightly overwhelmed, as any guy would, he decided socks and slippers would have to do for now. He grabbed the closest pair, held them out while trying to picture the size of her feet, and shoved them into his cart.
When he approached the truck and saw her still sitting in the passenger seat, he decided he would do anything in his power to help her.
“Christine?” he loudly whispered once he was a few steps from the door. He didn’t want to startle her. He opened the driver’s side door, passed her the bag of clothes, and then returned to the back of the truck to give her a little privacy. A couple of minutes later, the passenger door cracked open and she called his name.
Aiden climbed into the driver’s seat. “I promise you, Christine. Despite what you think, I do want to help you.”
“Do you shoot everyone you want to help?”
He didn’t mean to chuckle, but her smart-assed tone took him by surprise.
“How’s the side of your chest where I grazed you with a bullet?”
“Grazed? Is that what you call it? It didn’t feel like a graze. It felt like you held a hot poker against my skin.”
“That was the silver.”
She turned away, carefully lifted her sweatshirt to see the wound, and then looked back at him. “I’m fine,” she said. “I don’t even have a mark.”
“We should get out of here before my truck is spotted. I imagine Greg, one of the men chasing you, will have sent the cops looking for it. Will you trust me? I’ll explain everything shortly.”
She paused and then nodded. “Where are we going?”
“First order of business is to that Sonic down the street. I’m starving.”
Christine sighed. “I hate to admit, but with my recent changes my appetite has increased quite a bit and I seem to always be hungry for burgers.” They shared a nervous laugh.
Aiden made a quick trip through the fast-food restaurant’s drive-thru, ordering burgers and fries to go with the bottled water he had picked up at Walmart. They ate while he drove, each immersed in their own thoughts.
With nothing left but the wrappers, Aiden broke the silence. “We have to expose the WereHouse. I think I know someone who can help.”
“Who would that be?”
“Senator Wooten, of course.”
21
KILLER’S REMORSE
AS Aiden and Christine drove away from the city and toward Senator Wooten’s residence, she was unable to take her eyes off of him. He must have sensed her staring because he shrugged his right shoulder upward and tilted his head in an attempt to hide a jagged, purplish scar that ran down his neck and beneath his shirt collar for who knew how far.
“So. Who are you?” she asked.
“I’m a rogue hunter,” he said without hesitation.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I work for ...,” he paused and shook his head. “Well, I worked for the WereHouse. Wild, roving werewolves aren’t good for business.”
“I wouldn’t think so. How do you know when they’ve gone wild?”
“There is an implant in each werewolf’s neck.”
“An implant?”
“Yeah. A computer chip. It monitors adrenaline levels and sends a signal to the company if the levels get too high. Since wergs are trained to be completely docile, certain levels of adrenaline can be indicative of a werg going rogue. When that happens, I investigate.”
“And if one has, as you say, gone rogue, then what?”
“I think you know, Christine.”
She stared, amazed and disgusted that she sat so close to someone who could only be described as a killer. “So, you just kill people, just as easily as you would a rabid dog?”
“No, no, no. I’ve never knowingly killed a person. You must understand. I was raised to see those creatures—”
She interrupted, “You mean people.”
He glanced away from the road long enough to make eye contact with her and she saw deep sadness in his eyes. She noticed his hand was shaking as he spoke. “Yeah,” he conceded, his voice no longer strong. He lowered his head. “You’re right. If I knew...,” his voice trailed off.
Christine looked out at the trees as they whipped past her window. “I don’t have an implant ... that I know of.”
“I know.”
“You know, huh? Well, what else do you know about me?”
“Not much.”
She heard sincerity in his soft voice, but wasn’t happy with his answer. “No, I mean about what I am.”
“I know about wergs. I know you are the first female I’ve ever seen.”
“Really? Why is that?”
“I’ve been told female wergs are nearly untamable and that they drive the other wergs crazy. In fact, that’s how we found you.”
“Oh?”
“Your scent was driving the males crazy whenever you went near them. We followed their adrenaline spikes. You’ve been creating quite the headache for the company. That’s why they sent me. You were much harder to find than the typical rogues. If you hadn’t stayed to finish that deer, we still might not have found you.” He paused. His voice hardened when he said, “But we would have soon enough,” and his callousness gave her a chill. He caught himself and apologized for being so blunt.
She steered the conversation away, hoping to shake the creepy feeling that she had been followed. A morbid curiosity filled her. “So, you were just going to shoot me?”
He nodded.
“I’ve never been shot before. Does it always burn like that?”
“Like I said before, that was the silver.”
“Silver? Like in the movies?”
“I guess. Wergs are allergic to silver.”
“And if you don’t have silver?”
He looked to her with sincere, saddened eyes and she saw a strong man overcome by remorse. “Are you sure you want to hear all of this?”
“I need to hear it.”
He looked back to the road and stared as if in a trance. “I’ve killed wergs in many ways with many different weapons.” He paused as he reconsidered telling her everything.
“Take your time.”
He softly chewed on his lower lip. “It’s just harder to do without silver. A werg’s bones are much denser than a human’s, and regular bullets have a hard time piercing their sternums. Somehow the silver reacts to their blood and tissue and passes through bone more easily. Once in their heart or bloodstream, it’s only a matter of time.”
He took a deep breath. “If you’re good, silver doesn’t matter. I’ve used anything I could get my hands on. I’ve used knives, regular bullets, whatever. Hell, I’ve even used an ... an ...,” he trailed off as the guilt strangled his voice. “Oh, God.” He swallowed, found the strength, and continued, “I’ve even used an axe.” “What have I become?” he whispered, more to himself than to her. He wiped his eyes with his jittery hand. “I’m sorry,” h
e said with a pained half-smile. “I guess I’m as much of a monster as I believed those I hunted were.”
“You’re not a monster. I can see it in your eyes.”
He gritted his teeth as if fighting his own weakness.
Christine leaned closer so she could look into his dark eyes. “Why did you do it?” she asked. “What made you become a hunter in the first place?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “We need to find somewhere to rest for a couple of hours and get this truck out of sight. It’d be best to visit the Senator in the middle of the night. We can’t exactly waltz in there during business hours, if you know what I mean.”
22
TALE OF ANOTHER TIME
AIDEN turned his gaze away from Christine and back to the road. She touched his shoulder. For years he had dreamed of what a woman’s touch would feel like, and it was as wonderful as he imagined.
“I need to know what made you kill so many,” she said.
He shook his head. He didn’t want to talk about why he was the way he was. He steered the truck into an empty parking lot next to an old, abandoned factory. There was a hand-painted sign on one of the windows that read Dog Park. He drove around to the rear of the building, out of sight of the road. He parked, switched off the lights, and stared through the windshield while fidgeting with the peeling steering wheel cover.
“It’s okay,” she said. “You can tell me. It’s your turn to trust me.”
For some reason, he did trust her.
He took a deep breath. “I didn’t ...,” his voice was scratchy and he cleared his throat. “I didn’t know they were people. I swear.”
“But they were creatures, flesh and blood.”
“I hunted them in the same way someone would hunt a grizzly bear that had gotten a taste for human flesh. I thought I was on the side of God.” He sniffed and wiped his arm across his upper lip. “All along, I worked for the devil.” He looked into her eyes. “I could have killed you.”
She touched his cheek. “I see so much pain and compassion and anger in your eyes, all at once.”
“I wasn’t always like this,” he said.
“I believe you.”
“I’ve never told anyone this before.”
“It’s okay,” she said.
He took another deep breath. “My mom and dad died when I was fifteen.” His eyes glossed over, but he fought back the tears. “My dad bought me a werepet when I was ten, and he was my best friend for five years. I named him Rufus, and he was the perfect pet. Until that night.”
“Tell me what happened.”
He looked up at the underside of the roof, the memories too painful. He had spent his entire adult life trying to forget that night, but Christine deserved to know the truth.
“Take your time,” she said with the voice of an angel.
He closed his eyes. The memories were as fresh and raw as if it had happened last night. As he told her his story of that horrible night, he relived every agonizing moment in his mind.
He was in his bedroom. As far as his mother knew, he was doing his homework, but he was actually reading a new Wolverine comic book that a friend had given him at school.
He heard the front door slam shut downstairs. His father shouted in a way that Aiden had never heard his father shout before.
“Rufus!” his father screamed. Aiden opened his door and stood in the doorway. Rufus waited at the other end of the hall near the stairs. He held his ears back and his head lowered.
Aiden’s father stormed up the stairs, shouting for Rufus to come to him. Aiden wanted to hide his best friend in his room, but he had never heard his father’s voice so angry, and he was afraid of making him angrier.
When his dad appeared beside Rufus at the top of the stairs, he glanced at Aiden with terror painted across his face. He screamed, “Get in your room and shut your door.”
Aiden didn’t listen. His father grabbed Rufus’ collar, dragged him into the bathroom, and slammed the door. Aiden stepped into the hall. He heard his dad digging through the medicine chest like a madman.
His mother ran up the stairs. “Tell me what’s happening,” she cried through the bathroom door. Seeing Aiden, she turned and shouted, “Go to your room,” but Aiden ignored her too. She pounded on the bathroom door with her open hand. Aiden wanted to get to Rufus and protect him more than anything in the world, but fear paralyzed him.
And then Rufus yelped. It was the second most devastating sound he had ever heard. The first most devastating sound came immediately after when Rufus wailed in pain.
Aiden stopped speaking. What came next was too painful.
Christine broke the silence. “It’s okay,” she said. “Try to calm down.”
He opened his eyes. His hands were trembling and he was winded like he had just finished a marathon. His fingers tingled and he was light-headed. He had had panic attacks before, and realized he was having one now. Slow your breathing, he told himself.
Christine turned his head toward her. Even as he looked into her innocent eyes, his mind drifted back to that night.
He ran to his mother’s side.
“Go to your room,” she shouted again.
“No,” he shouted back.
Maybe she saw the intensity on his face, or was desperate for answers, because she didn’t argue. Instead, she said, “Kick in the door.”
Aiden stared at her.
“Do it. Kick in the door.”
Aiden stepped back and kicked the door again and again until it crashed open. His mother pushed past him into the bathroom. She gasped and turned away. Aiden peered past her. His father stood over Rufus, who lay submissive on the tile floor. He held a bloody pair of scissors as he stared numbly at Rufus.
“What did you do?” Aiden asked.
Instead of answering, his father turned to the counter, dropped the scissors and something about the size of a quarter into the sink, and washed his hands.
“Rufus?” Aiden said as he reached out for his friend.
“Aiden,” his father snapped. “Don’t touch him. Don’t get his blood on you.”
“Dad, what did you do?’ he cried again. His father stared through him. “These chips ...,” he said and nodded toward the sink. “We’ve done something awful.” Aiden’s mother sobbed and backed against the wall.
“What do you mean?” Aiden yelled back, but his father didn’t answer.
Then Rufus perked his ears up and growled. Aiden couldn’t tell if he was growling at him or at something else. Rufus rose onto all fours and snarled, showing his teeth. It was the first time Aiden had ever seen aggression from any werepet, let alone his friend, and it scared him.
His father backed against the wall, almost tripping over the toilet. “They’re here,” he whispered. Aiden would never forgiven himself for what he did next. Like a coward, he ran to his room and locked his door.
From the corner of his room, he listened. Rufus’ claws scrapped the hardwood floorboards as he scurried down the stairs. After a few seconds, Rufus yelped again, this time from the living room below Aiden’s room. No matter how hard Aiden pressed his hands against his ears, he couldn’t escape Rufus’ cries or his mother’s screams.
Christine caressed Aiden’s hand while he talked. Her touch meant everything and kept him strong. He said, “That was the night I promised myself to never give in to fear again.”
“You weren’t a coward.”
“I sat in there with a baseball bat.” He half-chuckled. “Can you imagine? All of the weapons I use today to stop werepets, and I thought a baseball bat would help.”
“You were only fifteen.”
He bowed his head. “I suppose.”
Christine handed him a bottle of water. “Here, take a drink.” He chugged it down.
“This would be a nice time for some whisky,” he said with another chuckle as he wiped his mouth. “Where was I?”
“You were in your room and something was happening to Rufus and your mom downstairs.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s when I heard the gunfire. I had to go downstairs to see what was happening. I no longer cared if I was going to die. And I haven’t cared since.”
He gathered enough strength to pull himself from the floor and made his way to the stairs. With all the sounds of the struggle from the living room, it was the abrupt silence that followed that gave Aiden pause. He wanted to call out to his mom and dad, but he didn’t want to draw Rufus from the room, either, in case his friend had in fact turned on them.
The front door in the foyer at the bottom of the stairs was slightly open with the bolt-lock still extended. The doorframe was splintered with pieces of wood jutting outward. Aiden considered fleeing to the outside, but he had to see what had happened to his family. From the bottom stair, he peeked around the banister down the hall to the living room. The one wall that he could see from that angle was covered in blood and claw marks. He dropped to his knees on the landing, unable to will himself to go any farther.
He wanted to hide—his house was big enough that he could probably hide for days—but he needed to know what his dad had done to make Rufus turn on them. He needed to know if Rufus had turned on him as well, and he was willing to die to find out.
Before he found the strength to force himself to his feet, the front door creaked open. He stared in petrified silence.
A man with an assault rifle slipped through the opening, pointed his weapon at Aiden, and then continued down the hall toward the living room. Aiden waited, still on his knees as a second man peeked into the foyer before entering.
Something about the man seemed familiar.
“Aiden?” the man asked.
Aiden gripped his baseball bat tighter. Though the words were hard to get out, Aiden asked, “How do you know my name?”
The man said, “You were about ten years old when you came to the WereHouse and purchased your pet.”
Aiden studied his face for a moment, and then said, “Mr. Henderson?”
The man nodded. “Stand up, son. You should probably see this.” He held out his hand.
Aiden reluctantly took it.
Before he led Aiden down the hall, he shouted, “Is the product secure?” Someone from the living room answered in the affirmative.
Tamed Page 12
