Tamed

by Douglas R. Brown

  A sharp pain gripped her chest. A rush of dread washed through her as she realized her anger was bringing on the one thing that assured her own death as well as Billy’s. With every ounce of focus, she thought back to Billy’s daily “look-at-that-ass” comments, and her memories made her smile. Each time her mind returned to what the guests were eating, she forced her thoughts to her job and her friends at the firehouse. Slowly, with a lot of concentration, the pain in her chest subsided.

  While the psychos feasted on what could really be their own neighbors, employees, or even deadbeat relatives, Christine sat and stared into the dead eyes of the mutilated head set in front of her.

  I am so sorry for what has happened to you.

  Her chest ached again.

  30

  DINNER

  CHRISTINE scanned the roomful of old, rich, fat men and their trophy wives or girlfriends as each of the Expeditioners dragged their last bites of meat through their leftover gravy and crammed them into their bloated faces. Some of the women exchanged inane laughs, while others leaned back in their chairs with the wide-eyed look of discomfort that comes from gorging. The waiters gathered the empty plates.

  “Not agreeable to you tonight, miss?” one of the waiters asked as he removed her untouched plate.

  She ignored him. Bernard chuckled.

  She leaned in to his ear and whispered, “I hate you,” which made him laugh out loud.

  The host stood up again. “Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to thank you all for coming this evening. I think we can all agree that this meal was truly one-in-a-million. Please join us, once again, in thanking Mr. Hen—”

  A woman screamed from the other side of the dining room doors. Bernard turned his head from the host to the double doors, still chewing his last chunk of charred meat. At the head of the table, the host stood frozen, confused. The guests turned in their seats to see the dining room doors, curious, but not as fearful as maybe they should have been.

  The dining hall fell silent, but only for a few seconds. Then the dining room doors burst open.

  It was Aiden.

  Christine barely recognized him as he stood in the doorway, his face mangled and covered in hair. But it was him, she had no doubt. He held a pistol in his hand and dried blood crusted on his face and arms. He stumbled against the doorway with a wince. His forehead jutted unnaturally outward; his mouth was distorted and twitching. He shouted, “Let her go,” but his deep voice was grizzled, more snarl than human.

  The women in the room shrieked. The cowardly men overturned their chairs in their haste to escape. Some of the party-goers stampeded past Aiden as the half-man, half-beast fought his transformation. The others cowered into the four corners of the room.

  Bernard rose from his seat with his left hand tight around Christine’s arm.

  Aiden aimed his weapon, but his leg popped and distorted at that precise second, throwing him off balance. His shot went wide, striking one of the many silver and gold sconces on the wall behind Christine.

  He fired again, and Bernard ducked below the table as another shot sailed past his head. Aiden roared. His jaw protruded outward and his skin stretched to accommodate his changing form.

  Bernard pulled Christine to the floor beneath the table. “Tell him to stop or I’ll kill you,” he shouted, terror written across his face. He fumbled with his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. This was her chance. She swatted his hand, sending the phone sliding across the polished parquet floor.

  Aiden dropped to all fours.

  Bernard reached for his phone, but Christine shoved him off balance and he fell on his face. She kicked the phone away from his frantic grasp. He dove for her, but she scurried from his outstretched arm.

  Aiden leaped across the table. Bernard reached blindly above his head and grabbed a fork from his plate. Aiden lunged at him with snapping teeth and then recoiled with a yelp. Bernard scrambled to his feet and fled through the kitchen door.

  Aiden fell to the floor—the fork protruding from the side of his neck. Christine scrambled to reach him. Silver!

  She ripped the fork from his flesh.

  “Aiden. You have to change back,” she screamed. The remaining terrified party-goers scurried past in their escape from the room.

  Aiden writhed on the ground.

  Christine searched the room for something—anything—to help, but there was nothing useful. And then she remembered Bernard’s phone. She found it and dialed the number to Fire Station 22.

  Willie answered, “Yello.”

  “Willie, it’s Christine.”

  “Christine, where the hell have you b—”

  “No time. I need your help. Bring the medic to the Penrose Lodge.”

  “What’s up, Chris?”

  “Just hurry. You know where it is, right?”

  “Yeah, I know. We’ll be right there.”

  She tossed the cell phone to the floor and hurried back to Aiden. He dug at his wound until it was raw and bleeding worse than before. His mouth filled with thick, frothy phlegm which oozed past his teeth.

  “Hold on, Aiden. Please.”

  She cradled his head in her arms for what seemed like an eternity before she heard the sirens. She prayed they belonged to the medic and not the police, though she figured the cops would be there soon enough.

  She rocked back and forth with Aiden’s head on her lap.

  After another minute, Willie shouted from the entryway, “Christine?”

  “In here,” she answered. “Oh, God, in here.”

  Willie and Mick stepped through the door. Mick carried a large, square medic case while Willie held an equally bulky airway kit. They both froze when they entered the dining room.

  “Christine?” Mick asked. “What’s going on?”

  “No time to explain. You have to help me save him.”

  “But he’s a werepet. We don’t work on animals. He needs a vet.”

  “No,” she snapped. “You don’t understand.” She pulled the orange kit from his hand and yanked it open, spilling unopened medication boxes onto the floor. “He’s got silver in his blood,” she said, as if her words would mean anything to them. She handed a stunned Mick an IV bag and tubing. “Set this up,” she shouted.

  “What are we doi—?” he started to ask, but she interrupted him.

  “He’s having a reaction to the silver. They say it’s similar to anaphylaxis. This is his only chance.” She tied a tourniquet around Aiden’s fur covered arm. Mick began to come around, or at least he knelt down to help.

  “What do you want me to do, Chris?” Willie asked in a tone void of confidence.

  “Draw up Benadryl and Epinephrine. If it’s like anaphylaxis, maybe our allergic reaction protocol will help.”

  “But he’s not a person. He’s a ... a ... a dog.”

  She glared at him; he got the message. He dug through the kit for the requested drugs.

  Aiden jerked and thrashed, the wheezing in his lungs growing loud enough to hear from across the room.

  She caressed the soft skin at the inside bend of his elbow until she felt the spongy lump of a vein. She crammed the IV needle into his flesh. Dark red blood filled the IV chamber. She removed the needle and fastened the tubing into the IV catheter.

  “Hold on, Aiden,” she said, and caught a curious glance from Willie. Aiden convulsed briefly before going limp. He gasped a last breath, exhaled, and the light faded from his soulless black eyes.

  “No, no, no,” she cried. “Give me the Benadryl.” She held out her hand. Willie set a syringe on her open palm. She flushed the contents into Aiden’s veins.

  Mick touched her shoulder. “Chris, it’s over. The Benadryl won’t work if his heart isn’t pumping.”

  “Well, start compressions then,” she screamed.

  Mick stared, a little skeptical, but then rolled Aiden onto his back and pressed on his sternum. “Chris, it isn’t doing any good. His chest is too hard. There’s no give.”

  “Give him th
e Epi,” she shouted.

  Willie did.

  The hair fell in clumps from Aiden’s body, leaving in its place red hives and welts. His snout distorted and sucked back toward his face. Mick and Willie stood up and backed away until they bumped against the dining room wall. After a few more seconds, the transformation was complete—Aiden was himself again.

  Christine pressed on his sternum in rhythmic, brutal thrusts. “Help me, guys.” Neither of them moved. “Guys,” she shouted. “Help me.” Mick rushed to the airway kit and grabbed a mask. He pressed it to Aiden’s mouth and nose and squeezed the bag over and over, sending bursts of air into Aiden’s lungs.

  Willie gathered his senses and joined in.

  “Breathe,” Christine cried, the tears streaking down her cheeks. “I can’t do this without you.”

  Willie took over the compressions for her, and Mick continued pushing air into Aiden’s lungs. Christine collapsed to her rear, hopeless, ready to give up. Mick looked up while squeezing breath after breath into Aiden’s lungs. “It isn’t over yet, Chris. Give the Benadryl a chance to work.”

  She didn’t have the strength. “He’s dead, Mick. It didn’t work. You guys can stop.”

  Willie looked to Mick who nodded. Christine’s heart cried out. Willie slowed the compressions before stopping altogether.

  Mick gave an extra breath before he let the mask fall to the floor. “I’m sorry, Chris.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” she answered.

  Willie whispered, “What the hell did we just see, Chris?”

  She glanced up at him and then back to Aiden. “The werewolves are people,” she mumbled. “They always have been.”

  Willie’s jaw hung open. He didn’t say a word, only stared.

  “Who is he, Chris?” Mick asked.

  “A man I’ve fallen in love with.” She buried her face against Aiden’s chest. She tried to cover her tears, but couldn’t hide them. Mick touched her shoulder.

  She leaned back, took a deep, strength-building breath, and stood up. Although she had only known Aiden for a miniscule of time, she felt as though she had lost everything. She stared at his motionless body lying on the floor and prayed he would get up, though she was certain her prayers would go unanswered.

  Crushing pain gripped her chest. She leaned her head on Mick’s shoulder. The pain was familiar, but no less agonizing.

  “Are you okay, Chris?” he asked.

  She stared at the wall.

  “Chris?”

  The change was coming. Though she wanted nothing more than to stop it from happening, she didn’t want to take her mind from Aiden. In their brief time together, she had grown to feel more deeply for him than she had for anyone since her mother died and her father left. She pictured the wonderful smile Aiden had given her before he disappeared into the forest at Senator Wooten’s home. But instead of his smile bringing her happiness, her chest constricted at the thought of never seeing that smile again.

  She closed her eyes, refusing to let the anger take hold. She remembered the brush of his finger across her cheek and a smile cracked her lips. She opened her eyes, the pain and feelings of change temporarily subsiding.

  Willie disappeared from the room and returned with a white sheet from the medic. As he unfolded it to cover Aiden’s lifeless body, he paused and said, “Uh, Christine?”

  She followed his wide eyes to Aiden’s body. The welts and red patches of hives on Aiden’s flesh had faded until they were almost gone. Willie pressed his fingers to the side of Aiden’s neck. “Uh, guys, he has a pulse.”

  Suddenly, Aiden opened his eyes wide with the terror of a man who had seen the other side. He blinked and gasped. He hacked and coughed and gagged on the fresh air. He sat up with a wince and a groan, waving away offers of help. Christine could tell that he still hurt, but he was too tough, too proud to reveal how badly.

  “Where is he?” he blurted.

  Christine dropped to her knees at his side. She wrapped her arms around his chest. “It’s okay,” she whispered into his ear. “He’s gone.” His chest rose and fell in deep, deliberate breaths. He scanned the room in constant search of any possible threat.

  She leaned back. He looked into her eyes. The warmth she had seen in them several days before returned, bringing a smile to her lips. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so she did both. He pushed at the floor with a grimace in a failed attempt to get to his feet.

  “Are you alright?” she asked.

  He ignored her question. “Who are they?” he asked, pointing to Mick and Willie as they stood paralyzed against the wall.

  “They’re friends. They saved you.”

  He nodded to them, and they returned the gesture.

  “Aiden, how did you find me?”

  He shook his head, trying to dispel the fog of confusion. After a moment of thought, he answered, “That bastard never misses an Expeditioner’s party. I figured if I found him, I would find you. When I was coming up the drive, I smelled your scent.”

  Willie snapped out of his daze and handed Aiden his fire department coat.

  Aiden wrapped the coat around his naked body with another wince. “He’ll either send the savages or my team of hunters for us. We’d better go.”

  The approaching police sirens emphasized his words.

  Christine grabbed his shoulder as he moved toward the doors. “Shouldn’t we wait for the police? They won’t send hunters with the police here, will they?”

  “With what we now know about the company, they’ll kill anyone in their way to get to us. Including the cops.”

  Christine brushed her hand along his cheek and smiled. “Okay, I trust you.” She turned to her friends. “Willie, Mick, stall CPD for us.”

  “Where are you going?” Mick asked.

  Aiden answered for her. “This ends tonight. We have to expose the WereHouse and we have to help their victims.”

  Willie stepped forward. “Christine, maybe you should wait until he’s stronger. No offense, sir, but you look like hammered shit.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Aiden said, followed by a muffled cough. “We should go, Christine.”

  He grabbed her hand and they headed toward the kitchen. She turned back to Willie and Mick and mouthed, “Thank you.” She followed Aiden through the kitchen access door to the outside.

  Three police cruisers cleared a distant hill as they approached the Penrose Lodge. Aiden scanned a field that butted against the back of the lodge, looking for a place to run. Christine leaned around the corner of the building.

  “We should change,” he said. “They won’t catch us if we change.”

  He started to remove Willie’s coat, but Christine grabbed his arm. “Wait. I have an idea. Come with me.”

  She ran around the building and toward Medic 22. Aiden followed, hesitating as he figured out her plan.

  “We’re stealing a medic?” he asked.

  “Borrowing,” she answered with a grin.

  “We’ll never get past the cops.”

  “Just trust me. Get in the back.”

  He did. She fetched a bullet-proof Kevlar vest from one of the outside compartments and threw it over her shoulders. She climbed behind the steering wheel and backed the medic toward the street as the first police cruiser pulled into the drive.

  She slowed and lowered her window, hoping that the officer would be someone she knew and that he wouldn’t realize she was out of uniform.

  “Hey, Christine. Where the hell have you been? Everybody’s been searching like crazy for you.”

  “I know, Brian. I’ll explain everything later.”

  “You’re going to have to talk to my supervisor. We thought someone kidnapped you.”

  “I will. I just can’t right now.”

  “What’s going on in the lodge?”

  “Someone’s werepet was acting up and scared everyone. Willie and Mick are still inside.”

  “Where are you going then?”

  “When the werewolf jumped onto
the table, some old geezer fell and hit his head. We’re taking him to the ER.”

  The officer shifted his gearshift into park and opened his door. “Mind if I talk with him for a second before you go?”

  Christine’s heart sank. With barely a slight hesitation, she shook her head emphatically and said, “He’s unconscious and we need to get him to the ER. You know the deal. You’ll have to talk to him at the hospital. We can’t wait. I’ve already waited too long.”

  She slipped her foot from the brake and crept backward, praying Brian wouldn’t push the issue.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know,” he replied. “I’ll see you there? You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

  “I’ll wait for you there,” she lied.

  As she backed into the street, she waved and smiled to the other two officers that were pulling in. They waved back, and she and Aiden drove away.

  31

  THE ULTIMATE TRUST BETRAYED

  YOUNG Max Henderson was sound asleep when the front door slammed shut, waking him. He sat up, slid from his bed, and ran from his bedroom into the hall.

  In the kitchen, his father began screaming at his mother. Max froze. He had never heard his father so angry before.

  “Don’t ask me where I’ve been,” his father shouted.

  “It’s midnight,” his mother answered. “The phone has been ringing off the hook for the last couple hours. What is going on, Bernard?”

  “Did you answer it?”

  Max’s mother didn’t reply.

  “Did you?” his father screamed.

  “Yes,” she answered with a defiant quiver in her voice. “I thought it might be you calling.”

  “What did they say?”

  “I didn’t understand. One of them asked if it was true.”

  “If what was true, LeAnna?”

  “If one of the wergs had attacked people tonight.”

  “Goddamnit, LeAnna. What did you say?”