Texas Strange

by West, Terry M.

  ***

  Harlson left his desk and he raced down the packed corridor to the conference room.

  He shoved uniformed officers out of his way and he entered the room. Luke lay on the floor, his body curled into a fetal position. A young officer who was hunched over Luke’s still body beckoned for breathing room and an ambulance as he grasped Luke's wrist.

  “I can’t feel a pulse,” the officer said grimly.

  “No, Goddamn it, no!” Harlson shouted, rushing to Luke and turning him over on his back. He tore the physic’s shirt open and began to pump the fallen man’s chest.

  CHAPTER 38

  Dreg felt dizzy.

  “Wha’ is?” he muttered, slumping against the peeling wooden post on the front porch of his den. He almost dropped the new batch of food he had prepared for Tammy. Something was wrong. Something was touching him, in his head. He didn’t understand what was going on and he left his weight against the column until he could clear his mind. He'd had spells like this before, usually when it was time for him to move to a new territory.

  The voice in his head warned him to move soon. Gotta be on, it said.

  The old wolf shook his head defiantly. He had to learn Tammy. This would take a long spell for him to accomplish. He had to reach the louve beneath her human flesh and bring out the animal essence. He had herbs and powders and he knew incantations from the book that spoke to Papere that Dreg thought might help him turn Tammy into his louve. But like any seed, it had to be planted. And he needed time for his magic to take root and flourish.

  No time left, the voice continued. Be gone. Gotta kill the lamb and be gone.

  No, he couldn’t bear the thought of that. This one was different. He could reach her. His magic as a traiteur could force her to release any hold she had on her previous life. He just needed time.

  No time, the voice chastised him. Got to kill the meat and be off.

  No. He gritted his teeth and he butted the post with his forehead in an attempt to silence the voice. He was a traiteur. He was a wolf. He had a mate now and he would die for her, if need be. He would not abandon her to the elements or kill her outright or move her until Le Loup was in her, deep and permanent.

  Ah'm not a lâche, he thought. Not afeard. I is the wolf. If da cowboy-men hunt Dreg, Dreg fight. Not run. Not be by lonesome no more.

  The voice seemed to forsake its cause, and Dreg collected himself, stepping off of the porch and walking slowly toward the shed. He had never defied the voice so viciously before. And though he knew the reasoning behind his choice, he still felt a spot of fear deep in his belly.

  For louve, he thought, searching for strength.

  ***

  The door opened once again, the brief reprieve from the darkness making Tammy squint as Dreg stepped into the shed and closed the door behind him.

  “I brung you some spinach,” Dreg said, placing the tray once again at Tammy’s feet. “You eat up.”

  Dreg went back to the door and he squatted in front of it, picking at the dirt floor of the shed.

  Tammy didn’t like the way he was acting. Apprehensive. Solemn. His mood swing could mean her life or death. She looked in the bowl and she studied its contents. It was canned spinach, alright. It didn’t look too noxious so she reached for the spoon on the tray.

  “Wha’ is?” Dreg said, staring at her hand that clasped the spoon.

  Her left hand.

  Dreg jumped up and he howled at the shed ceiling. Tammy fell back, the spinach spilling all over her and the dirt. Dreg approached her, his face beaming. He pointed at her hand.

  “You got it,” he said, overjoyed. “Sign o’ magic. You be louve, good and proper. Dreg can learn Tammy. You be louve.”

  When Tammy realized that Dreg’s outburst had been a joyous one, she calmed herself. She had to understand this Dreg, despite her fear and frustration. It was time she learned of her captor’s intentions.

  “What are you talking about? What do you mean by teaching me? Teach me what?” The words started out as a demand, but she quickly bit back the fearful harshness that was pushing them from her lips and the tail end of the proclamation came out sounding more like a polite inquiry.

  She had no psychological training, but it was evident to Tammy that the best approach with Dreg was a reserved one. She had read about accounts where empathy for hostages had kept them alive. If she remained calm and civil, she prayed Dreg would, too.

  Dreg went to her, an eager grin extended across his face. He sat cross-legged in front of her. “Long time ago,” he started, searching for the proper words to explain himself. “The book that speak. It speak to Dreg’s Papere. Grampa.”

  Dreg paused, motioning to himself. “Dreg be traiteur,” he said, holding up his left hand.

  “Dreg worship Le Loup,” he continued, motioning upward. “Le Loup...wolf...be up in sky, lookin’ down on Dreg. He tell Dreg to hunt. To be wolf. To not be man. To hunt and live like wolf, yeh-heh?”

  Tammy nodded, cautiously. She once read a book on the subject of werewolves. She had purchased the book at the River Oaks bookstore. It was dog-eared and missing the back cover, but it had only cost her a dime and though she wasn't a horror or occult fan, it had caught her interest. The book explained a psychological affliction, lycanthropy, that made people think that they were carnivorous beasts. Dreg’s story reminded her of the book and she suddenly envisioned an illustration from it: one that portrayed a man running on all fours through the forest with a baby clenched between his jaws. She got a chill.

  Suddenly, Dreg grabbed her hand. She gasped and almost screamed.

  Dreg held her left hand up, studying it with sheer delight. “You got the sign, Tammy. You be louve.”

  “What do you mean?” Tammy asked, her voice marred with fear.

  Dreg released his grip, staring dreamily into her eyes. “Louve,” he said softly. “She-wolf.”

  The words lingered in her mind. She-wolf. She stared at Dreg, who simply sat there and smiled at her like a lecherous old man. She-wolf. He wanted her.

  Oh God, she thought, suddenly self-conscious of her body. She crossed her arms at her chest to shield the shape of her bosom beneath the thin summer blouse she wore.

  “I’m married,” she said softly. It was the only thing she could think of to say. God in heaven, this maniac was in love with her.

  Dreg frowned and he shook his head. “World of man no good here, Tammy,” he said, with a serious set to his features. “You be in Dreg’s world, now. And you ain't never leavin' it.”

  Dreg smiled again, the desire and affection evident in his dark eyes which traveled her body in a sudden longing. Tammy turned her gaze to the ground.

  Suddenly, Dreg tore her hands away from her chest and he grasped her left breast. Tammy screamed and she tried to pull away from him. Dreg grasped her flailing hands in a fluid motion and brought them down under the weight of his leg, where they would remain obedient and still.

  He leaned toward her. “Dreg gonna put Le Loup in here,” he said, clutching her breast. He grinned with determination. “Gonna put him deep in yo’ soul. Then you’ll unnerstan’ Dreg.”

  “You’re hurting me,” Tammy whimpered, her mind filling with images of Dreg ripping her clothes off and having her and her not being able to do a single thing to prevent it. Tears formed in her eyes at the thought.

  Dreg released her and backed off, only slightly. Tammy brought her hands to her aching chest.

  Dreg regarded her with a deep look of regret. “Dreg not hurt you, Tammy. Why you cry?”

  “Because you’ve locked me up like a fucking animal and you talk like a crazy man and I thought you were going to rape me!” Tammy shouted, no longer able to hold up a front. When the manhandling started, her decorum had left town.

  Dreg retreated further from her. He nodded sympathetically. “Dreg unnerstan’. He brung you here and talk like crazy vieil homme but is okay, Tammy. Dreg won’ hurt you. You see soon. You'll unnerstan’. Gonna leave you be for
a spell.”

  Dreg headed for the shed door. Before he opened it, he turned back and he noticed the spinach on the dirt floor. “You hungry?”

  Tammy shook her head fiercely.

  “Is okay,” Dreg said before taking his leave.

  Tammy sat in the silence, rubbing her sore breast.

  “It’s not okay, you son of a bitch,” she muttered through clenched teeth.

  ***

  She never be learned, the voice spoke as Dreg entered his den. He sat in a ripped easy chair.

  “She be learned,” Dreg argued good-naturedly. He smiled softly. “Dreg know louve when he see it. Tammy may not feel Le Loup, but Dreg feel it in her. She got spirit."

  Dreg looked around at the squalor of his den. He saw mostly rubble that had once been possessions of the old woman who had died in the chair that Dreg sat in. He noticed that the vinyl on his chair had cracked in several spots and was bleeding foam. The piece of furniture also smelled of piss and wet animals. He would need to clean his den soon for his louve.

  “Is okay,” he whispered to himself.

  CHAPTER 39

  Harlson waited, perched in a seat outside of the Herman Hospital ICU. He had managed to get Luke’s heart going, but the psychic's vital signs had been very weak. Harlson shook his head and wished like hell that he could have a cigarette in the smoke-free complex. He felt responsible. He couldn’t help himself. Luke had been so persistent and passionate about hopping back on the cart that Harlson had mistaken that desperation for some sort of inner strength that Luke evidently was lacking in his present state.

  It was like letting a hemophiliac sharpen blades, Harlson mused, grimly. I should never have let the guy take the chance. What the fuck is wrong with me? Who won’t I sacrifice to stop the Keepsake Killer?

  He had protested when Lucas wanted back on the case, but he had let him back on, nonetheless. He should have just put his foot down, but he wanted the help. Now he had Glover’s blood on his hands.

  Dr. Spencer appeared in the waiting room. Harlson rose anxiously to his feet.

  “How is he?” he asked cautiously.

  “His condition has stabilized, but I’m afraid he’s in a deep coma,” Spencer said, shaking his head somberly. “I’ve known Lucas Glover for many years. I consider him one of my best friends. First Tammy disappearing, and now this.”

  "Is he going to be okay?" Harlson said.

  "We ran an MRI and there is a ton of brain activity. That's a positive sign."

  “What are his chances of coming out of this?” Harlson inquired.

  “Can’t say. Never can, in most cases. But, with Luke’s history, I’m not too optimistic about it being anytime soon,” Spencer said, glancing back toward ICU. “He’ll come back when he’s darn good and ready, if he comes back at all.”

  “What do you mean?” Harlson asked.

  “What I mean, Detective Harlson, is that Lucas found his way inside, and he’ll have to find his way out. We’ll just have to wait in the meantime.”

  ***

  Luke hit bottom, his scream cut off as his breath was knocked out of him by the impact. Darkness shrouded him. The ground that had broken his plummet felt cold against his palms and cheek.

  Suddenly, light began to dawn on him and it warmed his skin. Sounds came. Birds singing. Bugs chirping. The ground beneath him softened and became moist. His surroundings slowly faded in and he rested near a swamp. He lay in marshland. Tall grass tickled his face. Luke stood up slowly, fighting the quiver in his arms and legs. He looked around curiously, glad at least that his fall into the bottomless pit had stopped.

  I should have been able to leave this place, he thought. Dreg can’t have the power to hold me here. I can sense that he doesn’t realize the full scope of his abilities. If Dreg isn’t responsible for this, then what is?

  Luke stood and he moved east involuntarily through the weeds. At first, he didn’t even realize he was walking. An unseen force was guiding- prodding him. When it came to him that he was traveling in a deliberate path, pulled by invisible strings, curiosity called for a pause, but his body still moved, ignoring him. This only sharpened his uneasiness. He was at the mercy of this force. Whatever it was.

  He moved through the growth for several minutes, until he brought his arm up and swept moss from a bowing tree limb aside. He saw a rundown cabin. A woman sat in a straight back chair on the porch. She was covered with blankets and several motley dressed children clutched to her. The woman looked weak and sad. Her face was pale and sunken. Her expression was pitiful and empty at the same time.

  The children around her, ranging in age from a toddling baby to a gangly teenager, sensed her pain and loss and they clamored around her, frightened and lost without her attention. An old man in a wheelchair also sat on the sagging porch. The wheelchair looked homemade. The old man stupidly watched the proceedings.

  Luke followed the woman’s gaze to the front area of the cabin. A man, his back to Luke, was cutting down tall grass with a scythe. He wore dirty black pants and suspenders. His bare back was glazed with perspiration and tiny green fragments of grass speckled his skin.

  After clearing a small area, the man picked up a rusted spade and he plunged it into the moist earth, digging a small hole. He deposited the dirt next to the hole, producing a mound of mud that would be swept easily back into the hole. The man dropped his spade, wiped his brow, and then he bent over to pick up a small form wrapped in a white sheet.

  Luke looked back to the woman on the porch. Her expression was the same, but now tears swept down her cheeks. The children noticed this, and a chorus of wails came from them. Luke gazed back to the man in the yard, who held the small body up to the afternoon sky.

  “Le Loup,” the man spoke, his gruff voice strained. “Take this young cub to yo' kingdom. Let him hunt by yo' side. You seen fit to take him from us, so raise him well, hunter of hunters.”

  The words were foreign- Cajun French, actually, but Lucas comprehended them though he was not familiar with the tongue.

  The heartbroken gravedigger struggled for more words, but none came. He silently put the body in the hole and he used his hands to bury it.

  “This be no good!” a husky voice rang out.

  Luke turned toward the direction of the voice. A tall, slim young man approached the older one. The young intruder was unsympathetic to the grief of the family. It was Dreg. Luke knew it, though he was used to seeing only Dreg’s astral representation. Apparently, whatever force was at work here had finally stripped the wolf facade away.

  And Luke almost wished it hadn’t.

  Dreg was hideous- more so than his family. He looked like a wild beast, with those black eyes and cavernous mouth.

  “What you be doin’, boy?” the father demanded, outraged at Dreg’s announcement.

  “La magie noire de dieu say dead pup be evil. You burn it, or the couchemal come. You bury dat evil, you curse our den,” Dreg said, contemptuously.

  “You hesh up, boy!” Father shouted, his body tensing with malicious intent. “I be traiteur and I know what da book say and mean. This pup be part of us. It be buried here, where we all be buried some day. This pack run together in life and death.”

  “No,” Dreg said, defiantly.

  The family on the porch gasped and they clutched closer together.

  “Wha' you be sayin', boy?” Father said, picking up the dirty shovel. “I can just as easily dig two graves.”

  “You a stupid vieil homme who curse us all,” Dreg said, hatefully. “That pup was dead ‘fore it was born. It be couchemal, now.”

  “What you know of the truth, Dreg? You can't even speak to the book. But I can. I know da truth, and I learned it to you. The couchemal not a real thing,” Father said, speaking to both the family and Dreg at the same time.

  “Yeh-heh!” Dreg argued. “The couchemal the most evil thing there is, and you curse us now, old wolf. Maybe this pack need a new leader.”

  The man- Dreg's father, Luke realiz
ed now- nodded. He dropped the shovel to the ground and he walked slowly to his son. He came close enough for a hug, and then he backhanded Dreg. It was so forceful that Dreg nearly collapsed to the ground.

  “I be leader, Dreg,” Father said, rubbing his hand which ached from the violence. “You jes' a wild pup who know nothin' of the truth or bein' a traiteur. Now, you tell yo' mama you sorry or I'll beat you like a cur, boy.”

  Father stepped beyond Dreg and spoke to his family, who were starting to finally relax.

  “Laid loup fantôme!” Father shouted, pointing back at Dreg. The children laughed. The mother watched stoically.

  Dreg’s face rose up, slowly as they laughed at him. He glanced back at his father and his lips curled back. A bestial howl escaped from his throat. He leapt at the startled man, biting into his father's neck.

  Dreg took his father down and opened him for the world to view. He rose, leaving his father's twitching form on the ground. Dreg stared at his family. They were balled up fearfully on the porch.

  “I be wolf!” Dreg announced proudly- his wet, red face glowing victoriously. “This be my pack, now!”

  But Dreg's family rejected him. Lucas watched as Dreg's mother murdered the old man in the wheelchair and then she drove Dreg away.

  Darkness suddenly fell back over the scene. Luke stood completely still, shocked over what he had just witnessed. Dreg had killed his own father. Luke could fit the pieces together now. It was all still rather vague, as far as exact details went, but he could almost trace Dreg from Louisiana to the present. All that madness, incorporated from an old book. What the hell was in the book Dreg called la magie noire de dieu?

  Slowly, another light began to cut through the darkness that held Lucas captive. House lights. Luke was on a stage. Before him, a large group of people sat in auditorium seats. They stared at him as if they waited for a speech or a song.

  He looked closely at the audience. Fright sprouted in him again. The faces of the assembled were ashen- bloodless. Dead. They stared at him silently, and though none of them spoke out, he could hear their voices on the air. They chanted to him. Slowly. Softly.