Caitlyn shared a long glance with Matt. “Was there anything else odd about her, physically?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” Singh admitted, uncomfortably. “Can we go off the record for the moment?”
“We won’t hold bad guesses against you,” Caitlyn assured him. She was the task force leader, even if the task force consisted of her and her alone, at least for the moment. The FBI could blame her for anything that went wrong, but it would be harder to blame her subordinates. “What have you found?”
“I pulled her medical records from her doctor as soon as we confirmed her identity,” Singh said. “The NYPD took her fingerprints and compared them to the fingerprints in her apartment. There is no doubt at all over her identity. But...”
He looked down at his hands, as if he didn't want to carry on. “Looking at the medical records, I found myself wondering if we had the right records,” he added, reluctantly. “The records say that she had surgery to repair a broken wrist when she was sixteen. Apparently, she fell off a bike and ended up with a nasty scar on her left arm. I looked at the arm and found no traces of a scar.”
Matt frowned. “Might it not have faded? Or have been hidden under cosmetics?”
“I’ve known people to keep scars for much longer than eight years,” Singh informed him. “And yes, I checked for cosmetics. The scar is simply gone. With that in mind, I checked her wrist and found no traces of any surgery at all. The medical report stated that plates and screws were inserted into her bone to help it mend. They should have showed up on the x-ray, but I found nothing.
“In fact, physically speaking, she was surprisingly healthy. I’d say that she’d been working out every day for years, probably quite heavily. I’ve encountered female agents who were less fit. The report claims that she was a saleswoman, which is odd. I’d have pegged her as working somewhere that required extreme physical fitness, but not specific physical fitness. It doesn't quite make sense.
“We ran her blood through a few checks too,” he added. “Apart from the mystery substance, there was nothing else, not even alcohol. The last witness report stated that Miss Sheehan was attending a bar and drinking with her friend, but I found no trace of alcohol in either her bloodstream or her stomach. Nor, for that matter, did I find any food, apart from the human flesh. It is thoroughly weird.”
Caitlyn nodded. “Overall,” she said grimly, “what is your conclusion?”
“The evidence points to Miss Sheehan having killed everyone else in the alleyway, apart from the cop who shot her,” Singh said. “However, if I look at the body, it seems as if she used her nails to tear them apart and her teeth to bite them. There are traces of their blood and flesh under her fingernails and in her mouth, but when I look at the bodies I simply cannot see how her teeth inflicted so much damage. I’ve seen humans who were chewed by cannibal cultists and their bodies were nowhere near so damaged.
“And then there’s the mystery of the bullets...”
“Put it all into your report, including the speculation,” Caitlyn ordered. “I may need to have you assigned to my task force. Some of the other murders will need a general autopsy.”
The local FBI had assigned Caitlyn a bare office. She led Matt into the room, closed the door and sat down heavily. Nothing about this case seemed to make sense, unless one assumed that there were genuine werewolves involved, which wasn't something she could put in her report without a great deal more proof. All of the physical evidence could point to werewolves, but it could also point to someone taking a new and dangerous drug. And the reports of witnesses transformations could be dismissed as drunkards seeing things and then trying to waste police time.
“I’m going to have you assigned to the task force,” she said, bluntly. “I’ll clear it with the NYPD; I don't think Internal Affairs will keep investigating once they realise that Miss Sheehan did murder those gangbangers.”
“And her friend,” Matt said, quietly. “Did she really become a werewolf?”
“It’s starting to look that way,” Caitlyn said. She grinned, morbidly. “Do you think I should dye my hair red and start wearing spectacles?”
It took Matt a moment to get the joke. “I think that there’s no reason to assume that Miss Sheehan did it deliberately,” he said. “So...what will happen on the night of the next full moon?”
Chapter Four
New York, USA
Day 5
“Calvin, come on,” his mother bellowed. “You're going to be late for school!”
“So sue me,” Calvin Jackson muttered, as he rolled over in bed. School held out nothing for him, but the promise of terror and suffering. Moe was there, waiting for Calvin just so he could torment the weaker boy. Nothing he did seemed to convince anyone to do anything about the bully. The school didn't give a shit as long as Moe performed magic on the football field.
“Get out of bed,” his mother said, poking her head through the door. “Now!”
Calvin sighed and swung his legs out from under the covers, nearly treading on one of the books he’d left on the floor. Books and the internet were his sole escape from the real world and he used them as much as he could. It had taken six months of hard work to earn the cash to buy a proper computer, but once he’d set it up he’d found his way into a world that didn't include Moe and the other football jocks. Sitting upright, he glanced at his face in the mirror and sighed. He looked older than his fifteen years, worn down by life itself. Not for the first time, he looked over at the cupboard where he had stored some paint stripper. A single drink of that and all of his troubles would go away, permanently.
He scowled darkly as he pulled on his clothes, wishing that his family was wealthy and powerful, or at least wealthy enough to buy designer clothes for their children. Moe and the other kids teased anyone who couldn’t afford to wear the latest fashions and it stung, even though Calvin knew that it was stupid. Who cared if someone was wearing the latest gear or not? Moe did, of course, and somehow his taunts hurt. Calvin winced again as he looked down at the bruise on his lower leg, where Moe had kicked him, and rubbed it gently. No one cared when he came home bruised after a scuffle, even when he’d sported a black eye. And fighting just made it worse. He was too scared of Moe to even try to hit him as hard as he could. It just wasn’t fair!
“Get downstairs,” his mother ordered, crossly. “Your lunch is on the table. Make sure your little sister gets out of the house with you.”
Calvin nodded as he walked downstairs and picked up the plastic bag, containing a sandwich and a bottle of water. His parents preferred him to take a packed lunch rather than eat at school, something else that got rubbed in his face every day. Mindy, his sister, looked up from where she was devouring a bowl of sugary cereal and smirked at him. She was the apple of mom and dad’s eye. They never seemed to blame her for anything that went wrong, even when it was clearly her fault. It was just another thing that made him consider leaving his joke of a life behind and seeing what lay beyond. At least it couldn't be worse than dealing with Moe and his fellow Jocks.
The door banged closed as his mother headed off to the shop, where she worked for most of the day. Their father was already on his way to work as a plumber, no doubt complaining about his intellectual son to his friends; he never quite seemed to understand how Calvin had sprung from his loins. There was no doubt that Calvin was his father’s son – they looked alike – but where his father liked hard manual labour, Calvin wanted to be something better.
He glanced at the clock and scowled again. Being late for school was hardly a problem for him, but the teachers would eventually complain to his parents and there would be another embarrassing discussion with his father. His dad thought that Calvin should be on the football team, with a girl on his arm, and never seemed to grasp that Calvin was a social outcast who considered himself lucky if he escaped school without bruises.
“Come on,” he said, to Mindy. She looked cute – naturally – in her school uniform. At least her school had a sch
ool uniform. “Let’s go.”
He kept a wary eye out for Moe as they made their way towards Mindy’s school. The bullying asshole rarely bothered to show up on time for school, but as a jock who played hard on the field the teachers chose to ignore it. Calvin felt himself burning with resentment as they reached the gates to Mindy’s school, saying goodbye to his sister before starting the long walk to his own school. There was a shortcut, but he knew from bitter experience that it was used for smoking by the older kids, including Moe. If there had been any justice in the world, Moe would have dropped dead from lung cancer by now.
There was no sign of any trouble until he reached the gates, when he heard a shout behind him. Moe was charging after him, loping along the ground with effortless ease, his face twisted in an evil grin. Calvin fled for the main doors, praying that he could stay ahead of Moe just long enough to get into the building. Even Moe was unlikely to do too much in front of the teachers themselves. Part of the reason they dismissed all of Calvin’s complaints was that they rarely saw Moe in action.
Something slammed into his back and he found himself falling forward, desperately thrusting his arms out to save himself from crashing face-first into the ground. He yelped in pain as his palms struck the ground, feeling gravel jammed into his flesh. Moe laughed at him and then ran off, leaving Calvin to pick himself off the ground, brush as much of the gravel away as he could, and then stagger towards the door. No one would care, of course. They were all laughing at him, either because they were evil shits themselves or because they were too scared of Moe to say anything. He hated them all with a cold helpless rage.
The principal was blabbering about something unimportant as Calvin entered the hall and took a seat at the edge of the room. He was a short man who was desperate to see his school do well in the forthcoming games, or something like that; Calvin honestly never paid much attention to him. The principal seemed more concerned with appearance over substance, which was no doubt why he tolerated Moe and his merry band of thugs. Winning games seemed to be more important to him than actually ensuring that the children in his care received a good education.
“And finally, the Mayor seems convinced that we do have a werewolf plague,” the principal concluded. Calvin rolled his eyes. The internet had been buzzing with speculation, but none of it seemed very real. All it had done was give Moe yet another charge to throw in his face, even stupider than the others. If Calvin had been a werewolf, he would have torn Moe’s throat out by now. “I think we would be better off thinking about our studies rather than supernatural creatures.”
Calvin snorted as the assembly broke up and the students headed for their first classes. Literature wasn't so bad, apart from the minor detail that every interesting book seemed to offend someone or other. And then, after they’d read the books, they had to discuss them publically, trying to derive deep-seated meaning from the original text. Most of the acceptable answers, the ones in the textbooks, seemed to make no sense. Others seemed a clear case of the textbook writer missing the point. He’d once mentioned a short story about Shakespeare coming forward in time to attend a Shakespeare class – and flunking it – and the teacher had told him not to be a smartass.
An hour passed, during which he tried to read while listening to the teacher babbling on about the true nature of The Catcher in the Rye. Calvin, who already knew all there was to know about social alienation, was not impressed. It beat PE, however, and PE was coming after lunch. The jocks loved PE, but for those kids who hated physical exercise – that served as an excuse for more bullying – it was hell on Earth. By the end of the period, he was tired and wanted nothing more than a drink of water, so he walked to the toilet. Naturally, Moe followed him inside.
“Gotcha, punk,” Moe said. Calvin turned, frantically looking for a way out he knew didn't exist. Moe alone was bigger and tougher than Calvin – and two of his thugs were outside, just ready to catch Calvin if he managed to slip past Moe. “Now...”
Calvin stumbled backwards as Moe advanced, feeling his heartbeat starting to pound inside his chest. What had he done to Moe to deserve constant bullying? They’d never even met until they’d started High School. Moe had just seen him and decided that Calvin would make an appropriate target and just started having a go at him, every single day! He didn't want money, or anything that Calvin might be able to steal for him, just to have some fun tormenting the smaller boy. It just wasn't fair!
Moe reached out and caught Calvin by his shirt, pulling him closer. Calvin felt absolute panic racing through his mind, but he couldn't move. His legs seemed unwilling to respond to his mind’s pleas. Besides, there was nowhere to run. A flash of blinding white pain danced through his skull and he winced just as Moe peered down into his eyes. God alone knew what he had in mind. Another flash of pain flickered through his mind, followed by a burning sense of sheer rage that tore through his terror. And then the world exploded into white-hot fire.
Calvin recoiled, covering his eyes as Moe was thrown backwards, his body burning with eerie white fire. The bully opened his mouth to scream, but it was already too late; the flames tore though him and sent him crashing to the floor. His two thugs stared at Calvin in horror; Calvin, for the first time, realised that the flames were crackling around his hands, but he was not burned. Somehow, without quite knowing what he was doing, he lifted his hand and flames surged across the gap between him and the bullies. They were caught in the fire and burned to a cinder. Just for a second, Calvin saw their skulls glowing with fire before their bodies collapsed to the floor.
The fire alarm sounded, followed rapidly by a tinkling sound as the sprinklers came on, scattering water and foam over the bodies. Calvin was suddenly very aware of the stench of burned human flesh; he stumbled over to the toilet and threw up into the bowl. The act brought him back to his senses and he stepped back, flushing the toilet as he ran towards the door. All three bodies seemed to stare at him accusingly as he ran past and out into the corridor. The sprinklers were still pouring water down into the school, even though the fire had gone out. Part of his mind stated that was a good thing. There would be nothing linking him to the fires. He ran down the soaking staircases and out through the door leading to the playing fields, knowing that he had to get as far from the scene of the crime as possible. Whatever had happened – and he didn't have the slightest idea what had happened – he wanted a chance to think about it before the police got involved. No doubt they would blame him for incinerating three football jocks, even if they had deserved it – or worse.
He ran around the corner and into the long lines of students where the teachers were trying to take roll call, not helped by the fact that some of the children were evidently playing hooky. Calvin joined one of the lines and watched, as dispassionately as he could, the arrival of the fire department. There seemed to be some doubt over what had really happened – the fire alarm was triggered deliberately on a regular basis – but the firemen walked into the building anyway. Calvin silently prayed that they would find nothing connecting him to the deaths of three students. It was nearly thirty minutes before the fire chief exchanged words with the principal, who took a loudspeaker to address the students.
“The school has to be closed down for the rest of the week,” he said. Whatever he might have said next was drowned out by the cheers from the students, none of whom knew what had really happened. The principal looked pale and shocked; no matter what else happened, a death on campus would be disastrous for his career. “Those of you who have parents at home may go there, the rest of you are to wait here until we arrange something for you.”
Calvin shrugged and joined the exodus. There was no one at home to greet him, but he had a key and he had no intention of waiting to see what happened next. The world seemed to be different somehow, he realised as he walked home; he’d killed three people, as easily as blowing out a candle. It should have bothered him, he knew; three people had died at his hands, burned to a crisp by...what? What was he? A mutant? Mutants di
dn't exist. Nor did superhumans.
Werewolves seem to exist, part of his mind mocked.
Moe had thoroughly deserved it, he told himself. The memoires mocked him; Moe kicking him, punching him, shoving his head down into the toilet, mocking him, calling him all sorts of unpleasant names...and utterly destroying any chance of a normal life. He had deserved to die. Whatever power had suddenly unlocked itself from his cells had done exactly what Calvin had wanted it to do; it had wiped Moe and two of his friends completely out of existence. It should have bothered him, but it didn’t. Moe had tormented him for too long and Calvin found it hard to care what happened to him. The bully had deserved his fate.
Opening the door, he stepped into the house and walked into the kitchen. His mother had left two dishes of pasta and meat for Mindy and himself, so he took one of them out of the refrigerator and put it in the microwave, before picking up the paper and glancing down at the front cover. Apparently, a man with a cell phone had managed to film someone transforming into a wolf before running for his life and uploading the footage to YouTube. The paper’s experts had looked at it and decided that it seemed to be real, partly because of its poor quality. A fake, they claimed, would look better than the grainy footage they’d received.
Science and Sorcery Page 4
