by Jason Starr
He increased his speed and in a matter of seconds—well, or so it seemed—he was in midtown, approaching Times Square. It was late in the evening, but what with all the bright neon and hordes of people on the streets, it could have been midafternoon. A guy passing by shoved Simon and kept walking without looking back or acknowledging him in any way. Other people walked by without making eye contact or seeming to notice he was there. He might as well have already jumped off that bridge because as far as these people were concerned he didn’t exist. His friends would miss him, and his parents, and some family members, but their lives would barely be affected with him gone either. The only two people in the world to whom his life really meant anything were Alison and Jeremy. Alison would be upset at first, but eventually she’d meet someone else and start a new life, but Jeremy would feel the loss forever. When he was ninety years old he’d still be telling the story of how when he was three years old his father announced he was a werewolf and jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge. Was that really how he wanted his son to remember him? As a weak, troubled man? A coward?
Simon stopped on the sidewalk on Forty-fourth and Broadway. He stood there for several minutes, practically oblivious to the people passing by in every which direction. Even if he spent the rest of his life in jail, he wanted to be there for Jeremy in some way. And when he died he wanted his son to remember him as a hero.
Looking up at one of the digital billboards, Simon saw the time: 9:42. In a little over two hours the guys would meet at the brewery and Michael would bite them and maybe more people would die. Simon had no idea if Volker was telling the truth about what was going to happen tonight, but after what he’d experienced lately, he had no reason not to believe all of it.
Simon felt for his cell phone, then remembered he hadn’t brought his phone or his wallet, figuring he wouldn’t need them where he was going. But didn’t Charlie say he was going to the firehouse on Great Jones Street for a birthday party before heading to the brewery later on?
Without giving it any more thought, Simon cut over on Forty-fourth Street and then sprinted downtown.
“I’m looking for Charlie,” Simon said to the balding fireman with the tattoos all over his biceps.
Simon had just entered the Ladder 9 firehouse and approached the three firemen who were hanging out in the back, playing cards.
“Who’re you, another reporter?” the guy asked.
“No, just a friend,” Simon said.
“Okay, hold on a sec.”
The guy went upstairs, and a few seconds later Charlie, grinning widely, slid down the pole.
“Hey, man, what a cool surprise.”
He hugged Simon tightly but didn’t maintain the hug for as long as he usually did at the playground. Simon got the sense that Charlie was modifying his behavior because he was at work.
“This is my buddy Simon,” Charlie said. “Guy I hang out with at the playground.”
Simon and the other firemen exchanged hellos.
Then Charlie said to Simon, “So what brings you down here, man? You psyched for tonight?”
“I know what’s going on,” Simon said.
Charlie smiled, but Simon could tell he was concerned.
“Going on?” Charlie said. “Going on with what?”
“I know what Michael did to us,” Simon said. “I know he changed us into werew—”
“Ha ha ha, that’s really funny, man,” Charlie said, louder and for effect, even though the other firemen were playing a new hand of poker, not paying attention. Then he said, “Come on, let’s get some air.”
Charlie let Simon walk ahead of him to the front of the firehouse. Then when they were both on the sidewalk, Charlie motioned with his head for Simon to follow him farther along toward Lafayette Street.
Then in a hushed tone Charlie said, “You can’t come down here without telling me you’re coming and start . . . This is my job, you understand?”
“So then it’s all true,” Simon said. “You knew about it all along, didn’t you?”
Charlie looked away, shaking his head, then turned back to Simon and said, “We shouldn’t be having this talk without the other guys around. There are no secrets in the pack.”
“Oh, can you shut up with all that crap already. What do you know?”
“Hey, man, really, you gotta keep it down.”
“Did Michael’s father talk to you?”
“Seriously, you—”
“Answer me, damn it.”
“Yes, he talked to me, all right?”
Simon just stared at Charlie for several seconds, then said, “So you lied to me. You knew all along about the beer and everything else?”
Charlie’s inability to make eye contact was the answer.
“I don’t get it,” Simon said. “Why didn’t you just tell me right away?”
“You didn’t ask,” Charlie said.
“You told me Michael is like a motivational speaker, that he’s so captivating and inspiring.”
“He is.”
“Oh, give me a break, all right?” Simon couldn’t help raising his voice. “You knew exactly what he did to us, what he did to me, and you acted like I was crazy, like I was imagining the whole thing.”
Charlie took Simon by the forearm and led him farther along the street, away from the firehouse.
“Look,” Charlie said. “I thought it was for the best, okay?”
“The best?” Simon said. “I killed my boss, I lost my family, my life is ruined.” He was going to tell Charlie about how he’d even contemplated suicide, but then decided, why bother? Instead he said, “I have nothing.”
“I’m sorry about your family,” Charlie said. “But you’ll work it out, I’m sure. And remember . . .” He rested a hand on Simon’s shoulder. “You always have us.”
As always, Charlie seemed sincere, but now the sincerity seemed so clearly to be an act designed to suck Simon in. How had he been so oblivious?
“I really thought you were different,” Simon said. “Ramon is Ramon, he’s always out there, but I thought you were . . . I don’t know . . . grounded.”
“I am grounded.” Charlie kept his hand on Simon’s shoulder for a few more seconds, then let go and said, “Believe me, I was like you at first. When I drank that beer I noticed the changes and I was like, what did this guy do to me? I was angry. I wanted answers . . . But then I saw all the positives. I saw how good it was, how much better my life was, and I realized Michael had given us this wonderful gift.”
“Gift my ass,” Simon said. “He drugged us, or infected us, whatever you want to call it.”
“You can’t tell me you don’t like it. That you don’t feel great. That it hasn’t improved your life.”
Simon remembered running in the woods earlier, how euphoric and alive he’d felt, and how he’d had the best sex of his life with Alison.
But he shook off these positive memories quickly, the horror of what he’d become taking over again, and said, “I committed a murder. I killed an innocent man because of what Michael did to me. How can you say that’s great?”
“You’re taking too much blame,” Charlie said. “Like Michael says—it’s natural to kill. Animals kill all the time and never feel remorse.”
“So I shouldn’t feel remorse for killing somebody?”
“You didn’t kill him, an animal did.”
“Listen to what you’re saying,” Simon said. “It’s like Michael brainwashed you, or maybe it’s the wolves’ blood in your system affecting your behavior, but you’re not thinking logically right now. Michael’s a killer. He killed Alan Freedman and his wife last night. I think he killed others before us. There’s this guy, Dave Doherty, he was killed last year. He had a kid the same age as our kids. And get this, the police found wolf bites on his body. Now how do you think that happened?”
“How?” Charlie asked.
“Michael, who do you think? Volker said that Michael bit others before he figured out how to put the wolves’ serum into the
beer. If Michael had met us last year we could be dead, and there are probably other missing dads in Manhattan, victims the police don’t even know about.”
“You don’t know if any of that’s true,” Charlie said.
Simon realized Charlie was right but said, “Neither do you.”
“Look, I really have to get back to the party,” Charlie said. “I think the problem is you’re afraid. You’re afraid to admit how much you like this, afraid to admit how great this is, how much stronger and more confident you are, and how good it feels to have three friends, three true friends—friends who’d do anything for you. You’re afraid to let go, to give in to it.” He paused, letting his words sink in, then added, “Look, you make your own decisions, do what you gotta do; all I know is I’m happier than I’ve ever been. I’m a good father and women love me— hell, even my ex-wife seems to like me lately. And you saw the paper, I’m a big hero now in the city. Guys in the department have respect for me like they’ve never had before, and when people and kids wave to me on the street, I feel like I can wave back to them with pride.”
“It’s not just about you,” Simon said. “Other lives are affected by this. You’re a fireman; your job is to protect people. You should understand this.”
“Yeah, I understand,” Charlie said. “I understand that if Michael didn’t give me that beer and if I didn’t put on all this muscle, if I wasn’t so confident, I never would’ve pulled that woman out of that fire. She was trapped, a ceiling collapsed on her, but I got her out of there because of Michael. So you can’t say this is all bad.”
“So what’re you saying?” Simon said. “If you save one person it’s okay to kill somebody else? Lives cancel each other out?”
“No, I’m just saying just because you killed somebody doesn’t mean I’m going to.”
Simon absorbed this, knowing it could be true.
Then he said, “Maybe you’re right. Maybe you won’t kill anybody. Maybe you’ll be the best, sexiest, most heroic fireman in the world. But right now I’m just going on what Michael’s father told me, and he said if this spreads it’s going to be the end of all of us. If you think about it, it’s probably true. The police are already investigating me. What if they arrest me, do medical tests or whatever, and figure out what happened to me? Or what happens if you and Ramon get into some kind of trouble? Or what if other people are killed?”
“His father spoke to Ramon and me too,” Charlie said. “We know the whole deal, okay?”
“If you know, then don’t show up tonight,” Simon said. “According to Volker, if Michael doesn’t bite us it’ll wear off eventually, and we can go on with our lives.”
Charlie smiled, but it wasn’t the way he usually smiled at the playground. It wasn’t a friendly smile; it was a fake, distant smile, as if he were remembering a private joke. He said, “I don’t think you’ve been listening to me. I don’t want it to wear off. This is the best thing that ever happened to me, and as far as I’m concerned it can only get better.”
The fireman with the tattoos on his arms came out and shouted, “Hey, Charlie, we’re gettin’ set to bring the cake out.”
Charlie shouted back, “Thanks, bro, I’ll be right there!” Then he said to Simon,“Look, man, I gotta go. I appreciate your concern, but I’m a big boy, I can make my own decisions.”
“Then make the right decision,” Simon said.
Charlie fake-smiled again, then said, “You do what you gotta do. I hope you show up tonight because I really do like you.”
Without another word, Charlie returned to the firehouse.
Simon was frustrated that he couldn’t get through to Charlie. He didn’t see why he’d have any better luck with Ramon, but at this point what did he have to lose?
The other day Ramon had invited Simon to Diego’s birthday party. Simon thought he remembered the address in Spanish Harlem, so he sprinted uptown on Third Avenue. This running-around-the-city thing was becoming a very efficient form of transportation. There was traffic in midtown and near the Fifty-ninth Street Bridge, but Simon ran by the bottled-up cars, going so fast he was able to time most of the lights, crossing the streets just as they were turning from red to green.
Simon turned onto 116th Street and slowed to a jog. Yep, he got the address right—Ramon Diaz, apartment 9. He pressed the buzzer. There was no response, and Simon realized it was very likely that Ramon wasn’t home. He buzzed again and waited. Well, he’d given it his best shot.
He started away when he heard Ramon’s garbled voice on the intercom: “Yeah?”
Simon rushed back and said, “It’s me, Simon . . . Simon Burns from the playground.”
A long—maybe ten-second—pause, and then Ramon beeped him in.
Simon took the stairs two at a time to the fifth floor. Ramon was waiting at the top of the stairs in a clean white robe. There was salsa playing—not in the living room, in another room in the apartment, or perhaps in another apartment. The music was probably low, but Simon could hear it clearly.
“Hey, man!”
Grinning, Ramon seemed truly happy to see him, but Simon knew that as with Charlie the warmth was fake, an act.
When Ramon extended his arms for an embrace, Simon said, “That isn’t necessary,” and walked past him and entered the apartment. There was a scent—a very flowery perfume. A woman either was here or had been here.
“Everything okay, man?” Ramon seemed hurt. Yeah, right. He sniffed. “I mean, I could tell you ran over here pretty damn fast. You got some good BO going on there.”
Figuring he’d cut to the chase, Simon said, “You can’t show up tonight. If you do, it’ll be a big mistake and it’ll be permanent; there’ll be no turning back.”
Ramon squinted, as if confused. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We’re just going to be hanging out tonight, chilling, throwin’ back a few beers. But you don’t gotta worry—no family recipe beers or nothin’ crazy like that.”
“I know,” Simon said seriously.
“If you know, then what’s the big deal?”
“No. I mean I know what’s going on. I spoke to Michael’s father; I know everything,” Simon said. “I know what Michael did to us, and I know what the real meaning of the pack is.”
Ramon absorbed this, then said, “If you know, what’s the problem? I’ll see you at midnight.”
“You don’t want to do this,” Simon said. “You think you want to, but you don’t.”
Smiling widely, Ramon said, “I think I know what I want.”
“No you don’t,” Simon said. “You’re like an addict and Michael’s like your dealer. He hooked you, made you think you need this to feel good about yourself, to improve your life. But you don’t need it. And if you don’t get out now, it’s going to ruin our lives forever.”
Ramon—his smile fake, like Charlie’s—said, “Man, I don’t know what’s—”
“Stop the act, will you?” Simon said. “I’m trying to help you here. And if you don’t want to save yourself, think about Diego. You don’t want to go through your whole life with this crazy wolves’ blood in you. What if you snap one day? What if you attack him?”
Then a female voice said, “You told me you didn’t know anything about this.”
Simon looked to his right and saw a slender woman, about thirty, with straight dark hair. She was in jeans and was finishing buttoning up her black blouse. She was definitely the woman he’d smelled.
“Back in the bedroom, baby,” Ramon said.
“Who are you?” the woman asked Simon.
“Never mind who he is,” Ramon said. “Just wait for me in bed.”
“I’m Simon. Simon Burns.”
“What’s this about wolves’ blood?” the woman asked.
“Baby.” Ramon tried to take the woman’s hand, but she slapped it away before he could.
“You told me you didn’t know anything about this,” she said to Ramon.
“I don’t, baby, I—”
“What d
o you know?” Simon asked her.
“My friend was telling me she was a werewolf a few hours ago,” she said. “She was acting crazy, trying to bite me.”
“Does your friend know Michael Hartman, by any chance?” Simon asked.
“She’s been dating a guy named Michael,” the woman said. “Well, I don’t know if you’d call it dating, but they’ve been hooking up practically every night.”
“All right, you gotta go now,” Ramon said to Simon.
“Where’s your friend now?” Simon asked.
“I have no idea,” the woman said.
“If she’s trying to bite you, it sounds like she’s extremely unstable,” Simon said. “You have to stay away from her.”
“I said it’s time to go,” Ramon said harshly.
Ramon, holding the door open, suddenly looked intense, on edge, as if he could lash out with violence at any moment. Simon had never seen this kind of anger from Ramon before, but somehow he wasn’t surprised.
“I knew this would probably be a waste of time,” Simon said, “but I like you and I wanted to help you. I still want to help you.”
“I don’t need help,” Ramon said.
“See?” Simon said. “It’s just like an addiction. You won’t want help till you hit rock bottom, when it’s too late.” Then as he stepped into the hallway, he looked back and said to the woman, “Stay away from your friend,” as Ramon slammed the door.
Simon went down to the street. Well, he’d given it his best shot, but you can’t help people who don’t want to be helped. The thing he didn’t understand was why he didn’t seem as far gone as they were. How come he could resist going to the brewery tonight but they couldn’t? Did they have more wolves’ blood flowing through their veins than he did?
Simon turned on the corner of Third, heading downtown, the hopelessness of the situation setting in. If the guys wanted to be bitten by Michael, and Michael was as powerful as Volker had claimed, how was Simon supposed to stop him? There was nothing else for Simon to do now except go home and wait for the rest of his life to go to hell. Even if the police never found evidence linking him to Tom’s murder, he’d never be safe. After Michael turned Charlie and Ramon into permanent werewolves, there would be two more people out to kill him.
