by Jason Starr
Diane grabbed Sanchez’s arm and pleaded, “But you don’t understand. They’re after me, they’re all after me!”
Sanchez freed his arm from Diane’s grip and said, “We can call an ambulance for you, ma’am. Would you like us to do that?”
Backing away, her eyes darting back and forth, Diane said softly, “He was right.”
“Who was right?” Mullen asked.
“Simon said you wouldn’t believe me,” she said. “He said you’d think I was crazy. He said you’d want to bring me to Bellevue.”
“If you’d like us to call an ambulance for you, we can,” Sanchez said. “If not, there’s really nothing we can do for you right now.”
“I’m not crazy,” Diane said. “I don’t care what you think. I’m not crazy.”
When the cops left, Diane bolted the door with both locks and put on the chain, then made sure the lock on the gate on the window leading to the fire escape was secure. Still, she didn’t feel safe, and she wasn’t sure she’d feel safe ever again. Other than Olivia, she only had a few other close friends in the city, and they were all married with kids. She didn’t want to call them up in the middle of the night and scare them with her werewolf story. Well, if they’d get scared. If the cops didn’t believe her, why would her friends believe her? She considered calling her ex, Steve, and begging him to come over, but that seemed pathetic after he’d dumped her with a text message. She wanted to call her parents in Michigan—just hearing her mom’s and dad’s voices would have been soothing—but she didn’t want to scare them, and what could they do to help her from a thousand miles away?
She’d never felt so thoroughly scared and so thoroughly alone. She sat on the floor in the hallway between the bedroom and the bathroom, holding her knees, rocking back and forth, sobbing. After maybe half an hour of that, she didn’t feel any more relaxed, and she wondered if maybe the cops were right and she was crazy after all. How could she have possibly seen what she thought she’d seen? Maybe she’d somehow dreamed up this whole night. Maybe none of it had actually happened— maybe the whole day hadn’t happened. Maybe Olivia hadn’t gone crazy and she’d never met that Simon guy. Maybe she was just hallucinating, on some kind of drug, or had a virus. Weren’t there viruses that could make you hallucinate?
She called Olivia’s cell and got her voice mail. She said, “Olivia, honey, it’s me. Please tell me tonight didn’t happen, please tell me there’s some explanation for all of this. Please, please call me when you get this.”
Making the phone call hadn’t resolved anything, but at least it made her feel proactive. She didn’t know what had actually happened, but she knew it couldn’t be what she thought had happened, and knowing that some explanation existed, even if she didn’t know it yet, gave her some comfort.
She lay in bed and, although it was still difficult to relax, she managed to sleep for a while. At dawn, the sunshine coming through the barred window into her room also gave her some optimism. Whatever had happened last night had happened in the past, and dwelling on the past certainly wasn’t going to accomplish anything. She showered and got ready for work, eager to start her day and to get back into the safety of her routine. She would go to the office, go to the gym, meet a friend—maybe even Olivia—for a drink this evening, and everything would return to normal. The memories from last night didn’t even seem like her memories anymore. They seemed like something she’d dreamed or watched on TV.
Leaving her apartment, she was cautious, looking both ways before she went out to the hallway, and then she went out to the street. It was a normal morning—people heading to work, listening to their iPods. She walked up the block, happy to be away from her apartment and back in a routine, and then she thought she heard something behind her and she turned around.
She didn’t see anything unusual except a very old man standing near her apartment building. His face was extremely wrinkled and he had very dark eyes, and he seemed to be looking right at her. Just as his intense gaze was starting to make her uneasy, he turned and sprinted away from her toward Avenue B.
Diane didn’t understand how an old man could run so fast. Was it possible that she’d dreamed up the old man, or that he was another hallucination?
Diane hurried away toward the subway, seriously worried about her sanity.
Alison made Jeremy his favorite breakfast—French toast and chocolate milk. Since checking out of the hotel earlier this morning, Alison had been trying to stay calm for Jeremy’s sake, but she was actually terrified that something awful had happened to Simon. At first when she came home to the empty apartment she figured he was out for one of his long runs, but then she found his cell phone, and it was unusual for him to go anywhere without his cell.
If something had happened to him, it would be her fault. She felt guilty for turning him away yesterday at the hotel. What if the lycanthropic disorder was even worse than she’d thought? What if he was suffering from full-blown schizophrenia and he was confused, wandering the streets of New York City? He could even get himself killed.
“When’s Daddy coming home?” Jeremy asked for the third time this morning, or was it the fourth?
“I don’t know, sweetie.” Alison felt as if she were using every muscle in her face to force a smile.
“But where did he go?” Jeremy persisted.
“He’s just out running some errands,” Alison said. Then before Jeremy could ask another question, she added quickly, “Why don’t you finish that French toast before it gets cold, okay?”
After breakfast, she played with Jeremy and tried to keep him, and herself, distracted, but her mind kept thinking up worst-case scenarios. She imagined the police showing up and telling her Simon was dead. They would want her to go to the morgue to ID his body, and she’d be a widow and Jeremy would be fatherless. The scene seemed so real that she was contemplating calling the police to report a missing person, but was Simon actually missing? Didn’t twenty-four hours have to pass before the police would bother to even look for Simon? It had only been about eighteen hours since she’d seen him at the hotel.
At noon Alison couldn’t take it anymore. She had to at least get out of the apartment, because just hanging around, waiting, was making things worse. She was in Jeremy’s room getting him ready to go out when she heard the key turning in the lock. She ran into the living room just as Simon entered the apartment.
“Thank God, you’re okay,” she said, and hugged him as if she hadn’t seen him in years.
Then Jeremy came over shouting, “Daddy’s home! Daddy’s home! Daddy’s home!” and rushed over and hugged Simon’s leg.
“Hey, kiddo, it’s so great to see you,” Simon said. Then he said to Alison in a serious tone, “Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s wonderful,” she said.
“Oh, okay,” he said tentatively. “Because yesterday you seemed so—”
“Yesterday was yesterday,” she said. Then she winced. “Did you go running in those clothes?”
“Yeah,” Simon said. “I—”
“Oh, never mind,” she said. “I’m just so glad you’re here.”
Jeremy was squeezing his nostrils with his thumb and forefinger. “Daddy, you smell really bad.”
“I know, kiddo, Daddy needs a shower,” Simon said. “Why don’t you go watch some TV for a few minutes, and then I’ll come play with you, okay?”
“Okay,” Jeremy said, and went happily to the TV.
Then Simon said to Alison, “So is this all for real? You’re not angry at me anymore?”
“No, I’m not angry at all,” she said. “I believe you now.”
“You do?”
“Yes, and I don’t think you’re crazy. I would never judge you for something that’s beyond your control.”
“Wow,” Simon said. “I really appreciate you saying that. But you’re not afraid?”
“Why would I be afraid of my husband?” She hugged him and said, “I love you so much. And don’t worry. We’ll do whatever
we have to do to cure you.”
“Cure me? How do you think you can cure me?”
“Not me, but there’s professional help you can get.”
Simon stopped hugging her back and stepped back a couple of feet and said, “Wait, when you say you believe me. What do you believe?”
“What you told me yesterday.” She whispered so Jeremy couldn’t overhear, “That you think you’re a werewolf.”
“Look,” Simon said, “I really appreciate you saying that, and I’m thrilled that you guys are back home, and I hope we can sit down and do whatever we have to do to work things out and get back on track. But that all said, I know how ludicrous this must’ve sounded to you. I didn’t expect you to necessarily believe that this had actually happened to me, but I just wanted to be honest with you about what was happening, because I was tired of being deceitful.”
“Oh stop,” she said. “I said I believe you, okay?”
“You really believe that I’m a—?”
“Yes,” she said. “If you believe it, then I believe it.”
“But—”
“No buts,” she said. “Marriage is a partnership. It’s my fault, I guess, for losing sight of that. When I married you, it was in sickness and in health, and I’m going to help you through this, but you have to do your part too. I’ll stay with you, but you have to deal with your problem, get the help you need.”
“I don’t think you understand exactly what—”
“I’ve already done some research online,” she said. “There’s a psychiatrist downtown, Dr. Milton Levinson, who’s dealt with these sorts of problems before. I want you to see him and work on your problem. I just want to see you making an effort.”
“Wait, a psychiatrist?” Simon said. “Why do you think I—”
“Because,” Alison said.“I just think you’re going through something very difficult right now, and you need someone to help you through it. You won’t be alone—I’ll be there to give you all the support you need. And you don’t have to worry, I’ve done a lot of research on your condition and it’s very treatable.”
“My condition?”
“Lycanthropic disorder,” Alison said. “You know, when you believe that you’re a . . .” She looked in Jeremy’s direction again, then said, “. . . a you know what.”
“I still don’t think you under—”
“We can discuss it later,” Alison said. “I’m not going anywhere, so there’s plenty of time. Right now I have to catch up on some work, but you and Jeremy should spend some time together; he’s been asking for you all day, and all day yesterday too.” She winced again—he really did smell awful. “Why don’t you go take that shower now, okay?”
Simon hated keeping secrets from Alison, but what choice did he have? He’d tried to tell her the truth yesterday and she didn’t believe him, so, at least for right now, if letting her think he had a disorder was what it took to keep his family together, then so be it. Meanwhile, after what he’d been through last night, he was lucky to be here at all.
At the brewery Simon had washed up and cleaned Olivia’s blood off his body, but he still needed a shower desperately. He ran the water as hot as he could stand it. He was hoping the pain would be a distraction, but he couldn’t get the gruesome images from last night out of his head, and he doubted he ever would. Though he knew he’d killed Olivia in self-defense, and that she would have killed Charlie and maybe Ramon too if he hadn’t stopped her, it was the sheer brutality of the killing that continued to shock him. He couldn’t explain it away, tell himself it was the werewolf part of him that had done it, because he’d been completely aware of what he was doing. He’d killed her because he’d wanted to kill her; he’d made a choice.
Though Simon hadn’t been able to prevent Michael from biting Ramon and Charlie, at least Charlie’s bleeding had stopped—apparently werewolves had a much faster recovery time than humans—and Michael claimed that Charlie would be okay. Simon hated how Michael had gotten exactly what he wanted—his pack of wolves—and Simon felt used and manipulated. He felt as if Michael had orchestrated everything that had happened last night on the roof, letting him go, knowing he’d wind up attacking and killing Olivia. Even worse, Michael had volunteered to get rid of Olivia’s body and help cover up the incident, so now he had something else to hold over Simon.
With just a towel around his waist, Simon went into the bedroom, where Alison was working on her laptop at the desk.
“Nice shower, sweetie?” she asked.
Okay, her one-eighty attitude switch was a little freaky. It was hard to believe this was the same woman who’d seemed to hate his guts just yesterday.
“Pretty good,” he said.
“Did you trim your chest hair?”
The hair he’d shaved off yesterday had already mostly grown back, making it look like he’d gotten a trim.
“Yeah, did a little manscaping,” he said.
She smiled, then said, “About the psychiatrist. I just don’t want you to think I’m threatening you, because that’s totally not the case. I mean, getting professional help is your choice; I guess I just want to know you’re willing to meet me halfway on this. And we can discuss this with Dr. Hagan too, of course.”
“No, the psychiatrist sounds like a great idea,” Simon said.
“Really?” Alison said.
“Yeah,” Simon said. “I mean, you’re right, I’m definitely going through something big. I mean, thinking I’m a werewolf—it doesn’t get any bigger than that, right?”
“It’s good that you can joke about it,” Alison said. “It shows you have an awareness about your condition. That’s probably very healthy.” She looked at him seductively, biting down on her lower lip. “Come here.”
He came over to where she was sitting, and she hugged him around the waist.
“Mmm, you smell great now,” she said, and he said, “So do you.”
It was true—she did smell amazing. He could tell she was turned on, and he was too, his sudden hard-on pushing out the towel.
“Ooo, look who’s back.” Alison massaged the bulge, getting him even harder. She said to his penis, “I missed you.” Then to Simon, “Date in bed tonight?”
“Sounds like a plan,” Simon said.
He got dressed and let her continue her work. He was amazed how his marriage suddenly seemed to be on the mend when he’d been so certain he was on the road to divorce.
In the living room, Simon picked up Jeremy and kissed his head, savoring the combined odor of his baby shampoo and unique bodily scent.
“Mmm, you have no idea how good it feels to breathe that smell,” he said.
“What smell?” Jeremy asked.
“Never mind,” Simon said, closing his eyes and breathing in more of it. “Never mind.”
Jeremy sat on Simon’s lap and they talked and watched some of The Wiggles together, and for a while he managed to forget that he was a werewolf and a killer and that the happy home life he was experiencing probably wouldn’t last for long.
Alison came into the room and said, “Aww, look at you two. Wait, stay like that, let me get my camera.” She returned and took a few photos. “You two look so, so adorable. I’m going to have to frame one of these.”
They went out to dinner for hamburgers at Jackson Hole. One burger wasn’t enough, and Simon couldn’t resist ordering three more. At one point, Simon noticed Alison looking at him sympathetically and knowingly. Obviously she believed that the meat-eating was part of his “disorder” that she was going to help him “cure.”
Later in the evening, after Jeremy went to bed, Simon was getting undressed when Alison sneaked up behind him and said, “Boo.”
Simon said, “You surprised me,” but of course he wasn’t surprised. He’d heard her tiptoeing on the carpet and, if he focused, he could hear bits of conversations in the next apartment. Actually his hearing was so good that it was harder not to hear than to hear.
He could smell Alison too, and he knew she was
naked before he turned around to hold her. They got into bed together and started making love. It was great to be with his wife, touching her and kissing her, and he’d never wanted her this much. He made her come a few times, and then it was his turn. He was on top, looking into her eyes. He felt the familiar build in his loins and rush of blood to his head, and his whole body tensed as he was on the verge of a powerful orgasm, and then it happened.
There was sudden pressure all over his body, especially in his mouth, and the bones in his legs and arms felt as if they were pulling apart, stretching his ligaments. Panicked, he said, “Oh my God,” but Alison must have thought this was a precursor to his orgasm because she said what she usually said when he was about to climax—“Come for me, baby, come for me,” and wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him in closer. Simon knew that he had to get away, that in a few seconds he would turn into a crazed beast on top of his wife and do God knows what to her, and then, with the pressure building, he managed to break free and make it into the bathroom and lock the door.
He looked in the mirror. His teeth were jutting out slightly and his jaw was more prominent, and his eyes seemed bigger and maybe a shade darker, but there was no excess hair on his face—just his usual scruffiness—and the pains in his ligaments were subsiding.
“Simon?” Alison knocked on the door. “Simon, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”
Simon splashed his face with cold water and looked in the mirror again. His teeth had receded, and except for some residual pain around his mouth, hands, and feet, he felt pretty much normal. He’d avoided disaster this time, but what would happen next time, and the time after that? It seemed that the change happened during times of extreme emotion—when he was angry or threatened or when he was having sex—but that didn’t mean he’d ever be able to control it. Maybe he could avoid sex for the time being, but eventually, if he wanted to stay married, he’d have to have sex again, and what if he couldn’t stop the transformation next time? He could snap and kill Alison the way he’d killed Olivia. Or what about the next time he lost his temper? He was normally an even-keeled guy but once in a while, like anybody else, he got upset and raised his voice. The next time he had a fight with Alison, was he going to turn into a homicidal werewolf? Or God forbid, what if he snapped at Jeremy one day for refusing to get into his stroller or taking too long in the bathroom? How was he supposed to stop himself from turning into a werewolf in front of his son? Even if he didn’t injure Jeremy, the experience of seeing his dad turn would scar him for life.
