Werewolf Phenomenon

by Claudia Silva

  Rebecca snapped out of her trance. This was now a matter of life or death. If she didn’t act, the three beasts together would tear Dylan to shreds. Rebecca finally took her gun out just as Dylan jumped on the first werewolf. Before the other two could join their colleague, Rebecca aimed her gun slowly, releasing a shot and hitting one of them in the back. Her hands trembled when the werewolf quickly turned around to see who had bothered to attack him. Locking eyes with her, it gave a deep and disturbing growl in her direction.

  The terror she felt could not be compared to any event in her life prior to this moment. How Dylan could have possibly thought she was made for something like this was beyond her. Werewolves were huge; they had long sharp teeth and claws and one of them was slowly approaching. Its body mass was two or three times what they had been as humans, which made Rebecca feel weak and meaningless.

  She shot her gun again and again, but the werewolf who approached, with its dirty black fur, didn’t even flinch at the pain. Behind her, Dylan had managed to throw the second heart to one side just as he jumped to hold the third werewolf by the neck. The werewolf hunter was almost unrecognizable now. All the way from his shoes to his face he was splattered with werewolf blood; his suit had ripped where the beasts had clawed at him during their short encounter.

  “You’re a vampire, Rebecca,” he yelled baring his long fangs at her as he moved to the top of the third wolf, his arm still locked its neck. “Fight it!”

  Shaking from head to toe, Rebecca knew this was too much for her. It didn’t matter what Dylan was telling her, the truth was she was still just a dance teacher who had some strength because she had been turned into a vampire. All of those training sessions meant nothing. That test had meant nothing. This was real life and if Dylan had thought she wasn’t ready before it must’ve been for a reason. What did the director of the vampire agency really know about her?

  Giving one step back after another, Rebecca let go of her gun, forgetting she had another one stored behind her; her eyes glued to the beast’s yellow ones. Soon there wasn’t anywhere she could go. With her back to the wall, she heard a guttural sound coming out of the beast, possibly laughter. And then, it attacked.

  The wolf jumped in her direction. By some miracle, Rebecca managed to get out of its way. It had been as if some hidden instinct had made her do it. The werewolf hadn’t liked that one bit, so it was quickly back in attack position, this time managing to hit her with its clawed paw on the chest, knocking her to the floor. The werewolf was then somehow on top of her, its entire weight pressing her body against the wet carpet. It began to be difficult to breathe or to do much of anything else to defend herself. For a moment she decided it was useless to even try; the werewolf was much stronger, after all. For a moment she decided it was just too much for her and she imagined what it would feel like to die under its weight so soon after having started her new existence.

  Even with these thoughts in her head, when the beast tried to bite her head off, she raised her hands to stop him with a strength she clearly had forgotten she had. Once more the beast tried to get his sharp teeth close to her, but her hands were enough to keep the big head at bay. It was then that she began to believe the impossible. Placing her feet on the monster’s legs, she pushed with as much force as she could gather sending the beast flying off of her.

  With renewed confidence, it was Rebecca’s turn to attack. Wasting not a second, she jumped at the monster feeling a surge of power overwhelm her. She held the beast’s chest with her legs, and after pressing against it, she felt its ribs crack beneath her thighs. The satisfaction wouldn’t end there; closing her fists, she began to hit the werewolf’s snout over and over, blood soon spilling all over her face. The werewolf scratched at her legs and feet and although the pain of the wounds was terrible, it was not enough to make her stop.

  “Get its heart!” she heard Dylan yell from the other side of the room. “Now! Do it!”

  Only she couldn’t. Hearing those words made her hesitate. Her fists stopped in mid-air, the werewolf’s head now a bloody mess; its clawed paws had stopped scratching at her and were lying motionless on each side. For a moment she looked at the beast, feeling victorious. She had proven to the world – and to Dylan – that she was worthy of her future. Smiling nervously, she turned around, searching for Dylan. He had to see what she had done. He had to marvel at her prowess.

  Except she hadn’t really done anything. The werewolf wasn’t dead and its healing ability was quick at work under the thick, smelly fur. Its left clawed hand came back to life taking her by the neck and snapping her throat. Rebecca felt her body shake and then go limp. With a broken neck, her spinal cord could no longer command the rest of her body. Her over-confidence had gotten her killed in the end, after all. It was only a matter of time now. She couldn’t even feel the wolf’s weight over her as he prepared to strike.

  Suddenly, a blur pushed the werewolf away from her. Perhaps Dylan, having killed the others, was now there to save her. Whatever it had been was giving her body time to pull itself together again. In a matter of seconds, she felt a tingling in her hands and feet. Soon, she would be completely healed and able to sit up. Turning her head to the side let her see her savior: a small brown werewolf who was still trying to take on the big one. This wolf looked tiny compared to the one who had almost taken her life. Unfortunately, the smaller wolf never stood a chance. It didn’t take long for the monster to swat the youngling like a fly, sending it flying across the room with ease.

  This distraction had been what Dylan had needed. Just as the werewolf got rid of its frail adversary, Dylan was upon him. In this new battle, it was clear the werewolf wasn’t a challenge for the experienced werewolf hunter. In a blink, Dylan had broken the werewolf’s bones in so many different places it was incapacitated.

  Holding it by the neck, he walked to where Rebecca was. “Take its heart out!” Dylan commanded to a now fully recovered Rebecca. Before she could say or do anything, the werewolf began to change in Dylan’s arms. Its bones cracked and it’s body convulsed. Soon, the incredible transformation had reversed. Now, what Dylan held in his arms wasn’t a beast, but a man. The naked man began to laugh, then, as if he was finding something very amusing.

  “That’s right, sweetheart, take my heart out,” he slurred.

  “Do it, Becca,” Dylan insisted. The werewolf, now too weak in its human form, was too helpless escape.

  Only Rebecca had begun shaking her head. “No, I…-” Her eyes began to fill with tears. “I can’t kill him.”

  She could see the anger in her partner’s eyes. “If you don’t, then he’ll just kill again. Starting with us.”

  “He’s right, darling,” the man began, blood coming out of his mouth. “I’m a killer, I am. And like me there are others,” he laughed, “and they’re coming.”

  “What do you think will happen if I let him go?” Dylan asked, ignoring what the man-beast had said.

  Right on cue, the werewolf transformed into a beast again. The transformation was quick, lasted only a second. The increase in mass caught Dylan by surprise, making him fall back, releasing it. The werewolf didn’t waste any time before its claw was deep under Rebecca’s ribs. Blood spurt out of her mouth as pain filled her completely. Dylan had been right; I should have taken its heart out, but how? It was too late to think about regrets. The werewolf growled in triumph just as Dylan’s hand came out of its chest, coming from its back. It lost its heart quickly, its claw still inside Rebecca’s flesh.

  She felt a pair of hands on her, then. It was William. He was helping her out of the werewolf’s deadly claw. For a moment everything became hazy and dark. The stench of werewolf still present and potent and yet not what it had been before this day. The beast fell to the ground after Dylan took his hand out of it.

  Rebecca felt the claw being yanked out of her body, felt her knees wanting to give in. With both hands, she covered the wound on her abdomen.

  “Let her go,” she heard Dylan’s com
mand. When she looked up she saw his gun was aimed at the boy who held her. “Now.”

  “I’m not going to hurt her,” the boy said. The wound on her chest had begun to heal letting her stand up with renewed strength between a naked William and the bloody Dylan.

  “Put your gun down, Dylan. This is our informant,” Rebecca said between breaths, “His name is William.”

  Dylan’s weapon remained aimed next to Rebecca’s head, the werewolf in clear view of its path. “He’s still a werewolf,” her partner stated; the boy always an easy and clear target.

  “I know what I am,” the boy agreed. Will didn’t seem to fear the werewolf hunter. Taking a deep breath, he added, “I know I’m a living being who needs your help.”

  Dylan pretended he hadn’t heard, and tired of aiming at the wolf and his partner, he finally pushed Rebecca to one side to get a clearer view of his enemy, his thumb releasing the safety off his gun.

  “Wait, Dylan,” Rebecca tried to lower his arm, but he wouldn’t budge, “He helped me. He attacked one of them to help me. I met him before this all began and he explained who he was. He’s not the enemy. Remember? He’s W.”

  “They’re all the enemy,” he muttered under his breath.

  “Dylan, look at him.”

  All Rebecca did then was keep looking at her partner pleading silently, hopeful he would understand. Aware of her insistence, it seemed to take all of Dylan’s willpower to pull himself together until there was understanding in what Rebecca was saying. Finally, the red tint in his eyes disappeared; dissolving like a solution clearing the iris. His thumb returned the safety to his gun, even when he still had it ready, just in case. The young man sighed in relief and relaxed his shoulders; he was still completely naked and vulnerable.

  “You’re smaller,” Dylan pointed out suddenly, “when you’re a wolf. Why?”

  “I guess because I was turned young,” the boy answered immediately. He then gave a step forward to repeat, “Which is why I need your help.”

  They were all surprised to hear a phone ringing. Dylan, without taking his gun away from the boy’s face, took it out of his pants’ pocket with his free hand carefully. “Torrence,” he answered. It was Charles Lewis; Rebecca could hear his voice from the other end of the line. “Yes, we’re clear.”

  The doors opened loudly and without warning, letting Charles and his crew in. Immediately, the F.B.I. agent looked at the boy standing with the two vampires. “Will someone get this young man a pair of pants, please?” he yelled behind his back.

  In front of him, William couldn’t help but smile.

  The young looking werewolf sat on one of Persephone Hall’s wet chairs with his hands handcuffed behind his back; not that they served any real purpose. His chest dirty and naked but in perfect physical health. He was at least now wearing a pair of black agency pants someone had produced for him to wear, nothing else. All the time, William followed Dylan with his eyes as he patiently waited for the clean-up crew to set up and begin working on the room.

  “So, this here is our informant,” said Charles Lewis as he reentered the room with a black sports bag in each hand and walking directly to Dylan. “Here,” he threw one of the bags to his chest, a bag Dylan knew contained a clean change of clothes for him; much needed since he was almost completely covered in blood.

  “He says his name is William,” Dylan nodded taking the handles of the bag, containing a clean suit, gratefully with one hand.

  Lewis raised both eyebrows. Then, “He’s young, isn’t he?”

  “Physically he looks young, yes.” After a few moments, the vampire pointed out, “In reality, he could be a thousand years old for all we know.”

  Lewis looked at the handcuffed boy on the chair, “That old?” he wondered. “You really think so?”

  “He’s a werewolf,” Dylan stated as if that answered all of the questions.

  “Well,” exhaled Lewis, still studying the boy, “I’ve never seen one so young looking. Have you?” The werewolf did nothing but look at them patiently, listening.

  “I haven’t either,” Dylan said, “and I’ve been around.”

  William finally spoke, not caring that the men were talking as if he weren’t there or didn’t matter, “They die.”

  Immediately Dylan nodded, barely even looking at the boy. “He’s right,” he told Lewis, “I’ve heard of young men being turned, but they don’t survive. I would say his very existence is an oxymoron.”

  Both men looked at the young werewolf quietly, studying him. Then, Lewis turned his attention elsewhere. On the other side of the room, far away from them, Rebecca Sawyer leaned on the wall quietly, her eyes never leaving the wet carpet below her. Men came in and out of the room, the bodies of the werewolves had already been removed, Dylan and Lewis talked; all of this seemed to happen without Rebecca noticing.

  “What’s with her?” Charles asked Dylan.

  Dylan didn’t bother to even turn to look at her, “I have no idea.”

  “Well,” Charles pursed his lips, “Shouldn’t you care?” The vampire rolled his eyes; deep down he knew what his responsibilities were. “I mean, wasn’t she recruited with the whole purpose of making you care in the first place?”

  “Don’t tell me you’ll write it in your report,” Dylan asked through gritted teeth.

  “Dylan,” warned Lewis.

  “I’ll take care of it,” the vampire said, finally. “And for the record, I do care.”

  “Sure,” said Lewis with a smirk.

  “Whatever,” Dylan patted Charles on the back as he began walking out of the room. “Will you be all right with him?” he asked before leaving to change out of the dirty and shredded clothes.

  Lewis nodded quietly, watched him leave and then turned to the werewolf boy, “This is going to get even more interesting by the minute, isn’t it?”

  The boy looked back at him with an unreadable expression. He did not say one more word.

  “I see you survived to see another day, Sawyer,” Charles Lewis approached Rebecca after Dylan had come back to the room to guard the werewolf looking clean and sharp. It would still be a while until they were ready to leave and the day was far from over. Their next destination, the agency’s safe house.

  Rebecca didn’t bother to acknowledge his presence; all she did was stare at the carpet below her feet like she had done since the battle had ended. Besides, whatever Charles Lewis had to say wasn’t what she wanted to hear.

  Except Lewis tried again, “You okay, Becca?” Her head moved almost automatically to face him only because he had dared call her a name only those very close to her used. Charles Lewis had never called her Becca. “I bring you clean clothes if you want them.” It was then that Rebecca finally turned to look at the mess she had become, then at the bag Lewis was holding. “If you want to be walking around with a hole in your shirt all covered in blood, be my guest, although I wouldn’t recommend it.” She could feel herself turning pink at the cheeks, “What do you say?”

  “Yes, please,” Rebecca agreed finally just as Lewis passed the black bag he’d been carrying around.

  “Here you go.” Before leaving, he said, “Both you and Torrence should get a medal. You saved the day. The senator’s safe, no casualties, and all werewolves are dead. Or at least,” he reconsidered, “the ones that should be dead are dead.” Seeing that Rebecca was once more unresponsive, Lewis said. “Get changed, it will help make you feel better.”

  Rebecca watched him leave, but she still couldn’t stop replaying what she had just experienced over and over in her head. The sight of Dylan’s hand coming out of that last werewolf’s chest with a tight grip on its heart would be an image not easily forgotten. Not all of the surveillance videos she had watched could have prepared her for the real thing. It had been the most terrifying moment of her life, yet what scared her the most wasn’t watching Dylan, having had a claw in her abdomen or the fact she was expected to take someone’s heart out; the fact that scared her the most was how she
somehow wanted to experience it all again, because if she did, she would have done everything differently, better.

  It was a strange feeling to have, something between ecstasy and pure terror. Who would have thought that even when the monsters were so intimidating, beating the crap out of them would result in such great pleasure? There were so many reasons why what was wrong. There was a disturbing feeling in her gut just considering thinking about it.

  Her eyes then moved to William, the young werewolf who was probably, for reasons she still couldn’t comprehend, eager to go home to a nest of vampires, creatures that dedicated their lives to ending his kind. The boy’s scent still permeated the room and even when she felt more at ease around the beasts, it was still a scent she’d rather not have around if she could help it. It didn’t really matter. What mattered now was that Dylan kept walking around the boy trying to decide what to make of him, what to do with him. He looked harmless enough, yet no matter what he said or tried to prove, everyone would still be careful and doubtful of his intentions for a very long time. In fact, she wasn’t exactly sure what they planned to do with him at the agency. Having a werewolf in a place packed with vampires only spelled trouble.

  As much as she looked at him, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the young man who was requesting asylum was much older than he looked. She could see it in his eyes, in the way he moved, the way he talked. He may look like a high school student but he had probably been alive for hundreds of years. Whenever they let her talk to him, the first thing she would ask him would be his age.

  There were many things that bothered her about the situation at hand, too many to be able to act coherently as she should. So far, this young man was defying everything Dylan had ever said about werewolves. He was younger and more refined than any werewolf Dylan had ever described fighting. She could not imagine this boy with a hole through his chest after Dylan had opened it to search for his heart. It just didn’t feel fair.

  This one wasn’t a monster; he was just a boy. Wasn’t he?