Fatal Moon

by L. E. Perry

  “Hello?”

  “Father?”

  “Carl! I was afraid I’d miss you. I can’t talk to Jordan for the life of me. I’ve never been known for my bedside manner, but he always seems to have gotten up on the wrong side of the bed.”

  “Tell me about it.” Carl leaned against the wall.

  There was a pause, then Carl’s father resumed the conversation. “I needed to say you have a visitor arriving; she should be there at about two o’clock. She took a red-eye out of Greenwich this morning.”

  Carl stood straight up. “A guest? Father, I can’t have a guest coming here today! Why?”

  “Her name is Diana, and she’s made me a business proposition regarding our property there. We don’t really have much use for it anymore, and she believes she can turn it into the Aspen of the Cascades. I must say I find it unlikely, but she’s quite a go-getter, and has offered to make a proper market analysis with no financial support from me. I told her she could have use of our cabin; she had to buy her own plane tickets, and she’s on her own. If you want to share your groceries with her, it’s your choice. I expect her to prove herself; she’s too young to have much in the way of credentials, but I was impressed with her knowledge of marketing and finance. I think she’s worth giving a chance.”

  “You’re just letting some stranger in then? Without any references?”

  “Carl, she’s young. Someone has to give her a chance or she’ll never get references. I hope someone at some hospital will do the same for you when you’re out of school.”

  “But Father, now is really not a good time for me,” Carl protested.

  “Why?” His father asked with audible concern.

  “Well, it’s just… I have things to do…”

  “She promised she won’t get in the way of your studies,” his father said, reasonably.

  “But…”

  There was a pause. “Is there something else Carl?” His father sounded a little hurt. “Are you okay? I understand you’re on a lighter schedule at university due to this long virus. Are you sure it’s just the flu?”

  Carl couldn’t think of an answer.

  “Carl, I’d like to think you could tell me anything. I’m your father. You know I’d support any decision you might make, whether I agree with it or not.”

  Carl’s mind raced. This was not a direction he had expected the conversation to go, and deception was not one of his finer skills, especially with his father. He had always been able to tell his father everything, and this was new territory for him.

  “Carl? Are you all right?” Pause. “Is there something I should know? If there’s anything wrong, I’d really like to know. Maybe I can help... Is it really the flu, or is it something else? Is Jordan all right? He seems to be a little stressed out himself. More than usual. Rather prickly.”

  Carl went cold, as it seemed clearer where his father was going with this line of questions. He’d been questioned before about Jordan’s presence, and it all clicked. The questions about his weight loss, the questions about him living in seclusion with Jordan. Carl felt sick. Clearly, he needed to head that insinuation off, and buy himself some time.

  “Okay,” Carl said quickly, “to be honest, my doctor is also concerned so he’s running some tests. I should get the results soon, and I’ll let you know. It could just be that I’ve been too stressed out to fight it off, or maybe not, but we’ll know soon enough.

  “But Carl, I have to wonder, and I’ll refrain from all the questions I have about your lifestyle for now, but… what does Jean think of all this?”

  Carl went limp and his back hit the wall behind him. He slowly slid down to the floor. Jean, his fiancé. The lovely woman with the warm brown eyes and long blond hair, whose laugh filled him with joy, and whose mischievous smile filled him with passion. He groaned quietly. “We’ve broken up. It was a while ago, I’m sure she’s moved on by now. That’s part of the stress. Wait, Dad?”

  “Yes?”

  “Will our guest have a car?” Carl asked. “Does she know how to get here?”

  “Oh, for goodness sake! That’s what I called about. No, you need to pick her up at the train station at two. Can you do that?”

  Carl thought for a moment. If he could say no, it might help, but if she was the “go-getter” his father mentioned, she’d find a way. Better to have her under their control from the beginning.

  “Yes, of course. We’ll pick her up at two.”

  “Right then. Well, I’m glad we talked. You know you’re my favorite son.”

  Carl smiled despite himself. This was an old game. “I’m your only son.”

  “Well, of course! Once we had you, we had no reason to try again. We got it right the first time. All right, now. Take care, Carl.”

  “And you, Dad. Give Mum a kiss for me.”

  “I’ll get right on it. Look after yourself. And let me know the results of those tests as soon as you get them.”

  “I promise.” Carl sadly hung up the phone.

  * * *

  Carl sat in the parlor studying printouts of his graphs of variables, symptoms he had kept track of once he was aware of his disease. Just as Jordan arrived, drying his hair from a shower, the doorbell rang.

  Carl raised an eyebrow at Jordan. Jordan went to the door and opened it.

  "Game Warden John Samuels, here to see Mr. Carl Sanders." The warden's voice had a softly musical lilt that offset the gravel in it. His short hair was grey, and his face was lined and leathery, like an old cowboy. Carl could see Jordan crooking an eye at the man.

  "Christ! What a delightful butler," Carl swore under his breath. He slid the papers into a drawer in the end table and went to the door where he saw the thin man standing in the doorway in a green uniform.

  "Carl!" The warden was craning his neck slightly to see around Jordan, who stood like a statue.

  "Warden Samuels, it's so good to see you, " Carl beamed from around Jordan's broad back. "Make us some coffee if you would, Jordan," Carl ordered, slightly annoyed at Jordan's stolid posture.

  Jordan turned and gave him a calculating look before he strode away.

  Carl turned back to the warden, swung the door wide open, and offered his hand. "Come on in, Mr. Samuels. Have a seat. Please join me for a cup of coffee."

  The warden shook his hand. "Good to see you again, Carl. You know I'm always ready for a cup of coffee." He stepped through the doorway and followed Carl into the living room.

  "How is hunting season coming along?" Carl asked over his shoulder.

  "All stupidity and no crime at this point. The usual weekend warriors shooting without identifying their game, but so far it’s just the wrong animal, not another human, and nothing endangered."

  Carl shook his head in disapproval. "I don’t understand men who fire before they know what they’re shooting at."

  The warden sat down in the chair Carl offered. "Fortunately, it's rare, and generally they’re just ignorant. At least, I always hope so. Poaching is despicable. How are you doing since that bite?"

  Carl grimaced, sitting down on the edge of the couch. "I'd always heard how painful the rabies series was, but until I went through the shots myself, I had no comprehension. Next time something bites me, I'll wrestle the bitch down and bring in the carcass for testing."

  The warden shook his head. "If you don't own a gun you're best off leaving it to us. I’m just sorry we couldn't find it for you."

  Carl shrugged. "Well, it's behind me now."

  "Now that's what I came to see you about. It's probably nothing, but there's a guy down the road who found one of his cows dead and partly eaten about a week ago. He claims it's the wolf that got you, and he's raisin' hell. Personally, I think the thing died, became carrion, and he wants someone to pay. It'd been dead two weeks when they called me, so it's hard to tell. I just thought I'd check it out, get some information for my report."

  Carl's mind raced. What if it HAD been a wolf
that killed the cow? What if it had been Carl? "What can I do to help you?" He asked as he stood to pace. They both waited when Jordan brought a tray with two large mugs of coffee and set it down on the coffee table. The scent of a rich, earthy Ethiopian brew wafted through the room in ribbons of steam. Jordan had thought to put milk, sugar and a spoon on the tray as well, and pulled two coasters from a stand on the end table to place them on the mahogany coffee table.

  The warden nodded at Jordan, then stared at his back as he left the room. He picked up a mug and turned back to Carl. "What I need from you, Carl, is any news you might have or might get on the presence of a wolf, or wolves. Seen any tracks or scat out there? You hike, don't you?" he asked, taking a sip of coffee.

  Carl began to pace again. "Yes, Jordan and I have both been up and down these peaks a few times in the past few days, for exercise. Since that wolf had a bite out of me, I've looked for signs. I haven't seen any," he lied. "And I'm not sure I'd know the difference between wolf scat and any other kind, but I haven't seen much other than our own horse."

  The warden nodded. "I’ve got copies of the files on the wolves they brought in to the Northern Cascades National Park from Wyoming. Since it has to be a descendant of one of those–"

  "Why does it have to be one of them?" Carl sat down on the chair across from the warden.

  The warden leaned back into the recliner where he was seated. "Because we haven't had wolves in these mountains for several decades, except the ones that were brought in way north for relocation. So, it’s got to be related to a wolf from that project, in which case it's still come a long way south, and that’s the bad news. One of them must have left their pack, for one reason or another, and come this direction. Since wolves are pack hunters, it may not have been eating as well as it would with its packmates. It could've had just about any illness or disease. Course, you would've shown signs by now."

  No kidding, Carl thought. Then, without missing a beat, "I'll certainly keep you in mind if I find anything. Do you plan to shoot any wolves you find at this point?" Carl drummed his fingers anxiously on his coffee mug.

  "Not unless we have solid evidence that it’s a danger. We’d need another documented case of a bite, or to actually find a wolf with identifiably odd behavior. Despite their rarity, we still can't guarantee that any wolf we find is the same one that bit you, and I really don't think this other thing is a case of predation. I had Dr. Schilling do an autopsy, which showed that the cow wasn't well – course, that's exactly what a wolf would be interested in – but it's more likely the cow got sick and died, and scavengers got it. The ranchers are paranoid about wolves. As soon as they hear about one, they think they're going to start losing calves, and they start pulling out their rifles and patrolling the area. At a minimum of $900 a head for a good steer, I can understand why. The complaint would be legitimate, if there was reason to believe it. Wolves and men have never cared to coexist. I think they'll stay deep into their territory for the most part. It’s really unfortunate you cornered that one."

  Carl nodded tensely. "If I'd known it was hiding in those bushes, I wouldn't have been sticking my hand in there. I would've left the damn flask I dropped." He was shaken by the thought that, beyond the usual hunters, the farmers might be out looking for a wolf to shoot as well. "More coffee?"

  The warden smiled and nodded. Carl poured him another cup from the insulated pot on the table, then refilled his own.

  "The people in Baring are holding a meeting, if you're interested, at the town hall, eight o'clock Sunday. They’re gonna talk about this wolf problem they think they have. Scheduled it when they know I'll be out of town, and the local environmentalist types weren’t invited." The warden gave Carl a knowing look.

  The last coffee Carl was pouring splashed from the cup as his hand spasmed. "Oh, well, maybe I can…"

  "No, no, I wouldn't want you to spy for me. Hard enough to get their trust as it is. But if you just happen to overhear anything around town, I wouldn't mind knowing about it.” He paused, then inquired, “Hey, tell me, how are your parents doing? I haven't seen them in years."

  "Quite well, thank you. They have a lot a lot of business to take care of in Europe, since my father just acquired another hospital that needs updating. Regional. It needs a lot of polishing, he says. Mother's been taking care of Grandmother since Papa died," Carl said, dropping into the lilting cadence of the warden's voice without noticing.

  "Sorry to hear that," Samuels said, the harsh lines around his eyes softening.

  "It was time," Carl sighed.

  "What about you? You were studying medicine, last I heard. I was too busy filling out forms when I caught up with you in the hospital. Still studying?"

  Carl cracked a grin. "Oh, well, on and off. Been a bit stressed out since after the bite, you know, so they've given me a hiatus for the summer and fall quarter, but I'm still gathering information for my thesis."

  "Doctor’s?"

  "Don't flatter me," Carl laughed, "I'm still on my Master's."

  "Didn't think you were quite that far along yet. You’ve got a good heart, Carl. Don't let the books bury it."

  "Well, thank you," Carl said, trying to think of something more to say. The warden finished his coffee and stood up.

  "You're not leaving so soon, are you?" Carl asked. He missed having a social life. Jordan was poor company at best.

  The warden nodded. "Really oughta be going. Got paperwork up the ying-yang to turn in at the office. Our new secretary's a real stickler for schedules, and the boss is behind her one hundred percent." He stretched his back. "This job isn't what it used to be."

  Carl put his hand out again. "Thanks for stopping by. Sorry I couldn't be of more help with the wolf problem."

  The warden shook his hand with a firm grip. "I doubt there is a problem. Thanks for the coffee. Let me know if you do see anything... well... unusual. Just for the report, you know."

  Carl walked him to the entryway and moved to open the large door, then stopped himself and stood back from the silver handle. The warden grinned at Carl, put a finger to his hat, then opened the door and left. Carl stood for a moment by the open door, then carefully pushed it shut with his stockinged foot. Jordan had gone into the living room through the den to pick up the tray. "Jordan!"

  Jordan stopped and looked up. "What?" his voice grated.

  Carl turned to him. "I think I'll answer the door from here on, so we’ll need to do something about this silver door handle. I'm getting tired of having to ask you to open the door, aside from which it would raise eyebrows if anyone caught me doing it."

  Jordan appraised the door, then the entryway in general. "How about an end table or something right there, with a – one of those throw rag kind of things on it."

  "A table scarf?" Carl said, quizzically.

  "Yeah, one of those. Antique mahogany, with a... red rag."

  "Not a rag, Jordan,” Carl said, exasperated. “And Queen Anne style to match the living room set."

  "Certainly. I’ll make sure it’s a pretty rag, just for you."

  "Just do it," Carl said through a clenched jaw. He decided he could use a workout, and strode down the hallway to the basement stairs, where he came to an abrupt halt.

  “Jordan!” He turned to see Jordan looking back at him. “We’ve got a problem. My dad scheduled a visitor, and she’s arriving at two.”

  “And?” Jordan responded with impatience. “What’s your plan, genius?”

  “We pick her up at the train station, treat her like a guest, and get her out of here by any means, and as soon as possible. She’s here to convince my father of a business deal on the property, and he’s giving her some latitude. We’re going to make the deal look like a bad one. She’ll leave as soon as she believes there’s no money to be made, or a security issue that could tie money up in lawsuits, or legal restrictions. Something.”

  “Okay, so what’s your first thought on how to make it seem worthless?” Jord
an asked.

  “I don’t know yet. It’s a piece of land; start brainstorming. She wants to get my father to develop it. Maybe we can find some unusual animal that lives on it.” Carl turned to go down the steps.

  “No problem,” Jordan answered. “We’ve got you.”

  * * *

  Jordan met him a few minutes later in the weight room. Carl had changed into sweat shorts and a tank top, Carl turned on some music, and finally started working out. An overhead fan kept cool air circulating in the room, blowing invisible fingers through the hair curling at the back of Carl's neck.

  "Jordan," Carl said, breathing heavily as he lifted a dumbbell repeatedly, "am I losing it?"

  Jordan eyed him speculatively. "You mean form, mass, or mental stability?"

  "Mass," Carl breathed, ignoring the bait. He looked at himself in a wall-length mirror as he continued the exercise.

  Jordan appraised him carefully from a distance, then came over to place a measuring tape around Carl's biceps. He started wrapping it around different parts of Carl's body, making marks on a sheet of paper on a clipboard after each assessment. Carl twisted, trying to see how the present data compared to yesterday's, but Jordan grabbed his shoulders and turned him back around. Carl figured he wouldn't know anything until Jordan was done, so he relaxed, lifting an arm when asked, standing, flexing what little remained of his once athletic body.

  Jordan set the tape down recording the last bit of information, picked up the clipboard, and looked at the results.

  Carl finally lost his patience. "What?" he barked. "What does it say?"

  "You're losing too much mass," Jordan said under his breath, checking the figures on the chart again.

  Carl had been lifting weights for two hours every morning and evening, alternating between upper and lower body, and his diet was carefully formulated for bodybuilding, with extra protein to replace what seemed to be lost in the transformation. He knew there was a point at which muscles could be damaged by overwork, and he was treading the thin line as it was.