"Oh, hey, I know we parted ways five and a half hours ago but I thought I’d call to see how you were doing, and if you wanted to spend the day listening to me rant and rave about my asshole father."
Lucy was stunned to discover that she could still think about Jack at a time like this.
She texted him and assigned him the tragic responsibility of looking in on Molly later. He wouldn't be happy, but he remained in Über support mode and would do whatever she needed. It wasn't like Lucy to manipulate people, but this needed to be done and the stubborn jerk was too sweet not to do it.
That would give her time to figure things out. Her options weren't impressive. She could drive to the store and force Mom to hear her out. How would that go over? Mom was all about denial. She needed time to collect herself, to fess up that she had known for a while. Maybe that explained the ridiculous, mid-life crisis behavior.
Hopefully, she just needed time. Not that Lucy knew, reality had to sink in. Then she could deal with it.
Lucy wanted to help it sink in.
Which meant there was only one thing to do. She'd been to New York with her father several times. Back before he tried having her. She was familiar with his hotels of choice. If Mom didn't want to listen, or needed an extra push to acknowledge that things were wrong, she'd force the issue.
Lucy dialed information and asked for the number to the Mandarin Oriental. She scribbled the address down on resort stationary and jammed it into her pocket.
She was out the door two minutes later, hoping a plan would come together before she got there.
***
When Jack saw the text, he rolled over and buried his face in the pillow. Molly wasn't worth waking up for. He hoped instead for another hour or two of sleep. After a year of eight AM classes, sleeping in was life's greatest luxury. No set schedule and no obligations.
Except for checking in on Molly Perkins.
Gah.
No going back to sleep now.
Why do I have to check in on that mess?
The prospect of having to spend a single moment with her incensed him. Once a girl stopped being your friend's beau, you deserved a clean break.
Just when I thought I was out…
He threw on last night's clothes and stepped outside without bothering to comb his morning shag. The sooner he checked in on the maladapt, the faster he could get out of there.
The things I do for Lucy.
Where was she on this wonderfully sunny late morning, anyway? Her text had been sent before eight. Completely out of character for the girl who'd politicked to keep every class out of the morning block for three years straight. Then again, her current situation was unenviable, to say the least. He wanted to be there for her, but didn't want to keep asking how he could help.
This text was his answer.
He was in high spirits as he traveled the cabana trails. Last night had worked out pretty well despite Allen's cancellation. Lucy turned out to be a more than sufficient partner at the movies. She laughed and cheered at all the right moments, and asked a lot of questions on the drive home. It had been music to his ears. Jack had taken the long way back, through the scariest back roads Western Mass offered. Her interest felt genuine, even as she derided him for championing films that "no one in their right mind could possibly like."
They talked about plans after college, both idealistic and realistic, and figured out their tracts were more or less aligned: no children—not for a while, at least, and a future rife with travel. He'd felt a connection beyond their collegiate friendship for the first time, and those possibilities were exciting. He drummed up possible plans for tonight, thinking dinner somewhere that would get her mind off Greifsfield for a while—romantic without being too romantic.
Lucy would never let him live it down if he came at this too strong.
He knocked on Molly's door only to have it swing open.
"Hello?"
Two men dressed in Big East official digs, hiding beneath full-faced sunglasses emerged from the bathroom. "Can I help you?" The accent that was thick. Unmistakably European.
"My friend's staying here,” he said, embarrassed to have referred to Molly as a friend.
"Not anymore."
"Wait, what?"
"Your friend checked out in the middle of the night. Went home."
Jack's first instinct was relief. She wouldn't be around to make Allen's life a living hell, nor would she be the third wheel on nights out with Lucy.
His next thought was that it seemed too easy, and that was never Molly's style. Not when there was attention to be stolen. Why would she leave in the middle of the night without at least saying goodbye to Lucy?
Then again, if this disappearing act would net her any attention in Allen's eyes, then it was a stunt worth pulling.
Yeah, that was the likely story.
"Okay, thanks." He offered a wave and turned to go.
"No problem, friend."
That was all the convincing Jack needed. No matter where the girl was, she wasn't here and it wasn't his job to worry about finding her. Lucy might buy into this ruse, though, meaning that tonight's pseudo-romantic evening was falling by the wayside before it had a chance to take shape.
Hope you're ready for a night of finding, then consoling, Molly Perkins.
Exactly what she wanted.
As Jack was leaving he glimpsed the splintered bedroom door, cracked and busted. It rested off its hinges against the far wall. The tall, silent guy disappeared back into the bedroom while the shorter one noticed his curious gaze.
"We are installing new door. Your friend had an accident last night. Had too much to drink, stumbled in here and broke door."
"She okay?"
"Yes."
"Her friend's father owns this place, she'll want to know if something’s happened."
"Don't worry, buddy. Everything fine." Gruff demeanor and broken English didn't make the situation any less suspicious.
"Thanks."
It wasn't hard to imagine Molly that had stumbled in here and either collapsed through the door in a display of her trademarked negligence, or threw a hissy fit in the form of her patented outbursts.
She'd wreaked worse havoc on campus.
He walked the cabana trails without aim, thinking that Lucy should hear of Molly's departure. Didn't want to appear too eager to speak with her so soon, though, despite having a good excuse. Last night had gone too well to risk coming off like a schmuck.
He decided to call Allen. News that Jack had succumbed to emotions for Lucy would be insufferably placating to him. Their friendship felt like a sweltering sack of fruit in the summer sun. It was stagnating. Dialing his cell phone felt like a herculean effort, and it was performed more out of duty than desire to touch base.
Allen's voicemail picked up.
"Hey, call me back." He hoped he didn't sound too relieved to have missed him.
Maintaining positive thoughts about Allen was a challenge and yet, there was no hesitation in considering him his best friend. If only the stupid son of a bitch could compartmentalize his relationships and strike the ever crucial balance between the social and romantic.
Maybe that was asking too much of some people.
He took a stroll around the resort, thinking about ways to kill time. There was supposedly a very cool flea market over in Clarksburg, but he couldn't remember where he'd heard about it, or if they were open during the week. Besides, not knowing the destination meant more of an excuse to get Lucy to accompany him.
The lobby supposedly had a game room, but he couldn't find it. Lucy had used it as a selling point when luring him here. He was slightly ashamed that The Big East boasted a pristine copy of the Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom arcade game, and that he hadn't gotten around to playing it yet.
It had sucked endless quarters out of his pockets for two summers straight in 1986 and '87. Now that hand-eye coordination was a little better, Jack wondered if he could finally escape the sinister
Pankot Palace. The clerk at information, a nice girl named Missy, pointed back the way he'd come, telling him to bang a quick right just before the entrance.
The arcade sat at the end of a long hall just past the handicapped bathrooms. He went on his way, fiddling through his wallet for some single bills to change into quarters. Something caught his eye beyond the glass doors that led into the side parking lot. Molly's familiar blue Audi, a hand-me-down from her father, was only now pulling away.
Jack ran outside in time to see the car pass through the opened gates and disappear around the bend. He stood on the sidewalk, confused. It was definitely Molly's car, the dent in the back bumper, caused by Lucy herself, was unmistakable.
So who was the bald-headed man driving it away?
He reached for his phone and dialed the police.
***
She sensed his anguish from all the way down the hall. Occasional whimpers made his deep-rooted agony even more obvious. Occasionally, he'd wake up screaming for help. The Turning was never easy, and Allen's fight against it was determined.
Elisabeth could not recall a time when any of her fledglings had put forth this much resistance. The way humans clung to their humanity as though it were a gift worth fighting for was infuriating. Their lives were banal and materialistic—hardly worth such a desperate battle.
Even if the Turning could be reversed, why would anyone want to?
Once Allen pulled through, she would lay the question at his feet, genuinely curious to hear what someone so young had to say. Would he understand that she'd given him a gift? He'd better. Surely he'd agree that humanity was disgraceful, that it was a species of hypocrites, complete with faux sincerity that was only valid in times of shared misery. Otherwise, it was sink or swim. Man was not concerned with helping one another, only to surround themselves with like-minded echoes.
She'd witnessed it far too many times to count.
Did they honestly believe that life was about making good money to afford things they didn't need? Or was it a way for them to instill their lives with pointless short-term goals to validate their meaningless existences?
Either way, it IS meaningless.
The living room interior was dim, exactly the way she preferred it. The blinds were drawn on this late morning; the ceiling fan spun, blowing an amiable breeze down over her. The coffee table held a glass of home brewed iced tea that was slick with condensation. Central air hadn't been working properly, which angered her. It was one of their most inspired innovations. Hardly a substitute for an evening's breeze, but life in this guise was more comfortable because of it.
She stretched out on the leather couch, trailing fingers across her nude form, admiring her figure with curiosity, as she often did when the wolf questioned this shape's appeal. Aesthetically, she considered herself to be a perfect specimen. The wolf could not understand her penchant for two legs, but had grown to accept it with time.
Many peers had not the patience to find peace with their daytime conduits, and that was a pity. Elisabeth never felt more relaxed and attuned than in this skin.
She wondered how Allen would take to it and thought of him now: slathered in beads of terrified sweat, a newborn consciousness flooding him with fresh principles and urges. His helplessness kept her gut in perpetual agitation that prevented her from accomplishing anything more with the day. Too worried to relax. He'd gone into shock during the bite, and she brought him back and cleaned him up before making a rendezvous with that insolent girl.
Elisabeth wondered if she hadn't gone too hard on Allen. Were her emotions so conflicted that she had been willing to leave his life to the fates? She thought she had decided that he would live as wolf or die as man, but the wolf had been uncertain even as she offered her bite.
Allen was a bloody mess when she left the house—a pathetic sight. She wondered how she could love someone so weak, but that thought, and others like it, were defensive tricks of the mind. The way that her heart lurched at the sight of his mangled body, gashed flesh and torn face told her everything.
The worst part of the Turning was that she couldn't help it along. The longer someone survived the bite, the more likely it was that they would pull through. But they had to do so on their own.
Elisabeth sat up in an effort to shake free the frustrated thoughts. How long had it been since she'd last felt this? Was she even ready to go through it again?
He must be so scared and uncertain...
She hadn't relocated to Greifsfield for this. Their first meeting, bumping into each other while both reaching for a bottle of wine at the general store, pegged him as a meal and nothing more. His cocky swagger would've normally incensed her, though she'd liked his eyes, sky blue and lighter than her own. They held more optimism than she ever remembered having. Even though Allen had considered her a challenge then, and perhaps still did, her attraction was palpable enough that she reconsidered his fate.
She had accepted his offer of a night out, and pictured its inevitable conclusion to be a feast of his spent and toned corpse. But their conversation awakened something that she hadn't felt in ages. He became more than a pretty face and gorgeous body. They exchanged ideas, discussed the art of poetry, music and painting with shared enthusiasm that reached beyond a college boy's textbook.
It left an impression deep enough for her initial plan to be abandoned, allowing him to ask her out once more. She wondered why: he wasn't the first romantic pursuit to suppress her instinct while arousing her passion. Every now and again, someone came along and tempted her to reconsider exile. It's just that life was just easier when lived alone.
For some reason, Allen Taylor warranted reconsideration.
A high-pitched scream came from down the hall and echoed across the vaulted ceiling—a reminder for Elisabeth to ponder such things later. The question of the moment was whether or not his mind would successfully fuse with his new body. She wanted to think that the worst was over, and that Allen was on the mend, but there was no way of knowing until he was standing on the other side of this.
If he dies now it's because of my indecision...
The concern propelled her desire to check in on him. So what if it hadn't been thirty minutes since she'd last looked? Allen's belongings were piled against the couch, and she went rummaging for something to wear, slipping an extra large CAMP CRYSTAL LAKE T-shirt over her form.
He looked the same: naked, save for the thin white sheet that blanketed his lower half. His forehead, chest and arms were drenched in sweat. The bed sheet was soaked through and plastered to his skin.
"Stop fighting," she said and patted his forehead with gentle strokes. His heart thumped brutally in his chest cavity. His body couldn't take much more of this.
Turning a human was a delicate act, and she scolded herself for taking Allen in carelessness.
"Come back to me." She kissed his wet scalp. "The sooner you do, the sooner we will be together. I desperately need to hear how much you love me." It was true. She felt his desire even now. It was as potent as his will to live and made his anguish-laden face a slightly easier sight to see.
Even now, Allen's bandaged shoulder was stained by a perimeter of crusted puss and dried blood. But was it less severe than earlier? It was hard to say.
There was no way to know how long a Turning would last. It depended on how strong the body was before the bite, and even then, the spirit had a lot to do with it. Typically, the bite prompted an infection as the wolf's saliva and bacteria invaded the body. Once the wolf takes over, the body heals itself much quicker, starving off the infection in the process. The accompanying fever regresses within a day or two. And once the brain accepts metamorphosis, the body is recharged.
She wondered why Allen fought. Love for an old flame? She thought of his previous romance, Molly, something or other. It could not have been her that kept him going—could it?
The possibility incensed her. Her fists balled with rage, wishing that she had not been so quick to snatch the final breath
from that whore's body. For a moment, she allowed this disdain to spill over onto Allen as she watched him through narrow slits of resentment.
Do not make me regret changing you.
It was easy to imagine tearing him limb from limb, though her rage subsided as she remembered there was no possible future with that wretch.
Last night had been fun, regardless. The girl had been a capable lover. Impressive, in the sense that it had been her first time with another woman. A smile pulled on Elisabeth's lips while remembering the different ways in which she had amused herself. Most victims were taken out of necessity, but not Molly. That had been personal, and all the memories were fond.
Allen tossed and turned, shaking with enough violence to rattle the bed. His arms thrashed and his head flogged the pillow as he screamed himself awake.
"Oh my God," he said. His gasps were thick, like he'd been holding them for as long as he'd been asleep. His eyes were disoriented, but they pulled into focus when he recognized Elisabeth. Relief and contentment followed in both of them. "I can't think of a sight I'd rather wake to."
Elisabeth fought against a stupid smile. Allen's sincerity moved her, though he did not have to know that.
"How do you feel?"
Allen ran a hand through his short, untidy hair and shook the dampness out of his palm with disgust. His breaths grew more stable with each passing one.
"I'll tell you this," he said and collapsed back onto the moistened bed with a plop. "I'm never sleeping again. Not with the kind of things I've been dreaming about."
"Oh?" She guessed there were wolves involved, but kept her ignorance on display. "Then it is safe to assume I was not there?"
"God, I wish. It was an unending freak show. It'll take some real effort to get it the hell out of my head."
"How are you feeling? That is the important part."
"Chills. A backache. Now that I'm awake though, I feel like a pile of cold hard cash. I seriously don't ever want to go back to sleep."
"It's okay. They're just dreams. You've been here the whole time."
Feral Page 12
