Werewolf Chronicles

by Traci Briery

  He pumped her with questions before she even had the chance to sit down. She gave him the basic story, including some of the problems with her relatives, but in time the conversation shifted to more pleasant topics, such as Michael's soap opera and what it was like to work on one. He had a few amusing anecdotes to share, but most of the time Phyllis only smiled or laughed to be polite. Finally she found the opportunity to become serious.

  "Mikey," she said, "I know you're real happy about this job, and—I'm thrilled for you, too—but have you thought about my question at all?"

  "Um… which one?"

  "You know which one I mean," she said.

  "Oh," he said, "that."

  " 'Oh, that?' " she echoed. "Is that what you think about it?"

  "No, it isn't that, it's just—okay, no. I haven't been able to think about it. I've been so busy with this, and—"

  "I see," she whispered, sipping her water. He sighed loudly and tried to finish his meal. Phyllis caught herself staring at nothing, then set her glass down, and then… her growing anger was there, but it was becoming sharper, more focused. She had an outlet for it this time.

  "I'll tell you this," she said very calmly. "I'm going to give you one week to make up your mind. So you've got a job that takes up a lot of time. So what. Guys in the military have girlfriends, too, and a lot of those girlfriends become wives."

  "I thought you were just talking about living together!"

  "I am," she said firmly. "I'm not asking for marriage. But I am asking for something more of a commitment after two years."

  "So what happens at the end of the week?"

  "You say 'yes' or 'no,' and one of them will lose you a girlfriend."

  "Are you trying to say that if we don't live together right now, you'll just break up with me?"

  "I am," she said. "But I'll give you a week to decide that. If that scares the shit out of you—if you think I'm just another broad who only wants to drag you into a marriage, well, feel free to think that. But keep in mind that you'd be crazy to want to lose me."

  "I don't want to lose you."

  "Good," she said. "At least we agree on that."

  "What happened over there, Phylly?" he asked. "What did you do in Minnesota?"

  "Wisconsin."

  "I mean Wisconsin," he said. "Did you just think about this all the time?"

  "Not to burst your bubble, but no," she said. "In fact, I only came up with this right now. I went there because nothing was stable in my life, Mikey. I've had it with that. Nothing good happened there, either, so I came back earlier than I expected. That doesn't mean I'm giving up, though. Hell, I'm gonna try even harder now! I'm gonna get these stupid stitches out, and work my ass off to get into better shape than before. You hear me?"

  "Uh… uh, yeah, I do," he said as if waking from a sleep. "I'm… glad to hear all that. At least you didn't let this, um… attack pull you down. By the way, you sure you don't know what it was?"

  "Nope," she said, poking at the remnants of her biscuit. "I don't even care anymore. They pumped me up with every kind of shot there is, anyway."

  "But not AIDS," he said. "I-I mean, you really need to watch out for that."

  "I don't know about anyone getting it from an animal bite," she said. "I've got a better chance getting it from you than from a dog."

  "Hey!"

  "Well, it's true," she said. "But yeah, of course I'm worried about what happened. It was too dark out to see; it all happened too fast…"

  Phyllis began to drift off into her memories. For the first time she had a fleeting thought of the one instant when her eyes had opened. She remembered a flash of white against the darkness just before her shoulder was nearly crushed, but her face betrayed none of her inner turmoil. Michael watched her for a while, then patted her hand in an attempt to comfort her. She accepted it, but again betrayed no emotions.

  Chapter Eight

  A few days later Phyllis had her stitches out. The doctor told her she was healing quite well, but she was going to have scars. This was not promising for someone who relied on appearance almost as much as talent to find work. To help cheer her up, Phyllis got Roxanne to meet her for lunch during one of Roxanne's jobs. Phyllis had just enough for a steak and ordered one rare. Phyllis went to work at buttering her bread before she noticed that she was being watched.

  "What's wrong?" she asked.

  "Nothing, I guess," Roxanne said. "I thought you'd given up meat, that's all."

  "Oh, that," Phyllis said. "Well, you know that I tried, but—I just gotta have this. I haven't had a steak in so long, and I need my protein."

  Her roommate sighed, then threw up her hands in mock exasperation.

  "Back to being in the minority," she said.

  "I'll try not to eat it in front of you," Phyllis said. A silence followed while Roxanne rubbed the back of her neck and Phyllis ate her bread. She touched her wounds gingerly, which were going to be stiff and sore for a long time.

  "Doctor says I'm going to have scars," Phyllis said.

  "Oh, no," Roxanne said. "Really? On your face?"

  "Everywhere that I had stitches," Phyllis said. "Sucks big time."

  "But you'll be able to dance just like before, right?"

  "I didn't ask," Phyllis said. "But then I'll have to be able to, right? God only knows."

  "The mind is an important part of healing," Roxanne said. "You'd be surprised what miracles a positive outlook can perform."

  "Yeah, I know," Phyllis agreed. She shoved the rest of her bread into her mouth, then shrugged. Time was passed with idle chit-chat before their lunches were brought. Phyllis poked at her steak a little before cutting into it. Roxanne glanced at her watch every now and then to make certain she wasn't running late.

  "I only have an hour for lunch today," she said. Phyllis only nodded, her mouth full of half-chewed meat. "I'm starved," Roxanne continued. "Wish I could afford to eat a full meal."

  Phyllis nodded again, fully understanding the need for easily digested, light meals when on a job. It wouldn't be long before she, too, would be eating light meals all the time. Phyllis's latest encounter with her family had renewed and strengthened her determination to make it on her own.

  After the meal Phyllis grumbled that her lunch had been overcooked, even if her roommate could hardly stand to see the cooked blood and juice pouring out of every bite of meat. But it had been good enough for the price. Roxanne advised her roommate to go home and tend to her wounds, but Phyllis insisted upon working out at the club right away. Pain means that wounds are healing, after all; Phyllis must have been doing a lot of healing.

  Phyllis had been spending at least an hour looking at herself in the mirror when Roxanne returned home. The doctor had to be lying when he said there would be scars. Not on her face, surely. Only perfect people can dance in close-ups; she had to be perfect. The only thing she could do for the time being was wait. And after that, maybe a plastic surgeon.

  She had to call Michael herself at the end of the week. After much hesitation, his final answer was "no." Their conversation thereafter became somewhat heated.

  "I don't understand why this has to be some ultimatum," he protested. "I'm not saying I want to break up; this just isn't the time!"

  "But look how long we've been together already," Phyllis said. "How much longer do we have to be together before you stop being afraid of a commitment? Do you think I want to break up?"

  "Then don't!"

  "It's not that simple, Michael."

  "Phyllis…" he said. "Honey… there's no reason for this. Look, why don't you meet me at the studio during lunch tomorrow, and we can talk about this some more, okay? I don't want to deal with this right now."

  "What's there to talk about?" Phyllis asked, her voice threatening to break. Michael sighed from his end of the phone.

  "Do you want to talk with me tomorrow or not?" he asked quietly. Phyllis thought for a while.

  "I don't think so," she said finally. "I mean… no. No, I'm
sticking with what I said."

  "No compromise at all," he said. "That's it? I say no, so you just dump me?"

  "Will you change your mind?"

  "I wish I could," he said. "I swear to God, I wish I could, but—it's not the right time. Look, if it helps, everyone in my family who's married was—well, every one of them had long engagements. My parents dated for four years before getting engaged, and even then, they didn't get married for at least another year. And that was thirty-eight years ago! So you see? Two years is short compared to what I'm used to."

  "Everyone in my family makes 'early' commitments, by your standards," Phyllis said. "And even if I don't like any of them, that's still what I'm used to. I guess this means your answer is still no."

  "I guess it is."

  "I'm going to miss you, then," she said. "A lot. Goodbye, Michael."

  "Phyllis, why are you being so damned stubborn about this? Why does it have to be right now and not—?"

  "Goodbye," she repeated, and hung up the phone quietly. She waited at the counter a while before slinking over to the couch and falling into it. A flick of a button brought the idiot box to life, but Phyllis had no idea what it was showing her. After a long time she came to some of her senses again.

  "I'm off the phone!" she yelled back to Roxanne's room. Roxanne opened the door to peek out.

  "What?" she said.

  "I'm off the phone," Phyllis said in a dead tone.

  "Oh, that's okay," her roommate said. "I've been cleaning up in here. Wanna see it when I'm done?"

  Phyllis shrugged.

  "If you want," she said. Roxanne waited at the door in case her roommate had more to say, then stepped out into the hallway.

  "Not good news, huh?" she said.

  "Not really," Phyllis said, flipping the channels around absentmindedly. Roxanne stared at the television a few moments before walking to the side of the couch.

  "Anything I can do?" she offered.

  "Not really," Phyllis said. "I can't see him any more, that's all."

  "Oh, no," Roxanne said. "Really? He really doesn't want to be with you anymore?"

  "Oh, he said he did, but…" Phyllis began, but her voice trailed off. Roxanne glanced at the television, then stepped around the couch to sit beside her friend. Phyllis removed pillows and magazines to give her more room. Roxanne sat silently, waiting and watching.

  "I'm okay," Phyllis said, then looked at her with a forced smile. "Really."

  Roxanne smiled back and put a hand on her shoulder.

  "I mean, I'm the one who broke up with him," Phyllis said. "I'm the one who has to commit now and not_not—"

  Roxanne scooted closer to Phyllis to put her whole arm around her now.

  "I know," she whispered. "I know. Everyone has their own schedule that's right for them. Unfortunately, it's usually that men's schedules are about three times longer than women's, so women end up waiting, and waiting…"

  "You're probably lucky, then," Phyllis grumbled. "You and Linda probably agree on everything."

  "Um… well, not everything," Roxanne said, rolling her eyes. "But… it really is over, huh?"

  "Yeah."

  For a long time the only sound in the room came from the television, until Roxanne leaned over to kiss her roommate on the cheek.

  "What's that for?" Phyllis asked.

  "Just friendship," Roxanne said. "Just to let you know that you can talk to me if you want to."

  Phyllis looked at her for a long time, and tried to smile, but her lips became tight just before her eyes opened up into a flood of tears. She sank into Roxanne's arms and worked at staining her T-shirt, but this hardly bothered Roxanne.

  "You can cry on me, too, if you want to," she whispered.

  Chapter Nine

  Phyllis kept her promise to Joanie, and wrote to her often. So far she had only gotten one response back, but this was understandable. According to Joanie, she had no plans to hire another hand for the ranch, so she and Roger did all the work themselves now. Phyllis had written to ask about her hospital bill, but Joanie insisted that she not worry about it. Phyllis did, anyway, but at the moment she was unable to pay back her aunt. The rest of the letter described how helpful everyone had been to her, even Phyllis's least-loved relatives. There was nothing left for anyone to do now but deal with their pain and losses as best they could.

  No pain, no gain. Part of the pain came from Phyllis's rapidly dwindling bank account. Fortunately her bosses at the health club and the restaurant were willing to keep her jobs available while she healed. Roxanne indicated that she would have enough to cover the rent, but only for a month. Asking Michael for help was, of course, out of the question, but all of this would be defeating her purpose. Phyllis was going to make it alone, and make it big, injuries, scars, or otherwise. She could feel it, and really feel it this time, and not just tell herself that she could.

  The healing process had allowed her to realize things like that about herself. Giving lip service to something often convinces one of its truth, which was what had happened to Phyllis. She had always been cocky, not confident, but things were going to be different now. They had to be.

  Phyllis had never been one to wake up screaming from a bad dream. This was still the case, but her continual dreams of the attack left her feeling ill-at-ease, to say the least. Even the bad dreams were part of the healing process, she surmised. Even they would go away, in time. They had to.

  After two weeks she forced herself to start teaching her beginning dancercize classes for little more than gas money, and continued her "therapy" at the club after hours. She started with a five minute workout at full effort, then ten minutes two days later, then fifteen, then twenty, and so on up to her usual one hour, full effort workout. Her wounds demanded much protein for the healing process, much to Roxanne's dismay, but to hell with her "veggie" ways. Phyllis had already broken her beefless diet back in Wisconsin.

  Maybe pushing herself so hard was bad for the healing. Phyllis made her living with her body, so why endanger it? Still, the pain was going away, and pain meant that she was healing, so she must have been doing all right.

  It was a month after the attack that Phyllis was working on a one-hour workout at full effort. The Tamara Taylor tryout would be a big break, not just for her, but for everyone. No one else had been almost ripped apart by a wild animal, but no one was supposed to know that she had almost been, either. No dancer ever got a job by making others feel sorry for her.

  It would be a new record for her, even when she was at peak condition. She was already up to an hour and could have tried for another half hour. No, not even an hour and a half. Tonight, she felt good enough to make two.

  She hit the first hour and felt "the burn" start in her legs. Good, she thought, and began to pace herself more. The burn leveled off at a point, and the music seemed to get louder, but it usually did that when her concentration increased. Phyllis jogged around the room and passed the open window to glance outside. As usual, the lights were off, but the night sky was bright tonight from the city lights and, she noted, from the moon.

  Phyllis passed the window over and over during her jog, not stopping until her legs began to burn more. She jogged in place by the window, but this didn't seem to help the burn. She took in deeper breaths to help, but the pain only got worse. No pain, no gain, she thought to herself and kept on, trying to ignore the burn that worked its way up her legs and into her hips now. She wiped away the sweat from her brow and jogged briefly over to the thermostat, which registered a cool nighttime temperature. She pulled off her wrist warmers without stopping and felt her pulse, which was rising.

  This can't be enough, she thought to herself, then felt her neck. She slowed her jog to a walk, but the burn would not leave. It had gone past her hips into her torso now. Phyllis tore off her sweatband and threw it across the room, then felt her pulse again. It was supposed to go down now, but something was wrong. She felt her brow again, which was wet with new sweat, and felt the burn re
aching her shoulders. She stopped the workout entirely now, working at her breathing to slow down that pulse. Her hands shook, and now real fear filled her thoughts, but that, too, had to be controlled. She had pushed herself too much. If she could just get home…

  Phyllis rushed to her bag, and almost passed the window on the way, then stopped and looked out. There's nothing there, she thought. Just the city, get moving! The moonlight was bright as the sun to her, and she held up her arm to shield her eyes, then cried out in pain. She grabbed her shirt and all but tore it straight off her body, then bent over to work on the leotards. The burning doubled in intensity, and she fell to the floor, holding her gut as if afraid it would burst open.

  "I'm healed!" she yelled to no one. "Don't do this to me! I'm better! I'm better!" She began to convulse, but she was in too much pain to scream as her body began doing things that it wasn't supposed to do. She tried to roll onto her belly to crawl across the floor, but saw her arm throbbing and pulsing, then stretching. Other things happened to her body, but Phyllis could do nothing about any of it, especially not while her mind itself was being assaulted. A flood of old thoughts and new, strange ones smashed through her defenses.

  Phyllis's scream of physical and mental pain gradually became a howl.

  After escaping from the stone caves, she leapt as far and as high as she could, and easily cleared one of the many metal behemoths lying about. She landed and rolled through several somersaults, because it felt good to do so. She looked about, and listened, and smelled, and used every sense she had in ways she never dreamed they could be used. Everything was so sharp and clear now. She could hear the rushing of water beneath the ground where she had never heard it before, and smelled every last thing in the air. This she did not like as much. This air had too many things in it; how could anyone stand it? Perhaps hoping that the air was only bad where she was, she raced off toward more of those square, stone caves.