Werewolf Chronicles
Page 17
"Talk to me," she mumbled. "What the hell am I doing?" Going crazy, she thought. Too late! Already there!
So since I'm already crazy, she thought, who cares if I'm trying to carry on a conversation with an animal? You're going to come out sooner or later, so you might as well come out now! It doesn't matter if you can't 'talk,' you can at least growl or something.
"This is bullshit," Loraine mumbled, opening her eyes. She sighed loudly and leaned against the door. Then she sat up again abruptly and tried to prick her ears. Somebody coming? The wind? Or had she really heard rough laughter? Animals don't laugh. It was either the wind or some homicidal maniac who specialized in lone campers. But the laughter was coming from within.
What's so funny to you? she thought hard to the beast. I was here first! You're just some fake monster that used to show up all over the movies and TV, but nobody cares about you anymore! Didn't you know that? Nobody believes in werewolves, and neither do I! Stop laughing, you asshole! You're not going anywhere tonight! You're gonna sit inside of me all night, or better yet, go away completely! I don't have to accept you, you know!
She took off her shirt from the heat.
I've figured out what you've been doing! You've been trying to make me accept all of this, and believe that it's true with barely any proof! Well I don't accept you and don't believe in you! You're nothing but a delusion, so get out and take your fucking laughing with you!
She opened the door beside her and kept it ajar. She tensed up in rage and fought for new fighting words, but burst out laughing instead. There was a loud, shrill voice shouting at her from within, but the louder she laughed, the smaller the voice became, until it was as if a mouse had crawled into her mind to squeak its rage at the goliath.
There was as little hunting this night as before. The animals were too small, too well-hidden, and too difficult to see by their warmth. The wind blew in too many directions to truly follow a scent, but one direction revealed some tiny lights far into the distance. She remembered that two-leggers liked lights, so she bolted off in their direction. The wind whipped around her ears and fur haphazardly, until a familiar sound broke away from the din and forced her into a dead stop. The wind died a little as if stepping aside for the quick growl—almost a bark_that sounded close by. As always the sound fascinated her, and yet this time it also annoyed her. Her preferences had been made clear two nights in a row now, so she fought the compulsion to remain, and crept toward the lights, picking up speed slowly.
By the time she was at a quick trot, she felt her as-yet-unseen companion nearby, matching her steps. If it was another wolf, she no longer cared. She had no more wish to confront this cowardly presence. It could follow her all the way to the lights if it wished; she had had her fill of it.
The lights were becoming brighter and larger. Shapes coming into view reminded her of the caves that two-leggers lived in. She was in a full run by this time, her "friend" still matching her every step. Her heart quickened at the thought of escaping her shadow and finding some two-legger meat for the first time. There seemed to be so many different shapes and sizes to these creatures that it was bound to be a true feast. If one was too stringy, a plump one might make up for it easily.
An intruding thought made her slow down and stumble somewhat. She was able to keep running, but a sudden revulsion had accompanied her previous thoughts. Strange that it would come while she was thinking about food. It came again at that moment. There was a brief image of her own paws becoming pale and hairless as she was feasting on a two-legger; in effect, she became a two-legger feasting on her own kind. This was only a thought, and not reality, but it was enough to make her trip over herself.
She tumbled headlong into the dirt, her hind legs flying up and over, until after several flips she landed on her back. Only for an instant, however, before she scrambled back onto her feet and shook the dirt from herself.
A very solid presence slammed into her from behind, causing her to flip over again, but she did not manage to climb back onto her feet. A warm, but heavy weight was pressed onto her back, as it had attempted to do on earlier nights. She did not have the leverage to force it off of her this time. She could feel the fur from its body and the hot breath on the back of her neck, but it would take time to break away from this attack. In the meantime she snapped and barked and squirmed, but to no effect so far. She also howled, but it was a strange howl. It was not like a wolf's at all, but more like some two-legger trying to imitate a wolf. Sadness, fear, and rage came from this howl, as well. She gathered her strength, howled again and squirmed forward with all her might until the weight fell away from her back. She darted far ahead of her assailant, then doubled back quickly, stood her ground, and snarled.
Loraine awoke with a yelp on a cold, hard desert floor. If the desert did not seem all alike to her, she might have remembered this as the same place as she had awoken to the day before. Once again her dreams had been haunted by violence. They were less erotic than the ones the night before. There was a brief, fading memory of someone or thing trying to join with her, but the rest was slashing and snapping, and the smell of blood.
This was the first time in years that she had made a noise while waking up. She remembered waking up screaming as a child after a particularly terrifying nightmare. Her mother had come in, but was angry that Loraine had woken her up. That was all she remembered of that. And this time? She didn't remember a horrible nightmare, but there was a remaining feeling of fear and frustration. Yes, frustration. She had been shouting or yelling or something in frustration. She didn't remember why. Loraine yelped again, but this time in pain as she discovered more wounds. Perhaps it would be wise to buy a first aid kit in town today.
She settled for bandaids after discovering just how much a first aid kit would cost her. After ministering to her wounds, Loraine walked through town again. As before she did not pay much attention to her surroundings, except when she briefly amused herself by counting as many garish motels as she could find along one of the main streets.
Loraine found a used bookstore and browsed for possibly an hour before attempting to strike up a conversation with the proprietor. He was a wiry, hyper, middle-aged man with a smoker's face and a voice to match. She had only asked a few innocuous questions, but it seemed enough to send him off on an avalanche of facts, tidbits, and trivia about whatever topic happened to come up. And opinions. He had opinions about everything, including werewolves, who at one point were compared to "goddamned cockroaches." Loraine had brought up the subject first by asking about horror in general, and then monsters.
The proprietor shot out obscure lore about lycanthropy as though it were common knowledge. Many of his comments were punctuated with a shrug. Eventually Loraine noticed that the store held more than just books. Besides posters and historical photos lining the walls, a small section of the store displayed knickknacks ranging from collectible tin toys to medieval armor. Loraine discovered these artifacts after following the proprietor around as he busied himself with restocking and rearranging, all while never missing a beat in their one-sided conversation. Her gaze skimmed along the shelves several times, trying to take in all the details. After three such passes, she noticed a box with what appeared to be very shiny bullets.
While the proprietor continued his diatribe against lycanthropes, Loraine crept closer to the box. She was reaching out for it, when a hand and arm shot in from the side and snapped the box shut.
"Hey, sorry," the owner said quickly. "This ain't supposed to be out."
"What were those?" Loraine asked. "Were those bullets?"
The owner had already set the box aside by the time she had asked her question.
"Huh?" he said. "Oh, yeah, yeah. Guy ordered them a while ago. Damndest thing. They're silver, you know."
"Silver?" Loraine said skeptically. "Silver bullets."
"Yeah," the owner said, nodding quickly. "Listen, are you gonna buy anything or you just following me around? I'm married, you know."
The bookstore owner had not actually told Loraine anything about werewolves that she did not already know. If there were some other way to a cure than a silver bullet in the chest, he had not offered one. There was no way for her to tell if those bullets really had been silver, who had ordered them, and how long ago. It could have been her "secret admirer," after all, who had followed her here in order to hunt her down. No, she knew now that the "secret admirer" was actually the wolf within her, trying to intrude on reality.
For the third and last time there would be a full moon. Camping in the Mojave was no Hawaiian vacation, but at least it was safe. She would take the bus back to a fabulous new job in Los Angeles and renew the cycle of working for a month before taking another three-day vacation. This was not going to work. No employer should be expected to allow it; Loraine would certainly not have.
She tried a form of "angry meditation" this tune. It was much like the shouting match with the wolf that she had attempted earlier, but more focused and better prepared. The wolf wasn't going to laugh at her this time. She cleared her mind of all thoughts but angry ones and "spoke" to the wolf in the form of an intense mantra: 'You are weak, you are nothing, I am strong, I am everything, I belong here, you belong nowhere.'
Loraine repeated this and variations of it to the wolf, each repetition building hi intensity and anger. She strayed from the mantra more often as the moon moved higher into the sky. Sometimes she degenerated into another shouting match, but always went back to the chant.
As always her temperature began to rise, and she opened her eyes often, but there appeared to be no physical change. But deep within her body, she felt a swelling begin, as though a balloon were being blown up inside of her. Loraine instinctively held her breath and shut her eyes hard, but the swelling would not disappear. She would have sworn that her body was blowing up like that balloon, but she dared not open her eyes to see.
Then the swelling stopped attacking her entire body, and shot down to her feet. She reached down and felt them; they seemed as small as ever. Her hands followed it as it seemed to travel along her legs. As before, only the feeling of swelling was there, but touching the affected places revealed nothing. It swept up her legs and into the torso, seeming to circle around her midsection, only then to shoot straight into her head. The shock caused Loraine's head to fly back and her eyes to shoot open. Her sleepless night began just as she realized what the "swelling" had really been.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Loraine awoke with a stiff neck, sore feet, and bruised arms. She rolled over in the sand and almost gave her thigh a charley horse. Last night had been the oddest "dream" yet. Her body had been severely weakened. Her strength, her stamina, her senses—none seemed to work well, she recalled. She remembered being constantly frustrated. Her "dream" had also been very cold, as though her fur had not been thick enough for warmth. Last of all, she remembered being angered and repulsed by somebody's pale skin.
Loraine stood up slowly and examined her arms as she did so. As she poked at the bruises near her wrist, she briefly remembered hitting something. She had been trapped and had been trying to break free, and had struck something repeatedly. The memory disappeared now, as most of them did after such nights. The sight of ghostly pale skin remained in her mind, though. Whose skin had it been? A victim's?
There was no blood on her hands or anywhere else this time. Her clothes were intact, except for her missing shoes. Much closer this time than the last two nights was the reflection of her rented four-wheel drive. She hobbled off in its direction, then hurried when she remembered that there was a bus to catch that morning. She tore off her socks after they quickly became bogged down in sand and bristles.
Loraine barely made it back in time to return the rental and make the bus. She was in a hurry even after she was safely aboard, and was slow in regaining her breath. The ride back seemed to take much longer than the trip to the desert. Absent this time was that maddening feeling of being watched, but the anticipation of its appearance made the trip no less uncomfortable.
It was evening by the time she returned. The moon was due to appear, but it would be in the next phase now. She had already called for a ride from Roxanne; the two rode home in uncustomary silence. Loraine realized this and apologized after they reached the apartment, citing exhaustion.
"I'm sure you are," Roxanne said, carrying Loraine's heaviest baggage to the bedroom. Loraine followed solemnly with the rest of her gear. They almost bumped into each other on the way out, but Loraine did not smile.
"Um… I don't think there's anything in the fridge," Roxanne said as they made their way to the living room.
"I'm not really hungry," Loraine said. "I ate some stuff on the bus."
"You sure? I thought maybe you'd want to… go somewhere, but I guess you're too tired, huh?"
"Yeah," Loraine said distantly, then appeared more alert. "Yeah, I know it's early, but maybe I should just go to bed."
"Your thing is tomorrow, isn't it? With Tamara Taylor?"
"Ann, God, that's right," Loraine said with a groan.
"You mean you forgot?"
"No… no, I didn't forget," Loraine said. "It just wasn't exactly in the front of my mind."
"She's called twice. You talked to her before you left, didn't you? What's she like?"
"You were at the tryout, too, remember?"
"Yes, but she didn't say very much. She sounds like a New Yorker; you know, a real fast talker, in a hurry."
"Yeah, she's like that," Loraine said vaguely, then looked up at Roxanne and smiled slightly. "Yeah, I'll make sure you get to meet her."
Roxanne beamed.
"Hey, I wasn't going to ask," she said.
"Yeah, you were. I would've. I would've begged you to. I would've hated you, too, but that's another thing."
"You would not."
"I know, I'm just—" Loraine yawned and stretched, "Ahhhh, I'm just kidding you. I guess I should call her back."
"You 'guess' you should?"
"I should. I will." Loraine went to the phone and began punching numbers, then frowned and groped around the counter for her address book. She redialed, then noticed Roxanne watching her. "Don't worry, I'll ask her to talk to you." Roxanne beamed again.
"—Five six seven eight!"
For the umpteenth time the sounds of Tamara Taylor and her music blared over loudspeakers. Tamara herself was dancing to it, as were five other dancers. Loraine stepped back and kept time to the music while inspecting the performances. For two weeks she and these five other dancers had memorized every word and note of at least half of Taylor's songs. Some of them were beginning to hate this particular song—"Let Me Not"_because of the number of times that they had had to stop it. Tamara was surprised that she could follow Loraine's moves on this song while two others could not. Eventually Loraine called a break and went to confer quietly with the two, but Tamara seized the opportunity to interrupt with a pep talk after the spectators' applause had died down.
"Hey, are all you guys as sweaty as I am?" she shouted to the room. Some muttered "no," but most agreed loudly with Taylor. "I don't know about me, but you guys are great!" More applause. "Loraine, a break for lunch, okay?"
"Hm? Oh, uh—yeah, we'll take lunch," she said. "Nothing heavy, you guys! Hour-and-a-half!" she called out to those who were already leaving. Tamara ignored her manager and approached Loraine.
"I just want you to know that I love what you're doing here," she said. Loraine allowed herself an embarrassed smile before shaking her head.
"Sometimes I feel like I'm cheating," she said.
"Whadda you mean, 'cheating?' " Tamara said. "How can you 'cheat' what you've been doing?"
"I guess I didn't mean cheating," Loraine said. "I mean it's�
�I guess I still think that it's too good to be true. You know… working for you and all that."
"Ah," Tamara said, waving her off. "So… where do you wanna eat? I'm buying. Speaking of which, some guys left before I could offer. I was gonna take everyone out."
"But you always do that."
"Not 'always,' " Tamara insisted. "But you know," she added, lowering her voice, "when I do, it's a business expense."
"Huh!" Loraine said. "I don't know where to go, though. We have to eat light, but I want a steak sooo bad."
"So do I," Tamara laughed. She didn't realize, of course, that Loraine always wanted a steak—or any meat.
Los Angeles treated its celebrities one of two ways: a star could be mobbed by fans or ignored by them when showing herself in public. Tamara was approached by only one person while in the restaurant, but she could feel the eyes of rubberneckers upon her at all times. Loraine could, too, but was much relieved that someone else was being watched this time. She had not felt her "secret admirer's" presence since her time in the desert. The wolf was weakest during a new moon, perhaps.
Loraine poked at her food while Tamara ate steadily and chatted with Paul, her manager. Tamara only noticed Loraine's silence after she asked Loraine a question.
"Hey, girlfriend," she said, waving her hand in Loraine's face. "Wake up."
"I'm awake," Loraine said. "I was just thinking about… my car. It's being fixed, I mean."
"Oh," Tamara said. "Will it live?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah, I think it will. They keep finding stuff that's wrong with it. I need that thing bad, though."
"Don't we all." Tamara pulled aside a waiter to order more iced tea, then shook some pepper onto her salad. "So whadda you think?" she asked. Loraine was lost in thought again. "Loraine?"
"Hm?"
"I was wondering about 'Let Me Not,' " Tamara said. "Rene and Danny keep having trouble with your moves. Do you know why that is? I mean, I figure if I can do them, anyone could."