by Traci Briery
A police car had pulled up close to Loraine's car. She was parked legally in a "photospot," but Loraine was not visible from the main road. She did not hear the car approach, nor did she hear the door slam as the officer stepped out of his car, flashlight in hand. He approached the front seat cautiously and shined his light back and forth, then heard a groan and a whimper from the other side. Resting his hand on his holster, he crept around the side of the car to see a woman lying on her side, quivering violently. She appeared to be having a seizure.
The officer ran back to his car to pull out a blanket and cushion from the trunk, then raced back to hear and see the woman's clothing ripping apart. He pointed his flashlight at her, then jumped back as the woman revealed a snarling, inhuman face. She stood up quickly, her clothing shredded, and snapped at the bright light that blinded her. The officer called out to her, asking her name, trying to reassure her, until the she-beast howled. Instinctively the officer pulled out his gun but let off a shot into the air. The she-beast jumped back from the noise and missed the ground with one of her hind legs.
She had unwisely chosen a two-legged form and flipped over the safely railing to tumble painfully down a steep hill. The fall was too swift and confusing for her to shift into the more stable four-legged form.
After many painful moments she found herself wedged between a tree and the ground; the terrain was on a slant, but the trees grew almost straight up. She almost broke her back squirming out of this trap, but had soon shifted to four legs, and was ready again to hunt.
Loraine had "dreamt" about bright lights in the sky, hovering and roaring from high above the trees, only to disappear for a long time. She had also been hunting. She vaguely remembered finding something, but it was most likely not her "secret admirer," if it had followed her this time.
Loraine's body was stiff. She awoke hi a semi-fetal position, and recognized it as a way that dogs sleep. It had probably been quite comfortable when she had first fallen asleep this way. Now it was a painful effort to stretch out her legs. Her back was pressed against something warm, and a familiar smell filled the air. She sat up and sniffed some more, then turned around. Loraine screamed and leapt to her feet. The back of a slaughtered deer had been supporting her for most of the night. Flies were already making their home in its exposed innards, and Loraine looked down at the dried blood on her hands. She tried to swallow, but tasted something horrible and spit it out first. A chunk of deer flesh flew out of her mouth and disturbed a swarm of flies.
Loraine turned away and started to cover her mouth, but was reminded of her bloody hands. She felt more ill now than she possibly ever had, and tried to—literally_expunge the horrible mess from her system. Movement came from some bushes nearby, which distracted her momentarily. She looked up to see something pale darting away into the woods. Calling out, Loraine chased after the fleeing figure, but could never manage to see more than glimpses, first of its back, then a leg, and last of all, an arm. A man! Or a woman? Whatever it was, it was too fast and seemed to know the woods as if it lived in them. Loraine fell to her knees in quiet frustration, then saw her hands again, which reminded her of the mutilated animal behind her. She whimpered, then cried, then vomited to start her morning.
Loraine was two hours late to rehearsal that morning. Possibly the only thing preventing Tamara from killing her was that Loraine had phoned earlier to warn her of this. Loraine's excuse was that she had been to the doctor because of a bladder infection. She left out the details involving losing her car in the mountains when it was impounded, and convincing the local police while dressed in rags that she was not crazy and did own the car. Tamara seemed to accept the story about the infection, and continued rehearsal until another early finish. Loraine thanked Tamara for letting everyone leave early again, but did not explain why.
She went to her car and unlocked the front door, when her "secret admirer" made its presence felt again. Loraine froze in place and listened. She heard nothing aside from the usual sounds of the city, so she looked about cautiously. Perhaps she expected to see another pale figure peeking out from behind the bushes. She didn't know what to expect, but knew that, tonight, she would track down this stalker and make him (her?) explain himself.
"Something wrong?" a voice said from behind. Loraine jumped and held her chest. Tamara laughed and walked up from behind her.
"Sorry," she said, giggling. "Didn't mean to do that."
"Yeah," Loraine said, catching her breath. "Yeah, I know. Nothing's wrong. I was just thinking of something."
"Mm," Tamara said, nodding. "Well—hey, you have plans tonight? I postponed a remix session tonight so I could just relax. I haven't been sleeping enough."
"Neither have I."
"Well, if you wanted to rent a movie and hang at the hotel, that's all I was gonna do tonight."
"Um… well, actually, I kind of had plans," Loraine said. "Thanks for asking, though. I-I don't know about tomorrow night, either, but after that I bet we could do something."
"Cool," Tamara said, letting her arms swing back and forth aimlessly.
"Oh—uh…" Loraine said, "My roommate. She'd really like to meet you in person sometime."
"Well…"
"Oh, she wouldn't impose or anything," Loraine said. "Actually, she was at your first tryout, but wasn't picked, but—she wanted to just say hello, and that kind of thing."
"Then kill me for not picking her?"
"Oh, no way, she's a total pacifist," Loraine said. Tamara laughed and slapped her shoulder.
"I'm just kidding," Tamara said. "Sure, she can meet us for lunch, or after rehearsal. Something. Just let me know."
"Great!" Loraine said. An awkward silence followed. "Uh…" Loraine said to break it. "Well, I really gotta go. Uh, see ya tomorrow."
Tamara's eyes glinted in the late afternoon sun.
"Yeah," she said, slapping Loraine's arm. "Break a leg."
The worst part about Loraine's plan was that she had nowhere to begin. No one place had given her a stronger sensation than any other. Her only choice, then, was to leave her car behind… and hunt. No matter where she went before, she had been followed, but this time she would find a way to do the following. Even if she had to crawl on all fours, sniffing the ground.
The sky was orange and red by the time Loraine reached the streets of downtown Hollywood. She wore nothing but her clothing this time: no backpacks, no weapons, food, or even extra sets of clothing. She walked slowly, trying to make herself aware of every living thing around her. At first the world seemed no different than before—noisy and crowded—until the noise began separating itself. It became less of a monogamous din and more of individual sounds that Loraine could pick out and listen to. Snatches of conversations became full conversations, staying with her even when they passed out of normal earshot. Then she shut off that sound to zero in on another one. Usually it was passing conversations, and other times it was an entire song on somebody's car radio, or the ticking of somebody's watch.
Loraine heard what may have been a growl, and spun around, startling a passerby. She mumbled an apology while he gave her a wider berth. She felt her ears prick up, and covered them, but sensed something nearby. She made several unsuccessful attempts to pinpoint the "something" before finding a real trail. It led her past several blocks before she realized that her target was moving. It had to be the real thing now—the "secret admirer," her stalker.
Frustration grew as Loraine could never seem to get closer to her prey. She was getting tired and was no closer to catching up than before. Only after she'd stopped at a corner did it occur to her; it knew it was being followed. The wolf had been one step ahead of her from day one, and this hadn't changed even now. Loraine caught her breath and continued the chase, until she reached a particular intersection and ran the opposite way.
For a time she sensed nothing save the cacophony of the crowd. Then, intermittently, there was a tingling at the base of her skull that grew in intensity and frequency. She ran eff
ortlessly through the crowds, bracing herself for the exact moment when she could confront her pursuer once and for all.
The streetlights made Loraine forget that the sky was dark by now. She welcomed the warmth and sweat that pushed her body forward even faster. She never sensed her pursuer's presence to come any closer, just as she could never gain on it before. She finally reached a slightly populated area and ducked into an alley. There were few places to hide, but Loraine was not interested in them. She leaned against a wall and waited. It didn't matter if her pursuer had seen her go this way; they would meet tonight sooner or later.
Loraine pulled at her sweaty shirt and stared at the light from a streetlamp. She had stopped running almost a minute before, but was still breathing hard and heating up. Loraine looked at her hands, which were quivering. She stared at the streetlamp again, then leaned over slightly. The full moon had been shining at her from directly behind it. She cried out and slapped her face.
Shit! she thought. Not now! I lost track of the fucking time! Shit!!
Leaning back until the streetlamp covered the moon did not help. Loraine had planned to be in the city when the transformation began, but not before she confronted her pursuer. She had been doing that already as the wolf. Loraine began to panic. She snuck a peek around the corner, but sensed nothing from any passersby. Her arms were quivering. She slid down the wall and held on tightly to her knees, fighting not to stop the change, but to postpone it. People did walk by, and did notice her, but none stopped to help or even to ask if she needed any. Obviously she was just another homeless junkie going through withdrawal.
Loraine rolled over onto all fours and grunted in pain. She tried to stand back up, but her balance had shifted to one appropriate to four legs, not two. Loraine howled and opened her eyes just in time to see the bare legs of someone just in front of her. Before her consciousness left, the legs covered themselves with fur.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Loraine heard a faint commotion from a distance. She wanted to open her eyes, but couldn't. The commotion seemed to be the voices of many men, but there was no way to sort out what they were saying. Loraine thought she felt someone or something touching her. Her arms would not move to find out, though. Then something definitely touched her. Something soft and sweet-smelling was put over her mouth. It was apparently not to suffocate her, though, for she found it easier to breathe now.
The commotion became more clear. She understood some words and one of the voices seemed familiar. Was it? Loraine put all of her strength behind opening her eyes. She looked at a white ceiling. It was a rough ceiling, with some cracks, dirt, one long cobweb…
Her apartment! Loraine sat up abruptly, startling the paramedics who had, until then, been trying to revive her. The oxygen mask fell into her lap, as did the blanket that had been covering her. Loraine gasped and pulled the blanket back up as many hands and arms groped and pushed at her, people called out, and one voice called out her name. Loraine ignored everything but her name, which had been spoken by Michael. He had been standing by a uniformed policeman but was now by her side.
"Mikey?" she said weakly. Paramedics continued to try to make her lie down. She ignored them because it made no sense that they were here. She felt fine, after all.
"Hon?" Michael said. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah," she said. "What are you people doing here? What is this?"
"Ma'am, will you please lie down?" a paramedic begged. Loraine swatted his hand away.
"No!" she said. "Get your filthy hands off me! Where are my clothes?"
Loraine was nearly overwhelmed by those in the room trying to talk to her: to ask her to lie down, to calm down, to explain what had happened, to ask her name, date of birth, social security number. Loraine screamed and waved her arms around frantically. The only one nearby who managed to escape the onslaught was Michael, who caught her up into his arms and rocked her back and forth until she calmed down. He turned to the swarm of paramedics, police officers, and photographers.
"Uh…" he said, "uh, can I talk to her… alone?"
The paramedics nodded and left their side, but nobody left the room.
"What the hell is this?" Loraine said. "Mikey, what—"
"Shhhhhhh," he said. "I called them here."
"What? Why the hell would—"
"Just listen a minute," he said. "Please. I came over this morning. Nobody answered when I knocked, so I unlocked the door myself."
"Unlocked it? How?"
"With my key, of course," he said.
"How did you get a key?"
"What do you mean, I've had one forever!" he said.
"Oh, jeez, that's right," she muttered. "I guess I never took it back when we broke up, huh? But where are my clothes?"
"You didn't have any when I found you," he said quietly. "You see, you were—I found you like—and Roxanne was_" he looked away, apparently unable to continue.
"Roxanne?" she said softly, then craned her neck to look past Michael. "Roxanne?" she called. "Where is she?" A policeman stepped forward.
"Uh… uh, Ms. Turner…" he said, but faster than anyone could react, Loraine was on her feet and racing to what appeared to be a large, plastic sleeping bag. Before anyone could pull her away, she zipped open the bag, then screamed. The inside was solid red from the bloody remains of her roommate—"remains" being the best word to describe what she saw. Strangely enough the face was nearly untouched, but the body was little more than strips of flesh held together only by the bag.
Several men grabbed Loraine by the arms and pulled her away, literally kicking and screaming, from what was left of her roommate. The coroner hastily rezipped the bag as the others struggled, unsuccessfully, to calm down Loraine. Even Michael's efforts failed. In spite of the pandemonium, one officer managed to make himself heard.
"You have the right to remain silent; anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…"
Loraine neither knew nor cared how fortunate she was to have her own cell. Her mind had all but shut itself off since the moment she'd been thrown into the squad car with barely even a robe to cover her naked, bloody body. She didn't know it, but blood samples had already been collected from her body and that of Roxanne. Loraine was the one who had gone to jail, however; Roxanne had gone to the morgue.
Cell doors creaked open, then clanged shut. Loraine reacted to neither sound. She let her hand hang out partially from between the bars while she stared at the wall. Michael's voice came from her side.
"You okay, hon?" it said. Loraine did not answer. "Loraine?" Michael said. "Come on, everything's gonna… it's gonna be okay."
Michael could act, but not well enough to hide his doubts and fears this time. Michael's police escort now turned her attention to Loraine.
"You got one phone call," she said, and unlocked the cell. Loraine stood up, but shook her head slightly. "Come on, let's go," the cop said.
"Honey, go on, it's your phone call," Michael said. "I asked John to get bail for both of us, but he can't guarantee it. You gotta call somebody! Anyone!"
"You want your phone call or not?" the cop asked impatiently. Loraine looked at nothing and said nothing.
"It doesn't have to be a lawyer, hon," Michael said. "It can be anyone who can get help! Like Tamara. You know her number, right?"
"Last chance, princess," the cop said. Loraine watched her glumly, then turned away to sit on her cot. The cop sighed and locked up the cell again.
"Loraine!" Michael said. "What are you doing?"
"No one to call," she mumbled.
"Why didn't you call your agent?" Michael said.
"That's what I did. He could have found a good lawyer for you."
"Don't know her number," Loraine mumbled.
"That's what information's for!" Michael said. "Why didn't you call Tamara?"
"Oh, yeah," Loraine said, then seemed to be awake for the first time. "No!" she said, sitting up. "I can't call her. She can't find out about this!"
"How—is she not going to?" Michael said. "Ah, God, how is anyone not gonna know about this? They arrested us for suspicion of murder! Did you know that? That's why we're here!"
"Yeah," Loraine said.
"What the hell did they arrest me for?" he said. "I'm the one who called them!"
"Remind me to thank you for that," she muttered.
"Loraine!" he said, grabbing the bars that separated their cells. "Honey… I thought you were dead! I came in and… and there was blood everywhere and… God, what was I supposed to do?"
"Why were you there?"
"What happened, Loraine?" he asked, ignoring her question. "Did you two get into a fight? Were you both attacked by someone? Oh, God," he moaned, sitting down and leaning against the bars. "I was—I was just remembering what she looked like… Roxanne…"
Loraine curled up into a tight ball on her cot and bit her lip. She still tasted some of the blood there. Back at the apartment her entire body had been covered with the stuff. She vaguely remembered being washed off at the police station, but some of it remained, and had dried or become sticky. Perhaps her new tears would wash away what was left of the blood.
"Roxaaaaaannne…" she groaned before the tears made speech impossible.
The police had looked into and confirmed Michael's alibi, and released him, by the time Loraine decided to make her phone call. Michael vowed over and over to "get her out of this shit" before the police and his agent finally shuffled him away. Loraine almost called her apartment, then remembered, and needed to fight off another fit of tears. She needed to sound calm before calling Tamara to tell her that she was in bed with the flu.
"What's going on?" Tamara said, both worried and angry. "You're way late. I cancelled the practice!"
