Werewolf Chronicles

by Traci Briery

  "I'm—"

  "What? You're what?"

  "I'm in jail." Loraine winced and groaned. What made her say that?

  "… Did you just say you're in jail?" Tamara asked, and Loraine burst into tears. It took some time for Loraine to make herself coherent enough to explain her situation. Tamara broke in long enough to promise to get help, and then a cop cut the call short.

  Loraine was returned to her cell. She had answered only a few questions earlier before requesting a lawyer, so all that was left was to wait.

  Loraine had no visitors that day. Michael had promised to come back later, or pay her bail, or something, but her memories of most of the day were hazy at best. No lawyer came, and neither did Tamara. Loraine was relieved; she regretted having called Tamara in the first place, but keeping the news from her would have been worse. This was not some minor crime where she could be in and out of jail in one night, then never hear of it again.

  She stirred the thick soup that served as her dinner, but ate only a few spoonfuls. She finished the roll and the vegetable mix, then set her plate aside and stared at the wall some more. The food reminded her too much of her hospital stay. She had found it slightly amusing that two cops had brought both of her meals: one to actually hand her the food, and the other to look intimidating. It did make sense, as she was a cold-blooded killer who had torn her roommate to shreds.

  Loraine could almost manage as long as she didn't think about Roxanne. As soon as she remembered the bloody remains of what had been her best friend, it was all she could do to quiet her weeping. The lady cop who had, for some reason, taken to calling Loraine "Princess," also seemed to derive some sadistic pleasure in seeing her weep.

  "Oh, so this is too much for you, huh?" she had said earlier. "Could've been a lot worse than this, Princess. A lot worse. You're lucky you even have a cell to yourself. Enjoy your lunch."

  Loraine had said nothing to the cop then, as she had been in no mood to cater to a fool. Later in the day a jailbird a few cells away had tried to get Loraine's attention, but with no success.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  "Lights out, Princess," Loraine's favorite lady cop said. The inmates actually had no control over the lights. Suddenly the hallway and all the cells in them were dark, and Loraine was left to pull her meager blanket over her.

  Her eyes got used to the darkness quickly; she had never closed them. She expected the blanket to be as warm as tissue paper, but ended up dropping it to the floor when it got too warm. Even her flimsy jail clothes were making her sweat. She tugged at the collar a few times and wiped her brow, then shot up into a sitting position. Her breathing was becoming quick and shallow.

  Loraine stood up on the cot and pulled herself up to the tiny window to the outside. The sky was lighter than usual, and not just because of the city lights. She craned her neck just enough to see the last round, full moon of that month. Loraine dropped to the floor and rushed to the cell door. She tugged at it, and then hit it, both to no effect. She grabbed the bars again and shook them with all her might; they barely even rattled. In a panic, Loraine rushed back to the cot and tried to pick it up. It was bolted to the floor.

  The hairs on her arms and legs stood up now, and sweat flew from her brow with every move she made.

  She jumped onto the cot again and tugged at the window's bars. Her nails were long and black by the time she pulled her hands away. Her clothing itched against the long, bristly hairs that sprouted all over her body. Loraine lost her balance and fell onto all fours, which now seemed a more natural position. She cried out in frustration and pain.

  "GET ME OUT!!" she shouted. "PLEASE!! GET_ME—OOOOUUUUWOOOOOOOOOO!!"

  Almost every night somebody screamed from one of the cells. Usually it was an addict going through withdrawal. Occasionally it was some spoiled kid who had never even seen the inside of a police station before, and was now spending the night on a DUI. Most of the night duty officers had heard every kind of scream, until tonight. Two of them made the first move; the others simply waited for the next step.

  They each rested a hand on their guns and brought in flashlights. No one was asleep anymore. Some flinched as the flashlight beams passed over them. Some glared back, but most had the unmistakable look of fear in their eyes. At least one pointed farther down the hall.

  "What the fuck is it, man? Shut it up!"

  "Yeah, shut it up, man, whatever it is."

  "Someone brought their fuckin' dog with 'em."

  "All right, quiet, all of you!" one cop said. The hallway vibrated from the nerve-shattering howl that followed. Even the officers needed to cover their ears until it stopped. They moved in quickly and shined the light on a black blur that charged at the cell door. The ground shook from the impact; the bars creaked and groaned, but remained intact. One of the cops dropped his flash-light. He snatched it up as quickly as possible, but not fast enough to avoid the claw that reached out and yanked him into the outside of the cell. His head clanged painfully against the bars, but he was given no time to acknowledge the pain. Before his partner could even draw his gun, his right sleeve had been ripped to shreds, and the arm was about to follow.

  A split second of hot breath and nothing more warned the cop before his wrist was bitten nearly in half. A flash of light—from a gun, not the flashlight—ripped through the hallway. Screams came from everywhere—from the wounded cop, frightened prisoners, and the blur that howled in pain. Five more flashes and thunderclaps filled the hallway. The wounded cop and his partner coughed from the smoke. The hall lights clicked back on. Five other cops ran into the room and contributed to the pandemonium that followed. One of them had fired six bullets point-blank into… ?

  "Jesus Christ, that's one of the K-9's," a sargeant said. "Wait, is it?"

  "No, not one of ours," another said.

  "I'm not even sure that's a dog."

  "What the hell happened here?"

  "What is that doing in there? There was a suspect in here, right?"

  "There was, but…"

  "An APB, stat! We have an escaped prisoner!"

  "But how? No one's come in or out of here since lights out!"

  "Seal the station! Move!"

  "It bit me… I swear to God, that thing bit me…"

  "I couldn't help it… I just… my gun just kept firing… It looked like it was eating him!"

  "Get him to a hospital now!"

  "It was so strong… like a damned vice…"

  "Suspect may be armed and dangerous; use extreme caution…"

  "Somebody call the animal control!"

  The wounded officer was taken to the hospital, the station was sealed, an APB was sent, and the animal control arrived. They came ready with body bags, as there was no doubt that the animal had been shot too many times to survive. When they arrived at the cell, the animal had changed positions. Before, it had been a tangled, bloody mess, but it now lay on its side, breathing shallowly. Patches of blood spotted its fur, but no open wounds were visible. The two animal handlers looked at one another, then set down the body bag.

  "Lovely," one said. "You didn't kill it, after all. How many times did you say it was shot?"

  "I wasn't here," the cop said, "but we heard Bill empty the gun. Looks like they all entered it."

  "Poor thing's probably suffering ten kinds of hell," the handler said.

  "Bill's not the kind to panic," the cop said. "If he shot that thing, he had good reason. You should've seen what it did to Devon—to his arm."

  "We'll check it for rabies," the handler assured.

  "But how could that still be alive?" the cop wondered. "It was dead; it wasn't moving, breathing, nothing! How could something be shot that many times and still be alive?"

  "You'd be surprised what condition some animals have been in and still were alive," the other handler said.

  "And people," the cop said, unlocking the cell door. He opened the door very slowly, leading the way inside with his hand at his holster. The beast made no mov
es other than its breathing. The animal handlers had dropped their body bag for holding nets. They crept forward at a snail's pace until the senior handler was close enough to kneel down and touch the beast's side.

  A claw barely missed all three of them. The older handler jumped back and stumbled over his partner. The cop whipped out his gun but only aimed it while the handlers scrambled across the floor and out of the cell. The cop backed up slowly, and his eyes went round as the beast rolled onto its feet, then onto two feet. Now it towered over him and took one step forward. Several cops from the end of the hall had already run down, and were urging their comrade to get out. The beast took another step forward as if testing his bravery. Self-preservation won this round; the cop ran out and bolted the cell door behind him as the beast made a strange noise that could have been laughter, but only humans can laugh.

  Everyone watched in stunned silence as the beast paced back and forth, throwing a glance at its audience every now and then, then dropped to the floor and finished its pacing on all fours.

  "What the hell is that?" the senior animal handler whispered. "What did you guys bring in here? Why did you bring it in here?"

  "We didn't," the sargeant said. "Brought in a girl on a homicide, and she switched this… thing with herself. We have an APB out now."

  "Well, that's nice, but we thought we were taking a dead animal, not a very much alive and angry… whatever that is," the senior handler said. "We didn't bring the equipment to—

  The beast's claws darted out between the bars, barely missing the police sargeant. Half a dozen hands reached for their guns, until the sargeant ordered everyone out. The hands and arms of the other prisoners groped at them as they passed, and their pleas for release fell on very deaf ears. All sighed loudly in relief as the door was shut and bolted behind them. None present had any doubts that the cell would be strong enough to hold the beast. Still, no officers bringing in other felons that night went in alone.

  "Get up," a gruff voice filtered into Loraine's haze of a sleep. She raised her head up slightly and let her eyes open into a slit.

  "Mikey?" she mumbled. Something hard poked at her arm. Loraine yelped angrily and swatted away the pest. A rough hand grabbed her by the arm and yanked her up into a sitting position. She opened sleepy eyes to see two scowling police officers.

  "Come on, let's go," the one closest to her said. He resheathed his night stick, which apparently had been the object poking her, and pulled her onto her feet. She protested in vain, then straightened her clothing and avoided their pokes and prods.

  "What is this?" she said.

  "Lieutenant wants to see you," was the only answer.

  They led her down the hallway toward the main door. Most of her fellow "guests" were silent as they passed, but one of them rushed at the bars.

  "Get her outta here, man!" he shouted. "She'll eat us alive!" One of the officers hesitated long enough to swat his hands away. "She turned into a fuckin' dog, man! She's a fuckin' dog!"

  The lieutenant shut the door behind Loraine as she entered. He positioned himself next to a woman who may also have been a lieutenant, but Loraine knew nothing of police ranks or what signified them.

  "Is this one of those times when I'm supposed to have a lawyer?" Loraine asked.

  "I doubt it," the lieutenant said. "This has little to do with your charge. And I ask the questions, not you. Clear?"

  "I suppose," Loraine mumbled.

  "Why don't we 'suppose' this, then?" the lieutenant said, leaning forward. "Why don't we 'suppose' that last night, seven police officers, after viewing your cell, found not you, but some wild animal that attacked and wounded one of those officers. The animal was shot six times, apparently to death, but when the animal control was called, it revived itself and tried to attack them and another officer! And now this morning, we find you back in your cell after an APB was called, yet no one here admits to bringing you back in, and the 'dead' animal is nowhere to be found! Now… maybe you can't shed any light on this at all. I think we can all agree that it'd be a lot easier for you if you could."

  "Maybe I'm a werewolf, and that 'wild animal' was me," Loraine mumbled.

  "Funny kid," the woman said. "We're giving you the opportunity to explain yourself. Don't be stupid."

  "I'm being stupid?"

  "You can find yourself with a lot more charges than murder from this," the lieutenant said. "Jailbreak, for one thing."

  "What jailbreak? I'm still here."

  "You weren't last night," the woman said.

  "Where did you go?" the lieutenant said. "Did you see anyone? Was sticking a rabid animal in your cell just a sick joke to you? One of my men was injured by it!"

  "Was he… bitten?" Loraine said, now alert.

  "All I know was that he's at home now after a night in the hospital, after getting stitches and rabies shots! Now I want to know what the hell you think this is_some kind of—of zoo? You think this is a game? I can push for no bail, you know! You'll be rotting in here until trial, whenever that may be!"

  "Rabies shots don't work…" Loraine said distantly.

  "Have you listened to a damned thing I've said?" the lieutenant bellowed. "Answer the question! Where did you go last night?"

  "I want a lawyer."

  "You went to a lawyer?"

  "I want a lawyer," Loraine said. "Here, now, as long as you're just gonna sit there and yell at me!"

  "Ohh, I haven't even raised my voice, kid," he said. "This isn't about your charges! This is about your conduct while in custody! You pull any other crap like last night, and you'll be in solitary!"

  "I'm already in solitary!" Loraine said. "There's no one else in there but me!"

  "You're not in solitary," the lieutenant said, a smile threatening to crack his face. "Believe me, it's not like your cozy little cell."

  "I'm taking the fifth," Loraine said. "I told you what happened, and you didn't believe me, so that's your problem."

  "That's your problem," the woman said. "You could've made things easier for yourself, you know."

  "I'm not going to tell you anything else, so you might as well take me back to my 'cozy little cell,' " Loraine said. The two cops scowled to each other, then let out a collective sigh.

  The lieutenant apparently made good on his threat; no bail was set for Loraine. Or perhaps it was due to the nature of the crime itself. Loraine neither knew nor cared.

  "Visitor, Princess," a familiar voice said. Loraine appeared not to have heard, but eventually she uncurled her legs and stretched before standing up as slowly as possible.

  "Come on, move it, let's go," the cop said, banging the bars once with her nightstick. Loraine glared at her as she glided toward the door.

  "Enough of that 'Princess' crap," she growled. The cop responded by grabbing her arm.

  "Come on," she said.

  Loraine kept her gaze at the floor as she was led through the visitor's area. She passed the backs of several inmates and glimpsed the somber faces of their respective visitors. Loraine's visitor was getting several glances herself from nearly everyone in the room. By contrast Loraine could barely force herself to look Tamara in the eye. They seated themselves at their booths and picked up the intercom phones.

  "Hi," Tamara said. Loraine forced a weak smile.

  "Hi," she whispered.

  "How you been?"

  "Uh… okay, I guess," Loraine said. Oh, not now. She couldn't think about Roxanne now. So far only a waver in her voice threatened her demeanor.

  "Hey, I'm real sorry I couldn't make it 'til today," Tamara said. "You have a lawyer?" Loraine shook her head. "Soon as I heard from you, I called my own lawyer. He can get you somebody good. If you had your own, though, I'd call him off. So, they were gonna assign you one or something?"

  "I guess," Loraine said. Tamara had been smiling, then let her face relax.

  "You look scared," she said quietly. Loraine bit her lip before looking down and nodding. "Did they tell you what your charge is?"

&n
bsp; "Yeah," Loraine said, struggling to keep her voice intact. "Murder. They think I killed_" Her face squeezed into a tight ball of grief and despair. She tried to look away to sob, but gripped her phone even tighter.

  "Hey… hey, it's okay," Tamara's soothing voice came from the other end. It was almost as if she were starting to sing to Loraine. "You don't have to talk about it if it hurts too much."

  "Thanks," Loraine sobbed. "And now I'm—now I'm fired, right?"

  "Huh? Look, don't think about that, okay?"

  "Well, am I?"

  Tamara hesitated for just a moment. "No," she said. "Don't worry about your job. Getting you out of here is the thing to worry about. And since you didn't do it, you shouldn't worry."

  Shouldn't worry, Loraine thought. She had never been more worried, and not because she was guilty, but because she couldn't remember if she was guilty or innocent. She had not made much progress in remembering that night's details—neither the results of her "hunt" nor even approaching her apartment, nor anything else after the change. Finally she forced a smile for Tamara. "Thanks," she said. "You're like—you're the best boss, Tamara."

  "Our kind needs to stick together," Tamara said cheerfully.

  "What kind? Killers?" Loraine said. Tamara looked as though she had been caught at something.

  "Uh, no, I meant, you know, us creative folks," she said. "The entertainers. We're famous for not having any loyalty, but I don't believe in that."

  "Hmph," Loraine said. They both wanted to say so much more, but their conversation was cut short by Loraine's "favorite" cop.

  "Time's up," she said. "Say bye-bye to your friend."

  "You'd be out of here by now, but I hear that they didn't set b_" That was all that Loraine heard before the cop snatched the phone from her hands and set it back in its cradle. Tamara hung up her own phone solemnly, then waved to her friend as she was escorted away.

  Time slowed to half-speed in Loraine's cell. She thanked God for not sending her any cellmates so far, although the danger to them should have passed by then. Last night WAS the third full moon, wasn't it? Loraine was already losing her concept of time. What Michael was doing, she did not know. He hadn't visited since being released.