Selected Short Stories Featuring Cry Wolf

by Nicolas Wilson

me.

  “Yes. Came as soon as I could. I have some… experience with wayward boys.”

  “Well, we took his roommate to another room, per what I was told was your request.”

  “I was concerned, given what I’d heard, that he might be in the beginning stages of a violent episode. Territorial behavior and the like. Just a precaution, you understand.”

  “Normally we don’t hold innocent people here- well, that’s a loaded word- but everybody else here has been arrested for something. Most of them are awaiting trial for Measure 11 felonies. Ray’s different. That’s why we made sure we housed him with a nonviolent offender. Curt was probably going to be out of here in the morning, pending a hearing and probably even then only a fine.”

  “Ray?” I ask.

  “Kid remembers that much, but that’s it, so far. I was instructed not to search your bag.” That doesn’t sit right with him. And on this occasion, I’m not carrying anything that would be easily mistaken for contraband, so it’s better to buy his cooperation with a little of my own.

  “Go ahead,” I tell him, and unzip my pack and spread it wide.

  “Tea?” he asks, and looks inside the empty pot.

  “I find it helps calm the nerves. Helps with bonding.”

  “Hmm,” he says. “And in the thermos?”

  “I do the actual brewing ahead of schedule. It’s one thing to boil water during a session, but waiting for it to steep, too… it just all takes too long. It doesn’t do its job if I’m only giving them a travel mug on their way out the door. I was told there’d be a hotplate.”

  “Sure is. You, uh, mind if I try it?” he asks.

  He’s thorough. I like that. And even if Bishop did botch the recipe, a sip shouldn’t do more than give him a bad case of food poisoning.

  “Not at all.”

  He unscrews the cap and takes a swig- enough I worry, just a little, after his health. Then he makes a face. “Tastes like ass,” he says.

  “Good tea does,” I tell him. But he’s satisfied. Hopefully that will buy me the privacy I need. “But here it is, his casa.”

  The kid is terrified, eyes wide- the better to see you with, my dear. He’s sweating, gripping his blanket like it’ll keep him tethered to his sanity. It won’t.

  Steven unlocks the cell, then locks me in once I’m inside. “Ray, mind if I come in?” I ask.

  I know I already am, but it’s a courtesy thing. “They told me you’re a doctor.”

  “Amazing how these things get exaggerated.” I sit down on his former roommate’s bunk.

  For the first time he takes his eyes off the bars and looks at me. “You aren’t safe in here.”

  “It’s a pretty unsafe world. I’ll take my chances.” I reach into my bag, for the thermos. “Besides, it’s a hell of a lot safer for you if I’m in here.” He eyes me as I set the thermos down on the edge of the shared sink. “It’s tea, brewed with, amongst other things, wolfsbane, processed to detoxify the aconite. It’ll suppress the change, put you into a light coma; you’ll sleep through the night and be fine by morning. For me, it’ll just taste a little bitter, but the parts of you that are different, they’ll still be affected by the wolfsbane, because aconite isn’t the only active chemical.” I remove a teapot from my backpack, and set it on the hotplate in the corner of the sink. I switch it on, then pour from the thermos into the pot. He shrinks back, against the corner of his cage.

  “You’re being cautious. Of course, with a name like wolfsbane, you should be, at least if you remember what you are.” He’s scared of everything right now, so it’s tough to gauge his reaction, which would be easier. But I’m used to things not falling easy, so I lay my cards down. “What I think happened, is you had a psychotic break; not uncommon, amongst your kind. You couldn’t remember who you were, so you came ‘home.’ Only since then you’ve started to remember, and you realize how completely screwed you are. Because you managed to turn yourself over to the authorities on the night of the full moon- the only night when you’ll be forced to change, and the authorities would be forced to kill you.”

  “So, understandably you’re afraid.” I check my watch. “Don’t be. Moonrise isn’t until after midnight. There’s another twenty minutes- plenty of time.”

  “Oh joy. Martha Stewart’s come to save me,” he says, and rolls his eyes.

  “That’s an old memory, if you’ve been in the woods for five years. So you are starting to remember. But do you remember anything useful? Like, any relatives in the area? Anyone who could pick you up?” He looks down at the table. “Doesn’t have to be tonight. They’re probably changing here pretty soon, too, right? We can call them in the morning. But the quicker you get out of here, the less likely anyone is to ask a question that puts you in danger.”

  “I’ve got an uncle, in Salem. I think I remember the number. Got a pen?”

  “Yeah, and even something to write on,” I snark, and hand him both. He jots a name and a number into my notepad. The teapot’s starting to steam. I take out two cups from my bag, and start pouring. He trades me the first one for my pad and paper, but doesn’t drink, just watches me pour a second. I figured as much, which is why I brought two cups, so I drink first. I can’t help but make a face. “Tastes like something died in it, but it shouldn’t kill either of us.”

  “You have no idea how bad it smells. How bad you smell, this place.” His voice is a harsh whisper bordering on a growl, and his hands are trembling violently enough I’m surprised he hasn’t dumped his whole cup into his lap.

  “Maybe we have less time than I thought,” I say, trying to hide my concern beneath a smile.

  “No, it’s,” he stops, forces the shaking to end. “It starts half a day before the full moon. Everything becomes overwhelming, especially smells. Tastes, too,” he sips at the tea. “I don’t suppose you brought sugar.”

  “Bishop told me it might interfere.”

  “My mom had a recipe that used beets as a sweetener. Course, the toxicity was more of a problem for her.”

  I polish off my cup, figuring it’s better to get it out of the way. I close up the thermos, then put it, the pot, and my cup back in the bag. The kid’s nursing his tea along, but not because he doesn’t want to drink it. I stop moving around, just look at him, waiting for it to come out.

  “You’re frightened,” he says, and there’s something menacing behind it, satisfaction, maybe. “You don’t know if it’ll work.” The menace disappears, and he’s a scared kid again, and I notice that he’s gripping his mattress to keep himself attached to the world. “Would you stay with me, until moonrise?” He doesn’t want to be alone if he changes. In the wild it’s almost impossible to catch someone like him. But in a confined space like this, full of armed guards, that would be death for him. He’s saying he doesn’t want to die alone if it doesn’t work.

  Being trapped in a cage with a werewolf is probably a bad idea, but one look in his watering eyes and I know I can’t abandon him, either, so I say, “Sure.” And I’m the only one in the building who might be able to put him down without killing him- presuming he doesn’t eat me, first.

  “How much time do we have left?” he asks, polishing off the last of the cup and handing it over.

  “Few minutes,” I lie, looking at my watch; it’s thirty seconds, give or take. He doubles over in pain, grabbing his stomach.

  “You, unn, lying bastard.”

  “It hurts. I’m sorry. But that’s good. It should hurt, if it’s working. Of course, the change hurts, too. So.” I shrug.

  “Shut up,” he says. He closes his eyes, and his breathing gets heavy; I flash back to the old Hulk show, and realize if the kid wolfs out I’m not going to like him when he’s angry. But he opens his eyes, and sighs. “I think… I’m good.”

  I check my watch. Moon’s definitely up by now. “You’re going to be okay.”

  “Yeah,” he says. “Thanks. Should I know your name?”

  “No,” I tell him. “Yo
u want to let me out?” I ask, projecting enough to be heard around the corner. Steven comes out, with a folded over book of crossword puzzles.

  “Don’t suppose either of you knows a thirteen letter word, changing into a German novelist?”

  “Metamorphosis,” Ray says, then, “think I’m going to go to bed.” He’s wobbly on his feet.

  “Sure thing,” Steven says, folding up the book to shove into a back pocket, “just let me get this pesky shrink out of your head.”

  He opens up the door, then locks it after me. Then he leads me back out towards the lobby. “You can put the other boy back in with him; but I wouldn’t. Just in case.” Steven nods, then closes the lobby door behind me. I imagine, this late, the other kid’s asleep wherever they’ve got him, anyway.

  Vergara’s still waiting for me, though she isn’t alone; she went and got the pie out of her passenger seat, which she tries to hide from me by standing in front of it. “He’s got an Uncle Kevin, outside Salem,” I tell her, handing her the page torn out of my notepad. “He won’t pick up tonight, but by sunrise you can reach him at this number. He’ll be happy to come get the boy.”

  She takes it, a little stunned. “This… will win me some favors in juvenile and missing persons. If I can explain to them how I got it.”

  “Better if you don’t. Build up an aura of mystery,” I tell her, and push my way through the front door, and back onto the city street.