by Phil Morgan
****
“I don’t think it meant anything at all.” Dr. Stephen Webb said, the harsh overhead fluorescents flashing on his wire-rim glasses.
“Terrell would probably have disagreed.” Greg growled.
“An opinion we could have verified if you had done the opposite of what you usually do and brought him in alive, Mr. Chant.” Dr. Webb said with his characteristic iciness.
“That’s why I get paid the big bucks.” He countered, leaning back in his chair with his arms behind his head.
“He was adamant. Something big is coming. What is this hunt? What did he mean about being nobody’s hound?” Eric demanded. Eric hated loose ends. It’s what made him a good leader. It’s also what made him annoying as hell at times.
“I don’t care what he meant. He was rabid and I am glad Greg put him down.” I said and I meant it. I remembered how he looked at me, what the madness in his eyes had promised me. I felt no regret about his fate. In my opinion, he had earned it.
“I checked out his file. He wasn’t the type to be rabid. He wasn’t the type to attack random people or jump a Triad.” Eric insisted. “I think it was a case of suicide by cop.”
“Be that as it may, the threat is over. Reader, you check out the boy who was attacked for lycanthropy, make sure the paperwork is filed properly this time, and then take some time off.” Dr. Webb ordered. “This case is closed.”
Eric looked as if he was about to protest, then he seemed to wise up. Nodding his head at us, he marched out of Dr. Webb’s office. I glanced at Greg. He grinned and waggled his eyebrows at me before following Eric. I had no choice but to tag along, I sure as Hell wasn’t staying to hang out with Webb.
The door slammed behind us, Dr. Webb wasn’t above cheap magickal theatrics when it suited his purposes. Eric kept marching until he reached our cubicle, his stiff back showing his barely repressed anger. He stepped into the cubicle and grabbed one of the chairs. He spun it around and straddled it as Greg and I pulled up chairs of our own.
“Webb’s wrong. This is more than just a case of a rogue werewolf.” He snapped.
“So, what do you propose we do about it?” Greg asked. “He was pretty specific about us dropping this.”
“We do as we’ve been ordered. I will go to the hospital and check out the kid. Greg, you will fill out the paperwork.” Eric answered.
“Me?” he blurted, pointing at me. “But she is the one who can type a hundred words a minute.”
“One hundred and four but I refuse to use semi-colons.” I corrected him. Semi-colons were the Devil’s work, I was sure of it.
“I need Cassidy to do something else.”
“What?” I asked.
“Go on vacation, of course.”
