Authors: Jason Starr
Then Ramon and Detective Rodriguez approached from the opposite direction that Simon, Charlie and Michael had come from. It was weird seeing Rodriguez, the cop, arrive willingly to this meeting spot in the middle of the woods in some remote part of Dutchess County. What had Ramon told her that she agreed to come here? Or maybe she was the one playing him, or playing them. Maybe she had a team of cops in the area, a whole SWAT team ready to pounce at a moment’s notice—although Simon knew it was unlikely that any more humans were nearby or he would’ve been able to smell them.
When Ramon and Rodriguez were about ten yards away, Michael transformed and pounced on Rodriguez. The transformation and attack happened so fast that Simon barely had time to react or respond. One moment, he was facing Michael in the moonlight, and the next moment Michael was a werewolf, his expanded body stretching and tearing his slacks and sport jacket, as he was pinning Rodriguez to the ground and digging his fangs into her neck.
Simon tried to pry Michael off Rodriguez, but as a human he didn’t have enough strength. He tried as hard as he could to transform, but nothing happened. His impotence was terrifying. Had he lost the ability to transform, or was consciously trying making it more difficult?
He tried to go after Michael again, growling, as if maybe growling
would help, when Ramon grabbed him and threw him to the ground. Wasn’t Ramon in love with Rodriguez? Then how could he just stand there and let her get bitten to death?
Simon went after Michael again—well, tried to, but a clawed hand, or paw, grabbed him and flung him down hard onto the hard ground. Then he looked up and saw Ramon as a werewolf, drool dripping down his hairy chin. How come everyone could transform at will but him? Charlie was still standing off to the side, in his human form, but when Simon tried to get to Michael again and tussled with Ramon, Charlie transformed as well. Great, three werewolves against none; the nightmare scenario that Simon had feared had come to fruition.
While Charlie was distracted with Simon, Ramon charged toward Michael, leaping in the air and landing on his back, and they tumbled together off Rodriguez. Blood was gushing from Rodriguez’s neck and she was trying to crawl away to safety—as if there were any safety to crawl to. Charlie left Simon and went to help Michael fight off Ramon. Simon wanted to help Ramon, but he needed to transform, right now, or he’d be useless.
He tried to do what Charlie had told him to do, to
love it
, but nothing happened. Had Charlie just been messing with him? How could loving it, whatever that meant, control the ability to become a werewolf? Then he thought maybe that was the problem—he was trying too hard, he had to just let it happen. Maybe that was what Charlie meant by
love it
, because you can’t try to love, love just happens.
So Simon tried to clear his head, the way he did the times when he’d attempted to meditate, but instead of repeating a mantra, he focused on the word
love
and, like when he was trying to meditate, other thoughts intruded. He was thinking about running, with the wind in his face, and then he saw that day with Alison and Jeremy at the Seaport.
They were so happy riding on the bus downtown that day; things were so normal, and later that day he had told himself that he had to accept it. Wasn’t that the same as loving it? He had to accept who he was, and love who he was, and he was a wolf now. This was his new reality.
Whatever Simon was doing was working because the transformation began, faster than it ever had before. In the past, there was a slow, extremely painful buildup, but now the pain through his body came suddenly and ended suddenly, and he felt the power and confidence of the wolf overtake him.
Simon leaped, claws extended, and landed on Michael’s back. He bit into the back of Michael’s neck, tasting his blood, which only made him hungry for more.
Charlie and Ramon backed away to let Michael and Simon fight it out alone. Simon felt stronger than the last time he’d battled Michael, more prepared and sure of himself. He clawed at Michael’s gray wolf face, trying to get his paws into his mouth so he could stretch his jaw apart. But Michael lashed out with a ferocious bite that might have decapitated Simon if he hadn’t managed to avoid it. Simon saw an opening and clawed at Michael’s midsection, splattering blood, and by the way Michael groaned Simon knew he’d hurt him. Sensing he’d gained an upper hand, Simon went for Michael’s face again, clawing at his big black eyes, and then with a violent surge he was able to tackle Michael to the ground. They were on a slight incline, though, and rolled together a few times and then Michael was suddenly on top, back in control.
Michael was slashing and gnawing at Simon’s face, and Simon was desperately trying to defend himself against the onslaught, and then he felt tremendous pain in his mouth. At first he was so involved with fighting back that he wasn’t sure what was happening, but then
he realized that Michael’s claws were in his mouth and that his mouth was being stretched apart. He tried to grab Michael’s arms, but it was hard to grab something with claws, and Michael’s claws were affixed in Simon’s mouth like clamps. He tried to flip Michael over, but Michael was too strong, and the pain of the corners of his mouth ripping open was making it hard to focus. He heard the crunch of torn ligaments and knew it wouldn’t be long before he couldn’t resist at all and his jaw would tear apart, his head would split open, and he’d die instantly.
Then Simon was free. It happened so suddenly he thought he had to be imagining it, experiencing some sort of psychosomatic defense mechanism to avoid the pain of his pending death, the way a man dying of thirst in a desert might imagine that he’s drinking from a cold waterfall. But no, this wasn’t his mind playing tricks; Michael actually wasn’t pinning him down anymore as someone, another werewolf, had come to Simon’s aid and was now fighting with Michael.
Was it Ramon or Charlie? Charlie was still standing off to the side, and Ramon and Detective Rodriguez had left and Simon couldn’t detect their scents. Then Simon inhaled deeply and looked more closely at the werewolf battling with Michael and saw that it was Volker.
Simon had no idea where Volker had come from but figured he must’ve followed the guys here or knew where the confrontation would take place and had been waiting here. Now the father and son were assaulting each other viciously. This was a side to Volker Simon had never seen before. When Simon had run with him in the Ramble the other night, he’d seemed lean, elegant, even gentle, but now he was vicious and relentless. He was on his hind legs, growling, as he clawed at Michael’s face and chest. Volker seemed to be using every
bit of energy that his 141-year-old body could muster, but Michael was stronger and much younger and seemed to be unfazed by the onslaught. Then, in one swift movement, Michael lunged forward, maneuvered his paws into his father’s mouth, and was trying to tear the jaw apart.
Simon rushed over, practically flying as he leaped into the air, maybe ten feet, and landed on Michael’s back. Michael was able to shake Simon off, though, and Simon tumbled onto the ground. He was about to launch another attack on Michael but knew it was too late when he heard the loud, sickening sound of bones and ligaments being torn apart, and then he smelled the blood—oh, God, the wonderful scent of werewolf blood—and knew that Michael had torn his father’s head open.
Though Simon knew he should be horrified, the aroma of the blood of the dead werewolf was so intoxicating, and he couldn’t focus on anything else. It was clear that Michael felt the same way, as he was licking his father’s blood off his claws as if a human had dipped his hands into a vat of the best-tasting chocolate. Simon was jealous—he wanted to taste the blood too. Michael was still holding Volker’s bloody remains, and Simon was on his hind legs, lapping up as much blood as he could, and then Charlie came over and he was also licking and nibbling on the corpse as well. The werewolf’s blood was so addicting that nothing else mattered. Simon—and the others—forgot what they had been fighting about and who hated who. All that mattered was the craving, and satisfying it. Then Simon took his first bite of werewolf flesh, which was so much tastier than human flesh, and he was in heaven. Volker was by far the most satisfying meal Simon had ever had.
W
hen Geri opened her eyes she had no idea where she was. She squeezed the mattress—no, it was a cushion, a couch cushion—and then sat up.
She was in a living room. There was a chair, a rocking chair, a coffee table with a toy tractor-trailer on it, and on the wall a couple of tacky oil paintings of landscapes with mountains and rivers. She patted her body—same clothes she’d been wearing. She also checked, made sure she still had her Glock in her holster.
“Look who’s up already.”
Ramon came into the living room, ultra relaxed in just black boxer briefs. He looked buff, and was his chest a little hairier since the last time she’d seen it?
Wanting him badly, Geri managed to say, “Where the hell am I?”
“My place.” Ramon had that electric smile. “I’m surprised you’re awake. I thought you’d sleep till morning for sure.”
Geri tried to stand up, realized she was a little dizzy, and sat back down on the couch.
“What … what happened?” she asked.
Ramon had come closer to her. He said, “You blacked out, but don’t worry, it’s normal to black out after you drink the beer.”
The beer.
That’s right, it was all coming back. In the car, driving through Westchester with Ramon, him telling her that he was a werewolf. She thought it was a joke, he was out of his mind or just messing with her, but she had to get him to stop the car somehow so she could go check out Manny Alvarez in Inwood, so she went with her last resort and took her gun out, demanded he pull over. That didn’t work, of course, because what was she going to do, shoot him? He knew she wouldn’t and didn’t stop the car for another hour, when they arrived somewhere near Pawling, New York. She wanted the car keys, but he insisted she didn’t know what she was dealing with, and when she lunged to get the keys, that was when he did it. Her first thought was:
This can’t be real.
It had to be a trick, but what kind of trick could there be to actually change into an animal, or part animal? And it happened right in front of her; she
saw
it. Then he turned back and she was so stunned she probably looked sick and he was like, “Here, drink this.” So she drank from a thermos he gave her, and she was so shocked she didn’t realize she was drinking some kind of thick warm beer till she had gulped down most of it.
Now she asked, “What was in the beer? Some kind of roofie?”
“I’ll explain it all to you later, don’t worry,” he said.
Geri checked her clothes again—nothing seemed torn or indicated that she’d been raped. But what was on the back of her right hand? Was that
blood
?
“What the hell happened? Tell me now,” Geri said. “Did you assault me?”
“Assault you?” Ramon said. “Why would I have to assault you? I mean, getting you in bed ain’t exactly a problem, is it?” Ramon smiled.
Geri felt a pang of desire, but she didn’t let it take over. She said, “I want to know where this blood came from. Is it my blood?” She went past Ramon, over to a mirror near the dining area, and saw a wound on her neck. She felt it—most of the blood was congealed and there was even some scabbing, as if the wound were a few days old. She said, “How the hell did this happen?
When
did this happen?”
Ramon looked tongue-tied but relaxed.
Turning back toward the mirror, feeling the wound again, Geri asked, “Wait, this is a bite. Somebody bit me.” Looking at Ramon in the mirror, she said, “Did you bite me?”
“No, but I had to let you get bitten,” Ramon said. “It was the only way I could save you.”
Ramon sounded crazy again, the way he had in the car when he was talking about werewolves. But, wait, hadn’t she seen him turn into a wolf? Was that real, or was it some kind of dream? She wasn’t sure about anything anymore.
“Okay, so if you didn’t bite me, then who did?” Geri asked.
“Michael,” Ramon said.
“Michael?” Geri said, confused for a second, then getting it. “Michael Hartman bit me?” Geri’s first concerns were AIDS and hep C—she was going to have to get tested. Then she said, “Why the hell did he bite me, and what does this have to do with a beer and saving me?”
“It’s complicated, baby,” Ramon said. “But I promise I’ll sit down with you and—”
“No, I’m gonna sit down with
you
, right now,” Geri said. “I’m
taking you in and you’re gonna tell me what’s going on with you. And that animal thing didn’t really happen, did it? I just imagined it…. Wait, what day is it?”
“What day is it?” Ramon said.
“Yeah, what day is it?”
“It’s Monday. Well, Tuesday now.”
Then Geri saw the clock on the cable box below the TV: 12:42. She remembered about Manny Alvarez and his possible involvement in the Washington Heights shootings.
“Where are we?” Geri asked.
“We’re on earth,” Ramon said.
“Seriously,” Geri said.
“My place, I told you. Hundred Sixteenth Street.”
“You still got that car you rented?”