The Craving (43 page)

Alison was still sad about the whole Vijay situation. She knew not getting involved with him was for the best, but she wished she hadn’t mixed business with pleasure in the first place. She and Vijay used to have a friendly working relationship, and now he wasn’t even her client. As per his request she’d handed him off to Chandra, one of her co-workers. Chandra had been thrilled of course—Vijay was a lucrative, influential client—and now Alison had lost a friend as well as significant commission income.

The rest of the day, Alison tried to focus on work, but she was still a mess. Her afternoon appointments didn’t go any better than her morning ones. She was distracted, kept losing her train of thought, and just didn’t feel like being around people. She always told
young salespeople that ninety percent of this job was personality based, engaging with doctors on a personal level, often in very short periods of time. Doctors were busy and often had only five or ten minutes to meet, and if you weren’t having a good day, if you were in a bitter, edgy mood, your chances of making a connection were almost nil. After all, doctors had enough stress during their workdays. Alison even had a bad meeting with Dr. Morgan, a super nice Park Avenue gynecologist—older guy, early sixties—who was one of her longest, steadiest clients. Dr. Morgan had known her for years; he’d noticed she was stressed and asked her if she was okay. She got defensive, afraid that her personal life was intruding in her professional life, and snapped, “I’m fine,” and changed the subject, and then the meeting ended awkwardly. Leaving the office, Alison regretted her curtness and sent an e-mail apology. Dr. Morgan was such a great guy she didn’t think there would be any long-lasting tension, but she knew she had to get her crap under control or it would seriously affect her job, and one thing she couldn’t lose right now was her job, especially in this economy.

At a little after six, after her last appointment of the day, she took a cab back across town, figuring she’d change out of her work clothes before she had to zip out again and pick up Jeremy. What she would’ve really loved to do was hit the gym, but when would she have time to work out again? With full-time work and solo child care at night, she wouldn’t have time to do anything for herself. She already felt like crap, forgetting to eat, and was losing way too much weight. She hadn’t weighed herself in a while, but going by how most of her clothes were loose on her, she figured she must’ve lost seven or eight pounds over the past month. If her life became more difficult and stressful and she lost another five pounds, it would push her dangerously close to anorexia territory.

When the cab dropped her at Eighty-ninth and Columbus, she feared that today was just a preview of the rest of her life, that things would get worse. She was going to be alone, stressed out, broke, exhausted, and anorexic. And what about Jeremy? What kind of life would he have with a miserable single mom taking care of him?

Then Alison entered the lobby and saw Simon standing there. Her first thought was,
That’s my husband?
He looked good, better than he’d looked in years, or maybe ever. He was lean, toned, and his skin had a healthy glow. He was also extremely well dressed in a stylish suit, an expensive-looking black dress shirt, and new black loafers—were they Ferragamos? It took a few seconds before she remembered how angry she was at him, how he’d put her through hell lately, and how she’d hired a PI to find out who he’d been screwing lately.

Putting on a serious, pissed-off expression, she said, “What the hell’re you doing here?”

“I’m here to be honest with you about everything,” he said.

Honest? Was he going to confess an affair? If so, how come Tyler hadn’t let her in on any of this? Was he following Simon or not? And there was something different about Simon, but she couldn’t quite figure out what it was. He was in clothes she’d never seen before—a clean shirt, tucked into beige chinos—but it wasn’t that.

“Sorry,” Alison said. “I’m just … surprised to see you here.”

“How’s Jeremy?” Simon asked.

“Fine,” Alison said. “He’s at Matthew’s. I have to pick him up in a few minutes.”

“This won’t take long,” Simon said, “but maybe we can do it upstairs.”

Simon motioned with his eyes very quickly in the direction of James the doorman. James, organizing some packages that had been dropped off, didn’t seem to
be eavesdropping, but doormen were
always
eavesdropping. If you lived in a doorman building in Manhattan, you never wanted to have a dramatic confrontation in front of a doorman, as it was the equivalent of having the confrontation broadcast to every apartment in the building.

But Alison was wary of being alone with Simon after his bizarre behavior the last time she’d seen him and said, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

Simon glanced at James, then whispered to her, “I promise, nothing bad will happen. I just want to clear the air and be honest about everything that’s been going on.”

Alison stared at him, still getting that vibe that something had changed about him; there was an intensity in his eyes she had never seen before, but she believed he was sincere about wanting to get things out in the open and, after so much confusion these past several weeks, she was eager to hear what he had to say for himself.

“Okay, fine,” she said. “But it’ll have to be quick; I really have to get Jeremy.”

Before they got in the elevator, she looked back through the glass windows, toward the street, wondering if Stephen Tyler was out there somewhere. If he hadn’t been able to tail a man to his own apartment, he had to be the worst PI in the world. Or maybe he’d lied to her, and he wasn’t even working on the case. Either way, unless he had some incredible explanation for what had been going on lately, she was going to ask for her retainer back, every cent of it.

In the elevator Alison said to Simon, “I’m warning you, if you start growling like a crazy person again, that’s it, I’m calling the cops.”

He was looking at her in a seductive way, as if something amused him and aroused him at the same time, and then he said, “I’ve missed you.”

She couldn’t help feeling a desire for him, though—she told herself—maybe it wasn’t actual desire, maybe it was just vulnerability because of how rough things had been lately. Maybe she had a need to connect with someone and wasn’t thinking it through clearly enough. Wasn’t that what had driven her to Vijay?

At the apartment, Alison made sure that Simon entered ahead of her and she was between him and the door.

Heading past the dining area toward the living room, he said, “Ah, it feels so great to be home.”

“Right here’s fine,” Alison said.

Simon stopped and turned back toward her.

“Okay,” he said, “we can do it here.”

She wasn’t crazy about the ambiguity of
do it here
. But while she was concerned about her safety, she also felt weirdly protected at the same time.

“So you said you’re going to tell me the truth about what’s been going on, so let’s hear it,” she said.

“Okay, well, I guess the main thing is I don’t have lycanthropic disorder,” Simon said.

Alison took a moment, as this wasn’t the direction she’d thought this conversation would go, then asked, “Then what disorder do you have?”

“I don’t have any disorder,” Simon said.

So this was what this was about? More games?

Suddenly angry, Alison said, “Look, I don’t see what this is accomplishing. If you have something productive, something new, to tell me, I’m all ears. But if you—”

“You don’t get it,” Simon said. “I don’t have a disorder where I think I’m a werewolf, because I’m
actually
a werewolf.”

Simon seemed excited, almost giddy about all this, as if he’d just made some incredible revelation.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Alison asked. “Why do you keep playing these sick, twisted games with me? What’re you getting out of it?”

“Because I want you to know the truth finally,” Simon said. “I want you to love me for who I am, the same way I decided that I have to love who I am. I mean, if I couldn’t love myself, I couldn’t expect you to love me, right?”

She thought,
My husband’s insane. And he’s farther gone than I’d ever imagined.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said. “I think you need help. Serious long-term help.”

Then his face became the face of an animal. His face was hairy and his nose and eyes looked like the eyes of a dog or, no, a wolf. This happened so quickly that at first her brain simply accepted it, as a fact. But then the panic and disbelief and a swarm of other emotions hit her with full force. No, no, this wasn’t possible. She was just imagining it. It was a fantasy, or hallucination, because of all the stress she’d been under lately.

She was shaking her head violently back and forth and heard herself whimper, “No … no…”

Then she saw that his face wasn’t all that had changed. His body had expanded, stretching his clothes, and his arms were hairier and had claws.

His arms have claws.

“N-n-n…” she said.

She closed her eyes, telling herself it wasn’t real, none of it was real. She was the one who had the disorder, she was the one going crazy.

But then she opened her eyes and saw the animal face staring back at her, and then everything went dark again.

S
imon had expected Alison to have a strong reaction to the truth, but what could he do? He felt he couldn’t go on like this any longer, living a lie. If he was going to get his family back, he had to open up about everything, put it all on the table, and deal with the fallout.

After devouring Volker in the woods, Simon wasn’t sure what would happen next. The meal was pure pleasure, but when he transformed back into his human form the horror and disgust set in. How could he have done that to Volker of all people, the one person, or wolf, who wanted to help him? How could he keep rationalizing that his uncontrollable craving for blood and flesh wasn’t a part of him? How could he deny responsibility for the awful things he had done?

Simon was expecting Michael, and maybe Charlie, to attack him next. While Simon had felt bonded to Michael when he was a wolf and they were feasting on Volker’s flesh, as a human Simon didn’t feel any bond or loyalty to Michael at all, and Michael had to realize this. And after Michael had killed and eaten his own father, why would he spare Simon?

Simon was ready to defend himself, and fight to his death if he had to, but Michael seemed disinterested. Maybe he was satiated from his meal and had lost the urge to kill Simon, or maybe he had another agenda. One thing Simon had learned over the past month or so—trying to figure out Michael’s agenda was pointless, as his actions rarely seemed to make any sense, or at least any sense to a rational human being.

Eddie, who apparently was a jack-of-all-trades—driver, hit man, body disposer—was hard at work, digging a hole in the woods. After he shoveled Volker’s
remains in and filled the hole back up with dirt he returned to the car with Michael, Charlie, and Simon in tow.

Simon’s guard was still way up, as he was still expecting a surprise transformation and attack from Michael, but the four men got into the car, as if it were a normal evening and they were on their way home from an outing together, like a sporting event. In the car there was even some small talk from Charlie and Michael—mostly Charlie—about play dates, and times they would get together over the next week or so. The only indication of the horror that had just taken place in the woods was the lingering odor of Volker’s blood on their breath and blood in their hair and on their skin and partially torn clothing.

When they arrived in the city, it was clear that they were bypassing Manhattan.

“Um, so where’re we going?” Simon spoke his first words since the mauling of Volker.

“The brewery,” Charlie said. “We gotta change.”

This made some sense to Simon, but he still feared a hidden agenda. Maybe he was going to be ambushed in the brewery, consumed there the way Stephen Tyler, that PI, had been.

Simon’s fear was at its peak when they were all walking up the dark stairwell, but no attack came. They went right to the room with the shower and took turns washing up. Michael collected their bloodied clothes in a Hefty bag, and then they selected new snazzy outfits. Feeling healthy and spiffy, Simon left the brewery with Charlie.

Michael, who’d walked them down, said to Simon, “You will return soon.”

Simon didn’t answer.

Eddie was waiting with the SUV—the seats had been cleaned and now there was only a very faint odor of blood—and drove Charlie and Simon back to Charlie’s place in Manhattan.

It was still dark out and the moon had almost set. It was hard to believe that only four hours had gone by since Simon and Charlie had been picked up and taken to the woods upstate. Despite the horror of what he’d done to Volker tonight, Simon felt like he’d taken a giant leap toward if not resolving his situation, then at least learning to cope with it. He understood what Volker had been trying to tell him in the Ramble that morning: that he was at the mercy of his cravings and he would have to embrace the animal part of himself if he wanted to have any chance to survive. Already he’d learned how to transform faster, and he was confident that he would become even better at detecting scents, and maybe he’d be able to hide his wolf scent from others the way Michael could. Maybe, if he worked on it, he could even have sex again without fear that he would “wolf out” in the middle of it.