(no subject)
“It’s alright,” the man sitting across from me replied. I had been seeing Mr. Renfolds for a little over three months, ever since the sudden death of his wife. The event had plunged Mr. Renfolds into a debilitating period of depression and social-anxiety. However, medication had proved effective and he has shown great improvement.
I usually enjoyed my sessions with Mr. Renfolds, and considered our relationship not just as doctor and patient, a relationship which I knew distanced the doctor and the patient in a conflict of control and superiority, I also considered him a friend. He worked at a successful software company, often coming to his appointments directly from work in a suit and tie. On the outside Mr. Renfolds was an extremely controlled person. He had remarkable personal hygiene, he kept his shirts ironed and his hair combed with a perfect part. He had had to reconstruct his entire life after his wife died, building a new foundation on routine and schedule. He let his consistency in the choice of tie color or choice of lunch to maintain stability in his life, these consistencies that he had power over served to reassure that he had a certain degree of control over his life. He had become obsessive, hiding what I had suspected to be a fragile stability, and despite his efforts, he couldn’t maintain the cherod; and fell apart. And so here we are now, after another of his miraculous recoveries.
“So,” I said, shifting in my chair and crossing my legs. I tugged my pant leg down casually, “What’s happening?” Sky, who blamed his name after his hippie parents (usually with one of his shy smiles) gave the response which he had given as answer to this specific query at the beginning of every of our sessions, “Not much, normal,”
“Good,” I smiled, checking off this as another time where he hadn’t said anything different. As a psychologist I have learned to read body language quiet well, noting how one keeps their legs, what their hands are doing, if they are tapping there foot or not, incessantly rubbing their ear lobe(as one patient of mine had done constantly), these small actions revealing the primary state of the individual. How accurate it really is I don’t know, but this evening I observed Mr. Renfolds, who had early on asked me to call him this rather than his first name, being slightly embarrassed of being called Sky, which I agreed to though I had often wished for more than a boring name like John, myself.
Mr. Renfolds seemed quite calm, like mine, his legs were crossed, though his pants weren’t as short as mine, seeming to end perfectly around his ankles. His hands were folded neatly, fingers intertwined loosely on his lap. I noted, however that Mr. Renfolds had dark circles under his eyes, almost hidden by the angle in which he held his head, an uncommon thing since I knew he kept a sleep schedule making sure he slept exactly eight hours a night.
“Work well?” I asked.
“Oh, yes. Same old,” he laughed a little, “Which is always good for me, right?”
“I suppose so,” I said.
“So, actually,” he began, uncharacteristically bold, “I do have something, in particular, that I want to talk to you about,”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I wanted to ask you if, um. . . if you believed in the super natural. I know Doctor, I’m usually never the one to be interested in that stuff, but I just wanted to know, you know, if you thought . . . any of it, could be . . . true. Ever.”
“What do you mean super natural?”
“You know, ghosts, monsters. . .” This was very abstract for Mr. Renfolds.
“What brought this up?” I asked.
“It doesn’t really matter,” he said in a sharper voice, an air of sudden panic, that I would have missed if I had not been watching, overcoming his face. And I had no idea why or from where this came. Though, there was no harm in answering the question, his face had become unreadable again, having gathered himself, it was calm once more.
“Well, I suppose I don’t believe in most of it, though I guess a lot of it has a basis in truth. And it has been only over time that the more fantastical stories have been built up around them.”
“Yeah, but could they be true? In the whole history of the world has it always been only stories?”
“Well, I’m not sure. Some may wish for there to be more to the world than nine to five jobs and day to day life. But in this modern world . . . those things are what people care most about. What’s in front of their noses.”
“But just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it isn’t there, right?”
“Mr. Renfolds,” I frowned, “What are you getting at? Is there something you want to talk about?” I saw him bite his lip and shift his eyes around my office, from my multi-colored rug to various paper weights, and then back.
“I wanted to know if you knew anything about werewolves.”
“Werewolves?” he didn’t say anything, “Werewolves don’t exist.” I replied, a bit caught off guard.
“Well, where did the stories come from?” he asked. I didn’t know what to say. We usually only talked about what was going on, and how he was feeling, using ketchup instead of mustard for lunch and what that was like, but this was drastically different.
“Well, perhaps the story of the werewolf is simply the literal translation of the monster that is in every one of us. None of us want to admit to this monster, so the werewolf is the most dramatic compounding of our most animalistic, primal, savage instincts, manifesting itself during the full moon, completely involuntary to the person. According to legend the sufferer is transformed into a ferocious wolf at the rising of the full moon, a total of three days a month, I believe.”
“And do they remember this? Can they remember what they-what they did?”
“Well, I don’t know,” I laughed. “Usually, according to the stories and modern movies, they don’t. They merely awake in strange places, in the woods, far away from home, with no recollection of their previous actions during the night.”
Mr. Renfolds adjusted his collar and leaned forward a bit, “They remember,” quiet Mr. Sky Renfolds said, his blue eyes which were usually kept shyly lowered to the ground, never catching anyone’s gaze, now seemed too large to hide, his pupils small and drowning in the blue of them, an eerie light emanating from somewhere behind his gaze, accenting the dark circles under his eyes and the paleness of his skin. They filled the whole room.
“Why do you say that?” I asked. Tilting my head, I tried to look at him closer. “Mr. Renfolds?”
“Because . . . I-I’m a werewolf.”
I’m trained not to react, to remain calm and unaffected, to resist the all too present urges to call the patient crazy or deranged, there was always a medical way to explain all inflictions. I blinked. I didn’t know where it had come from, where this psychosis had sprung but I knew suddenly, with great discomfort, that Mr. Renfolds was very ill and I’d not seen it.
“Tell me why you think that,” I said. Maybe something he had buried about his wife’s death, something that he had hidden, that had caused him pain and had somehow twisted as time passed. The question swarming through my head now was whether Mr. Renfolds was a danger to himself or a danger to others.
“I was bitten . . . and I. . . “ he seemed unable to finish.
“Bitten?”
“Yeah. I was, it was after my wife, my wife Karen died. I couldn’t take it,” he stopped to wipe his nose, taking a deep breath, “I was upset and-got drunk. I don’t remember everything, but it happened.”
“So,” I continued, wanting him to do most of the talking, “It’s happened a few times already. It’s been over three months since Karen died.”
“Yeah,”
“It must be horrible, every month. Does anyone else know?”
“No. I only told you.” he paused, in thought, then almost to himself he said, “I just-I don’t know what to do.” He remained quiet for a few moments, eyes lowered and dark, head shaking slowly back and forth, “I’m scared. If I could reach up and wrap my fingers around the moon I would hurl it to the ground faster than you could blink an eye.”
“You hate it.”
“Of course I hate it!” he said, his eyes suddenly trying to find mine in search of answers or consolation that I didn’t have. Could he really believe himself to be a creature of the night, a beast of legend, a monster, a werewolf? Maybe I should have gotten him hospitalization right away, maybe I had never handled this case right, I thought, but I continued.
“Do you remember your first time? The first time you changed.”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
He seemed to be gathering himself, straightening his face with apparent effort, tucking a loose piece of light hair behind his ear. “Um,” he started, licking his lips and taking a shaking breathe, “This is gonna sound crazy,” he gulped back some extra saliva, his eyes lowered. He moved a shaking hand over his brow, rubbing his temples unsteadily, closing his eyes, “Couple months ago, it was, I was, working late. Back then I used to stay at the office until the janitors kicked me out. To keep busy, you know. Tim, a co-worker, was working late too; his cubicle is right next to mine. I was tired, having a hard time with a new project, so I called Tim over for some help. And I was explaining it to him, but we really just started to talk about this new game program I was making, and I was talking, I was talking, and my throat tightened. I stopped talking and tried to regain my voice again, y-you know? Tom asked what was wrong, but couldn’t say anything,” his voice began to quicken, “I felt like I was going to faint; Tom tried to help me. I thought I was having a heart attack or a seizure-Tom went for help, ran for help. I kept thinking I hadn’t been feeling sick before, that this, whatever it was, was coming out of no where. I was gagging and then I-I-my teeth,” his hand rose to his mouth, “My teeth were sharp. And my hands on the carpet, ah, I saw claws coming from my fingers, and hair growing on my arms. I was panicking, I don’t know . . . trying to get up, everything was blurry.” He stopped, almost crying, like he was reliving it, “I couldn’t think clearly. I felt trapped. I wanted out of there, I needed out. So I just started running . . . I’m surprised I didn’t get caught.” He suddenly looked up, blinking as if he had forgotten I was there. I didn’t know what to say.
And then just like that he came back to being boring Mr. Renfolds, looking at his watch, “Oh, it’s late. I better go.” He got up.
“Sky,” I managed, he turned.
“Hum?”
“What-“
“I’ll see you next appointment,” he said hurriedly and left in a flurous of his fine cologne. I was shocked; I got up quickly, damning my arthritis and ran to the door which he had just exited. I swung it open and he was gone.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
I took into account the slight hunch of his shoulders and the arm he had across his stomach, his hand gripping his side, the extremely tense posture might as well have been a neon sign. He was not moving, but every muscle in his body seemed to be on edge. I lifted my eyebrows in a worried expression and scribbled a little bit on my clip board. Would we proceed from where we left off? I couldn’t let him just walk away this time.
A soft snow had begun to fall outside my window; Mr. Renfolds was now looking at it. Against the white of my window, his breath melted away the ice crystals softly, his face lit in the pale, reflected light. He appeared exhausted, dark circles hung under his eyes and the white light from the window fell on the deep lines on his young face, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he said in a soft voice as he peered out the frost covered window.
“What is?”
“The snow. The way it falls . . . so white,” he sighed heavily, “peaceful.” He turned, his face falling into shadow.
“Sky, I want you to know that I’m concerned. About our last session.” I told him quietly. His eyes were shifting about the room, to stare at the glass table in the middle of my office, lowered in the dark, or to the bookcase on the far wall. I could now see in the soft light of my office, that Mr. Renfolds’ hair was disarranged and fell haphazardly across a brow that I noticed was covered in a sheen of sweat. His appearance was startling.
“I know, Doctor. I don’t know, w-who to come to, except you. I don’t have anyone else to talk to,” he struggled; something in his voice had changed since last time. His control, I noticed with growing anxiety, the control he had formed as a brick wall two meters thick since I first knew him, was breaking.
“Mr. Renfolds, I want you to relax, alright? There is no reason to be afraid. I want to get you the help you need, there is no reason to be afraid----“
“There is every reason to be afraid!” his voice was broken and rough, his always smooth, quiet words were now faltering from three months worth of accumulated emotions threatening to break from his weakening grip. Or so I thought.
“Can you tell me the truth now?” I asked.
“I am telling the truth!” he screamed at me, hands clenching into fists. He ran his hand over his head, pulling at his hair through his fingers. “You can’t help me. I can’t believe I thought you could. I’m such an idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot, Sky. Your just going through a rough patch right now, your beginning to directly deal with your wife’s death, rather than hiding it-“
“I’m not making this up!” he yelled, I stopped talking, startled. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, “I’m sorry. I’m almost glad Karen isn’t here, I wouldn’t want her to see me like this. I don’t know what to do. I need you to tell me if I’ve gone mad because this . . . if it’s only in my mind than . . . than maybe I haven’t done the things I’ve done.”
“What things, Mr. Renfolds?” I said, making my voice calm.
“I’m, I-I . . . remember that I’m doing these . . . things and I want to stop doing them. But I can’t,” his voice starting to shake. He licked his lips nervously. He was expecting me to help him?
“I know these things seem real now but you need to trust me. I want you to trust me.” I tried. “Sky? Can you hear me?”
“Yeah,” he croaked. Something terrible had gone wrong with this man. And I hadn’t seen it happening. He was terrified of something I couldn’t see, something inside him was ripping him apart. “You’re still worried about being a werewolf, is that right?” He seemed not to be listening, his head down and his shoulders hunched. “Sky?”
“You don’t believe me. You think I’m crazy! Oh, God, I don’t want it to happen again, Doctor. I can’t stop it. I can’t stop it. I can’t.” He was crying now, I didn’t know what to do but I wanted him out of here, treated somehow. I began to reach for my phone, but continued talking.
“I didn’t say that I didn’t believe you,” I said, “I just think you should consider the possibility that this . . . what you’re feeling, isn’t real,”
“Don’t you get it!” he yelled almost getting up, his quick movement startled me, “This isn’t a story or a movie, it’s real. If you don’t believe it, you’ll see, wait till the moon comes up!” he yelled, spitting, “You’ll see!” he fell back to the couch, hugging himself, nice suit ruffled, his fear filled eyes were suddenly looking right at me, rimmed with tears, boring into my unsuspecting brown eyes, then startlingly, I thought I saw his eyes glow with a strange gold light, “Oh, Doctor,” he said in a shaky voice, “I can already feel it happening,”
“Look, Sky,” I gulped, “Sky? Can you hear me?” I was saying in a loud, clear voice, “Sky! Look at me. Come on, look at me,” he was kind of pulling out of it, Thank God, I thought. “Talk to me. Just talk to me now, okay?”
“You don’t believe me,” he said in a calmer voice.
“I believe that you believe and what that means is that I know how much this is hurting you and that I care about you, Sky. I don’t want anything to happen to you. You aren’t a bad person. In fact you’re one of the nicest people I’ve ever known. If only there were more people in the world like you, Sky. When others could have never turned their lives around, you did. And you will this time, too. I won’t let anything bad happen to you. Okay?” I had moved to kneel by him on the couch, with much protest from my knees. I put my wrinkled hand on his young shaking one. After I had finished talking he sniffed. Raising his head he seemed so much younger and vulnerable than the successful businessman he was, in a nice grey suit and tie. At that moment my position felt almost paternal, but I didn’t leave time to fool myself. He looked at me finally and I sighed. In that quiet moment it seemed I had reached him. He didn’t seem to want to move, so I gave him the time he needed, my knees hurting on the carpeted floor of my office. He smiled weakly. I smiled back. Good, I thought. But then, slowly, like it was creeping lightly from behind, the room changed somehow, looking at Sky I saw the muscles in his face had begun to struggle. He took in a sudden sharp breathe.
“Sky? Are you alright?” I asked. He seemed frozen, breath held behind gritted teeth. Letting out the breath, he wrapped an arm around himself.
“Get away from me,” he said.
“Sky?” I asked again. He huddled closer inward I heard him gasp, “Get . . .away, Doctor . . . get away, p-p-please. . .” I reached to touch his shoulder which was quivering uncontrollably. The moment I touched him I knew something was terribly wrong, he was hot to the touch. The sudden hot sting startled me and my eyes widened. Sky’s breath had become labored and painful, he wrenched his gaze upward suddenly, as if looking for a way to escape, continuing to jerk sharply with pain. I fell back off my knees. What I saw sent panic through me, during all my years as a doctor I had never seen anything like what was happening to this poor man, nor would I have ever believed it possible. He was trying to hide his face in his hands as his back bent at an odd angle behind him. Gasping desperately for air, his mouth opened with each heavy breath and in disbelief I saw from where I had fallen that his mouth was full of sharp teeth, tearing through his gums before my eyes as a horrible cry twisted from his throat. His face looked longer and monstrous in the yellow of my office light. His eyes, before a pleasant calm blue, were changing to gold, terrified and desperate. I was trying to get away, trying to get to the phone. But Sky fell to the ground too, not that far from me, twisting in the most horrible way I’ve ever seen. I whipped my head to my window, my eyes frantic.
The moon. It was full. I turned back to Sky and heard his clothes rip. From the neat cuffs of his shirt his hands were gray, changing. I snapped my eyes shut. I didn’t want to see this. I blindly reached for the phone I knew to be there, stopped suddenly as I heard a smashing as the lamp fell to the ground and the room was left to darkness. In the dark I heard him sobbing but soon the vocalizations were incomprehensible. I heard more ripping. I covered my ears. A gasp of pain. A horrible cry that was more of a beast than the miserable cry of a human, ending in a long eerie howl. My hand reached the receiver. I picked it up. Sky was moving. Standing up. A sickening sound of bones cracking, straightening. He was on all fours, close to the ground, I could see the heavy rise and fall of his chest as he breathed heavily. Oh, my God. His breath was different, horrible sounds came from the inhuman throat incapable of much more. I had the phone to my chest, the dial tone ringing dully in my ear. I slowly dialed, they answered right away. What would I say?
“I have an emergency, there’s a-an animal, a wild animal in my office. I need help. Please hurry, I’m in the office building on Baker and Albert Street, office n-number 170.” A reassuring female voice came through the phone.
“Alright, sir, we’re sending people right away. Where is the animal now?”
“It’s about two meters from me, it’s not really moving right now. But I can hear it breathing.”
“Alright, I want you to stay very still. Most animals are attracted to movement. What kind of animal is it?”
“He’s a, it’s a-a dog.” I stammered, “A wolf. But I want you to tell your people not to harm him, do you got that? You can’t hurt him.”
“I’ll inform them,” she said, silence. “Sir?”
“He’s listening, I can tell. He’s coming closer.” It was true, he was coming closer, shreds of his clothes still hanging off of him. His gold eyes were more hungry and merciless with each passing moment. I recognized nothing. It had his teeth bared, long and wet, red with his blood, it’s curled lip was rough with short whiskers, it’s nostrils flared, and it’s eyes bore into me just like Sky’s did when he was human. This hadn’t happened, I told myself, this is impossible. Suddenly it was like I felt his teeth sink into my throat, snapping my spine, me living just long enough to feel my blood pumping uncontrollably from my neck. But that was only an instant and my eyes focused when I saw the wolf’s head whip to the side, ears erect. I saw the dark fur over it’s neck rise.
They were coming. I thought I heard a small whimper in the dark but whatever the sound was it almost indistinguishably changed into a deep growl, he lashed his tail from side to side. He had turned to the window, the moon for an instant shimmering off his fur like silver then he slunk back into the shadows and I could hear them coming too. My door was closed, how would they get in. I tried getting up, his attention was drawn away from me, but gritted my teeth in pain as my knees unfolded. Sky slunk to the side of the door, waiting. When they opened the door he be behind it and could get by and run away. Or he would kill them. But he wouldn’t. Sky wouldn’t kill. Would he? But was this Sky? Or was he a monster with no human conscience, no human remorse? It was quiet now. I heard traffic outside my window. I couldn’t understand what had happened. My whole life was based on analytic facts, finding logical answers in madness. And now maybe I had lost my mind. Poor Sky, I kept thinking over and over, pitiable man, this thought coinciding with a second thought that was poisoned by fear, I wanted the animal dead. The line of light under my door was suddenly blocked by the emergency people’s feet. They wouldn’t see him. The door swung open, light spilled in, blinding me, shedding light on the disorder. They saw me. I don’t know if what I did was smart or not but I raised a shaking finger to point to the shadow behind my door. A low growl seemed to move over the room, it was almost small and suddenly my own impression was that an animal had become trapped in my office, insignificant and nothing but an animal.
“Hey, what’s that,” one man said. I saw a paw step from the shadows and I wanted to close my eyes, not watch.
“Jesus,” the other said. And before I could say anything I saw Sky dart out the door. “After it!” they pursued.
“Don’t hurt him!” I yelled after them, struggling to my feet. I followed. There weren’t many places to go and as I limped along the hard floors, my shoes scuffing loudly, echoing off the close walls I came to the only place Sky could have gone with having to open a door. The lobby. When I got there, breathing with difficulty, Sky was backed against the far wall baring his teeth but not acting. One man had a gun. I panicked.
“NO!” I yelled, “No don’t!” I found strength somehow and ran, my arms waving. Not only did I startle the animal, who jumped in confusion but I also scared the men. One turned around sharply, off balance. I saw Sky move fast, close to the ground, sinking his teeth into the meat of the man’s calf. He screamed, falling hard. I saw Sky violently jerk his neck in one direction, tearing the muscle bloodily from the man’s leg. The man managed to kick Sky hard in the ribs with his good leg. Sky yelped. Jumped. Without pause, it closed it’s mouth around the man’s neck. There was a snap. This had happened in barely an instant. The other man reacted. Sky ran away as a pool of blood spread over the marble floor from around the other man’s body. The other had raised his gun in panic, eyes widened from the bright red blood that was spilling from what was left of his partner’s neck, he fired three shots before he lost sight of Sky. I’m not sure if he had been hit. As I had ceased my charge I only watched stupidly at the beast running madly across the lobby of my office building.
I saw him in the crude office building light as one finally sees the monster that lived in their closet since they were five. I saw the truth that had always been easier for me to disprove. That was Sky. The man I knew well, maybe more than himself. I remember the horrible sounds he had uttered he transformed, while he was twisted painfully against his will into another shape, another body. I saw how much he wanted to rip my throat out, how he would enjoy it but along side that thought, but not so far away that one dominated the other, he was screaming internally, he hated these feelings, he hated that he also loved them. And the fact that he had exercised such control in the moments before the moon pierced into him astonished me.
Where was he going? That corridor only led to the parking lot. The parking lot. I hurried down a different corridor out a different door, making it outside. Moving against my better judgment, arthritis inhibiting my movements, I ran to the door that Sky would come to at the end. I’d tried to help him. I’d get him away from here before they killed him. In one movement I reached for the door, swinging it open hastily. Sky had been right up against the door and in horrible speed that I couldn’t follow he had me pinned. I reacted, swinging my arm to hit him. He caught my arm in his jaws and bit down. Hard. I felt the bones snap. I tried rolling over but before I could even get my good arm under me he had my by the throat. The last thing I saw, as I stared upward, blood rushing out of me, was the full moon against the black sky.
Officer Jim Dannon
I was like nothing I’d seen in all the time I’ve been a cop. No kidding, we were called in for some kinda dangerous animal, they didn’t really tell us any details, we were just supposed to-you know-regain order, the usual. Me and my friend, Rich, we were going to go out for a round of Cokes after we got off, we were both trying to quit drinking. And by some crazy dog, too. What a meaningless way to die, I mean, one minute we were talking like normal, both tired, figuring we’d kick back after this, and then in a second, not saving a life, not defending anything, it was for nothing, Rich is dead. I mean, how am I gonna just go on as a cop without him. I don’t know if I can. And we couldn’t even save the old man, either. He’s dead too. And now here I am, having to pack up two bodies. As far as I’m concerned I’m just gonna call animal control and have the beast killed. Or I’ll do it myself.
I sat back in the front seat of my squad car, rubbing a shaking hand over my dry lips. I stop when I notice I still got blood on my hands. I quickly put my hands on the wheel, then sighed and let them fall slowly to my lap. It was dark outside, except for the moon and the pulsing red and blue lights of my squad car which I hadn’t turned off. I wanted to go home to my wife and daughter but instead felt frozen, my hand wouldn’t put the key in the ignition.
I kept going over what had happened in my head. Got the call. Got there. Office-type building. Opened the door. Lights were off. Old guy was on the floor next to his chair. Didn’t look good. Light from the hall showed the broken lamp. Otherwise no signs of prior struggle. We didn’t see the animal. Only stood there for a second. Saw a bunch a ripped clothes but didn’t know what to think of that. Then the guy pointed behind the door. We turned. It had waited till we had gone into the room far enough. I thought that wasn’t very much like an animal. But then it ran out the door. We pursued. The thing was trapped. As far as I was concerned we had to get it away from other people. Weird thing was it wasn’t really trying to attack no one. Wasn’t rabid. We got it up against the wall. I was trying to fit the tranquilizer darts into the gun. Kept dropping them. It was growling its head off. Biggest teeth I’d ever seen. But there was something weird about it. Wasn’t there? What was it? Something about the way it looked. And it seemed, I don’t know, scared. But its mind seemed to be all over the place. Looked confused. Conflicted or something. Maybe rabid. Ain’t like no animal I ever seen. Eyes kept looking around. Back and forth. Rich had his gun out. His hands were shaking like crazy. Thought he’d drop it. Didn’t. But then it jumped him. I could barely react. It got him down and then . . . then . . . and . . . I fired three shots. Not tranquilizers. Didn’t think they would do any good. Why had we been called in, this wasn’t we were prepared for at all. The thing went tearing down the hallway. Don’t know how it got out the door at the other end. However it did, the old man was found dead on the other side, torn up real bad. Turns out he was a psychologist and was in session with a patient when the call came in. Guy named Sky Renfolds. Whoever he was, he wasn’t found on the scene. Gotta look him up. Ask him questions.
What time was it? Late. Too late? Maybe this Sky Renfolds would be at home. I picked up my radio, patched into headquarters.
“Hey, Shirley?”
“Yeah, Jimmy?”
“Can I get an address? Guy by the name of Sky Renfolds, R-E-N-F-O-L-D-S.
“Hold on a sec,” she answered. I heard her typing. I fidgeted a little, waiting, the radio held close to my mouth, stiffly. “Alright, I got a 1701 Rite Street, you know down by Rex’s Bar, in that new housing development.”
“Yeah, I know, thanks Shirley.”
“No problem, Jimmy”
“Over and out.” I said, fitting the key into the ignition and setting the radio in place. I’d go over there. Could be home, could not. I just wasn’t ready to just go home. I pulled from where I was parked, switching off my lights. I drove slowly, eyes fixed ahead, watching the yellow lines on the road pass under the hood of my car. My head lights bore a path ahead of me in the night as I listened to the dull hum of my car’s engine moving down the quiet street. Wind played over my cheek from my open window as silence prevailed. My foot went on and off the gas pedal, costing down hills. My mind seemed locked in place, not thinking forward or backward but fixed. I was in shock, I knew that. I knew Rich was dead, it just hadn’t hit me.
When I found this guy’s house I parked in front. I sat in the car as I killed the engine and turned my headlights off, watching. No car in front, or in the driveway. Seemed like a big house. This neighborhood was mostly young couples starting a family, extra rooms for children. I opened my door and stepped out. His lawn was covered in a light dusting of snow, crunching under my boots. I walked up the steps, hand sliding over the cool metal of the railing, guys mail was still in the slot. I saw a light on though. I rang the door bell. No answer. Again. Silence. Wind through the trees. I looked up and down the block. Maybe this guy wasn’t involved. Just a name. Why was I here anyway? Was I searching for answers, motives that weren’t there? Maybe. I felt sick that Rich was dead. And there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t just go home to my wife and kid after this, somehow, retreating to my happy life felt like turning my back on Rich. But he was dead, it was my fault. I felt like being alone.
I wanted a drink.
That’s what I needed. I ignored the strengthening want, need, for a drink for the moment and decided I’d just chug about six or seven Cokes when I got home. I went around back, figuring I’d check out what light was on. He could have just left it on by mistake. But it was pretty late, he would be off work, right? At home. But he wasn’t. That doesn’t mean nothing, I told myself. Around the side of the house I looked in a window and saw a solitary lamp lit in what looked to be the guy’s living room. Normal looking. Very clean. Wonder if he’s married.
I sighed. Everyone’s lights were out on this block. It was quiet. I should go home. Late. Barbara’s probably already asleep. She was friends with Rich, too. I’d have to tell her. I moved back to the front, slowly, reaching into my inside pocket I got out one of my cards. Never used the damn things. Nice though. I slipped one into the guy’s mail slot and started back to my car. Now I really wanted a drink. I stepped from the driveway where I was walking, to the grass, cutting across the lawn to my car. As I opened the driver side door its hinges squeaked as usual, loud in the quiet neighborhood. Over this sound which I had come to expect I heard a growl which seemed right in my ear. I jumped, my shoes scraped against the sidewalk as I pivoted to turn in either direction. I didn’t see anything. Could it be that dog? Here? I gulped, listening for something else. But it was gone. I looked around again, everything looked the same. Then, in the shadows where the bushes were being blown steadily by a gathering wind I saw independent movement. I shivered with cold. It was the same dog, like a wolf. In this guy’s yard. In a crowded neighborhood. I suddenly fumbled for my gun, lowering my gaze. I felt the cold, hard weight of my gun in my hand but as I looked up again it was gone. I had lost it again. Damn it. Or had it even been there? I could have imagined it. I put my gun back and got in my car. By Rex’s Bar, Shirley had said. By Rex’s Bar. I could go have a few drinks right now, just to calm down. I rubbed my hand over my lips again, neurotically, and started my car, but headed for home.
I usually enjoyed my sessions with Mr. Renfolds, and considered our relationship not just as doctor and patient, a relationship which I knew distanced the doctor and the patient in a conflict of control and superiority, I also considered him a friend. He worked at a successful software company, often coming to his appointments directly from work in a suit and tie. On the outside Mr. Renfolds was an extremely controlled person. He had remarkable personal hygiene, he kept his shirts ironed and his hair combed with a perfect part. He had had to reconstruct his entire life after his wife died, building a new foundation on routine and schedule. He let his consistency in the choice of tie color or choice of lunch to maintain stability in his life, these consistencies that he had power over served to reassure that he had a certain degree of control over his life. He had become obsessive, hiding what I had suspected to be a fragile stability, and despite his efforts, he couldn’t maintain the cherod; and fell apart. And so here we are now, after another of his miraculous recoveries.
“So,” I said, shifting in my chair and crossing my legs. I tugged my pant leg down casually, “What’s happening?” Sky, who blamed his name after his hippie parents (usually with one of his shy smiles) gave the response which he had given as answer to this specific query at the beginning of every of our sessions, “Not much, normal,”
“Good,” I smiled, checking off this as another time where he hadn’t said anything different. As a psychologist I have learned to read body language quiet well, noting how one keeps their legs, what their hands are doing, if they are tapping there foot or not, incessantly rubbing their ear lobe(as one patient of mine had done constantly), these small actions revealing the primary state of the individual. How accurate it really is I don’t know, but this evening I observed Mr. Renfolds, who had early on asked me to call him this rather than his first name, being slightly embarrassed of being called Sky, which I agreed to though I had often wished for more than a boring name like John, myself.
Mr. Renfolds seemed quite calm, like mine, his legs were crossed, though his pants weren’t as short as mine, seeming to end perfectly around his ankles. His hands were folded neatly, fingers intertwined loosely on his lap. I noted, however that Mr. Renfolds had dark circles under his eyes, almost hidden by the angle in which he held his head, an uncommon thing since I knew he kept a sleep schedule making sure he slept exactly eight hours a night.
“Work well?” I asked.
“Oh, yes. Same old,” he laughed a little, “Which is always good for me, right?”
“I suppose so,” I said.
“So, actually,” he began, uncharacteristically bold, “I do have something, in particular, that I want to talk to you about,”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I wanted to ask you if, um. . . if you believed in the super natural. I know Doctor, I’m usually never the one to be interested in that stuff, but I just wanted to know, you know, if you thought . . . any of it, could be . . . true. Ever.”
“What do you mean super natural?”
“You know, ghosts, monsters. . .” This was very abstract for Mr. Renfolds.
“What brought this up?” I asked.
“It doesn’t really matter,” he said in a sharper voice, an air of sudden panic, that I would have missed if I had not been watching, overcoming his face. And I had no idea why or from where this came. Though, there was no harm in answering the question, his face had become unreadable again, having gathered himself, it was calm once more.
“Well, I suppose I don’t believe in most of it, though I guess a lot of it has a basis in truth. And it has been only over time that the more fantastical stories have been built up around them.”
“Yeah, but could they be true? In the whole history of the world has it always been only stories?”
“Well, I’m not sure. Some may wish for there to be more to the world than nine to five jobs and day to day life. But in this modern world . . . those things are what people care most about. What’s in front of their noses.”
“But just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it isn’t there, right?”
“Mr. Renfolds,” I frowned, “What are you getting at? Is there something you want to talk about?” I saw him bite his lip and shift his eyes around my office, from my multi-colored rug to various paper weights, and then back.
“I wanted to know if you knew anything about werewolves.”
“Werewolves?” he didn’t say anything, “Werewolves don’t exist.” I replied, a bit caught off guard.
“Well, where did the stories come from?” he asked. I didn’t know what to say. We usually only talked about what was going on, and how he was feeling, using ketchup instead of mustard for lunch and what that was like, but this was drastically different.
“Well, perhaps the story of the werewolf is simply the literal translation of the monster that is in every one of us. None of us want to admit to this monster, so the werewolf is the most dramatic compounding of our most animalistic, primal, savage instincts, manifesting itself during the full moon, completely involuntary to the person. According to legend the sufferer is transformed into a ferocious wolf at the rising of the full moon, a total of three days a month, I believe.”
“And do they remember this? Can they remember what they-what they did?”
“Well, I don’t know,” I laughed. “Usually, according to the stories and modern movies, they don’t. They merely awake in strange places, in the woods, far away from home, with no recollection of their previous actions during the night.”
Mr. Renfolds adjusted his collar and leaned forward a bit, “They remember,” quiet Mr. Sky Renfolds said, his blue eyes which were usually kept shyly lowered to the ground, never catching anyone’s gaze, now seemed too large to hide, his pupils small and drowning in the blue of them, an eerie light emanating from somewhere behind his gaze, accenting the dark circles under his eyes and the paleness of his skin. They filled the whole room.
“Why do you say that?” I asked. Tilting my head, I tried to look at him closer. “Mr. Renfolds?”
“Because . . . I-I’m a werewolf.”
I’m trained not to react, to remain calm and unaffected, to resist the all too present urges to call the patient crazy or deranged, there was always a medical way to explain all inflictions. I blinked. I didn’t know where it had come from, where this psychosis had sprung but I knew suddenly, with great discomfort, that Mr. Renfolds was very ill and I’d not seen it.
“Tell me why you think that,” I said. Maybe something he had buried about his wife’s death, something that he had hidden, that had caused him pain and had somehow twisted as time passed. The question swarming through my head now was whether Mr. Renfolds was a danger to himself or a danger to others.
“I was bitten . . . and I. . . “ he seemed unable to finish.
“Bitten?”
“Yeah. I was, it was after my wife, my wife Karen died. I couldn’t take it,” he stopped to wipe his nose, taking a deep breath, “I was upset and-got drunk. I don’t remember everything, but it happened.”
“So,” I continued, wanting him to do most of the talking, “It’s happened a few times already. It’s been over three months since Karen died.”
“Yeah,”
“It must be horrible, every month. Does anyone else know?”
“No. I only told you.” he paused, in thought, then almost to himself he said, “I just-I don’t know what to do.” He remained quiet for a few moments, eyes lowered and dark, head shaking slowly back and forth, “I’m scared. If I could reach up and wrap my fingers around the moon I would hurl it to the ground faster than you could blink an eye.”
“You hate it.”
“Of course I hate it!” he said, his eyes suddenly trying to find mine in search of answers or consolation that I didn’t have. Could he really believe himself to be a creature of the night, a beast of legend, a monster, a werewolf? Maybe I should have gotten him hospitalization right away, maybe I had never handled this case right, I thought, but I continued.
“Do you remember your first time? The first time you changed.”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
He seemed to be gathering himself, straightening his face with apparent effort, tucking a loose piece of light hair behind his ear. “Um,” he started, licking his lips and taking a shaking breathe, “This is gonna sound crazy,” he gulped back some extra saliva, his eyes lowered. He moved a shaking hand over his brow, rubbing his temples unsteadily, closing his eyes, “Couple months ago, it was, I was, working late. Back then I used to stay at the office until the janitors kicked me out. To keep busy, you know. Tim, a co-worker, was working late too; his cubicle is right next to mine. I was tired, having a hard time with a new project, so I called Tim over for some help. And I was explaining it to him, but we really just started to talk about this new game program I was making, and I was talking, I was talking, and my throat tightened. I stopped talking and tried to regain my voice again, y-you know? Tom asked what was wrong, but couldn’t say anything,” his voice began to quicken, “I felt like I was going to faint; Tom tried to help me. I thought I was having a heart attack or a seizure-Tom went for help, ran for help. I kept thinking I hadn’t been feeling sick before, that this, whatever it was, was coming out of no where. I was gagging and then I-I-my teeth,” his hand rose to his mouth, “My teeth were sharp. And my hands on the carpet, ah, I saw claws coming from my fingers, and hair growing on my arms. I was panicking, I don’t know . . . trying to get up, everything was blurry.” He stopped, almost crying, like he was reliving it, “I couldn’t think clearly. I felt trapped. I wanted out of there, I needed out. So I just started running . . . I’m surprised I didn’t get caught.” He suddenly looked up, blinking as if he had forgotten I was there. I didn’t know what to say.
And then just like that he came back to being boring Mr. Renfolds, looking at his watch, “Oh, it’s late. I better go.” He got up.
“Sky,” I managed, he turned.
“Hum?”
“What-“
“I’ll see you next appointment,” he said hurriedly and left in a flurous of his fine cologne. I was shocked; I got up quickly, damning my arthritis and ran to the door which he had just exited. I swung it open and he was gone.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
I took into account the slight hunch of his shoulders and the arm he had across his stomach, his hand gripping his side, the extremely tense posture might as well have been a neon sign. He was not moving, but every muscle in his body seemed to be on edge. I lifted my eyebrows in a worried expression and scribbled a little bit on my clip board. Would we proceed from where we left off? I couldn’t let him just walk away this time.
A soft snow had begun to fall outside my window; Mr. Renfolds was now looking at it. Against the white of my window, his breath melted away the ice crystals softly, his face lit in the pale, reflected light. He appeared exhausted, dark circles hung under his eyes and the white light from the window fell on the deep lines on his young face, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he said in a soft voice as he peered out the frost covered window.
“What is?”
“The snow. The way it falls . . . so white,” he sighed heavily, “peaceful.” He turned, his face falling into shadow.
“Sky, I want you to know that I’m concerned. About our last session.” I told him quietly. His eyes were shifting about the room, to stare at the glass table in the middle of my office, lowered in the dark, or to the bookcase on the far wall. I could now see in the soft light of my office, that Mr. Renfolds’ hair was disarranged and fell haphazardly across a brow that I noticed was covered in a sheen of sweat. His appearance was startling.
“I know, Doctor. I don’t know, w-who to come to, except you. I don’t have anyone else to talk to,” he struggled; something in his voice had changed since last time. His control, I noticed with growing anxiety, the control he had formed as a brick wall two meters thick since I first knew him, was breaking.
“Mr. Renfolds, I want you to relax, alright? There is no reason to be afraid. I want to get you the help you need, there is no reason to be afraid----“
“There is every reason to be afraid!” his voice was broken and rough, his always smooth, quiet words were now faltering from three months worth of accumulated emotions threatening to break from his weakening grip. Or so I thought.
“Can you tell me the truth now?” I asked.
“I am telling the truth!” he screamed at me, hands clenching into fists. He ran his hand over his head, pulling at his hair through his fingers. “You can’t help me. I can’t believe I thought you could. I’m such an idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot, Sky. Your just going through a rough patch right now, your beginning to directly deal with your wife’s death, rather than hiding it-“
“I’m not making this up!” he yelled, I stopped talking, startled. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, “I’m sorry. I’m almost glad Karen isn’t here, I wouldn’t want her to see me like this. I don’t know what to do. I need you to tell me if I’ve gone mad because this . . . if it’s only in my mind than . . . than maybe I haven’t done the things I’ve done.”
“What things, Mr. Renfolds?” I said, making my voice calm.
“I’m, I-I . . . remember that I’m doing these . . . things and I want to stop doing them. But I can’t,” his voice starting to shake. He licked his lips nervously. He was expecting me to help him?
“I know these things seem real now but you need to trust me. I want you to trust me.” I tried. “Sky? Can you hear me?”
“Yeah,” he croaked. Something terrible had gone wrong with this man. And I hadn’t seen it happening. He was terrified of something I couldn’t see, something inside him was ripping him apart. “You’re still worried about being a werewolf, is that right?” He seemed not to be listening, his head down and his shoulders hunched. “Sky?”
“You don’t believe me. You think I’m crazy! Oh, God, I don’t want it to happen again, Doctor. I can’t stop it. I can’t stop it. I can’t.” He was crying now, I didn’t know what to do but I wanted him out of here, treated somehow. I began to reach for my phone, but continued talking.
“I didn’t say that I didn’t believe you,” I said, “I just think you should consider the possibility that this . . . what you’re feeling, isn’t real,”
“Don’t you get it!” he yelled almost getting up, his quick movement startled me, “This isn’t a story or a movie, it’s real. If you don’t believe it, you’ll see, wait till the moon comes up!” he yelled, spitting, “You’ll see!” he fell back to the couch, hugging himself, nice suit ruffled, his fear filled eyes were suddenly looking right at me, rimmed with tears, boring into my unsuspecting brown eyes, then startlingly, I thought I saw his eyes glow with a strange gold light, “Oh, Doctor,” he said in a shaky voice, “I can already feel it happening,”
“Look, Sky,” I gulped, “Sky? Can you hear me?” I was saying in a loud, clear voice, “Sky! Look at me. Come on, look at me,” he was kind of pulling out of it, Thank God, I thought. “Talk to me. Just talk to me now, okay?”
“You don’t believe me,” he said in a calmer voice.
“I believe that you believe and what that means is that I know how much this is hurting you and that I care about you, Sky. I don’t want anything to happen to you. You aren’t a bad person. In fact you’re one of the nicest people I’ve ever known. If only there were more people in the world like you, Sky. When others could have never turned their lives around, you did. And you will this time, too. I won’t let anything bad happen to you. Okay?” I had moved to kneel by him on the couch, with much protest from my knees. I put my wrinkled hand on his young shaking one. After I had finished talking he sniffed. Raising his head he seemed so much younger and vulnerable than the successful businessman he was, in a nice grey suit and tie. At that moment my position felt almost paternal, but I didn’t leave time to fool myself. He looked at me finally and I sighed. In that quiet moment it seemed I had reached him. He didn’t seem to want to move, so I gave him the time he needed, my knees hurting on the carpeted floor of my office. He smiled weakly. I smiled back. Good, I thought. But then, slowly, like it was creeping lightly from behind, the room changed somehow, looking at Sky I saw the muscles in his face had begun to struggle. He took in a sudden sharp breathe.
“Sky? Are you alright?” I asked. He seemed frozen, breath held behind gritted teeth. Letting out the breath, he wrapped an arm around himself.
“Get away from me,” he said.
“Sky?” I asked again. He huddled closer inward I heard him gasp, “Get . . .away, Doctor . . . get away, p-p-please. . .” I reached to touch his shoulder which was quivering uncontrollably. The moment I touched him I knew something was terribly wrong, he was hot to the touch. The sudden hot sting startled me and my eyes widened. Sky’s breath had become labored and painful, he wrenched his gaze upward suddenly, as if looking for a way to escape, continuing to jerk sharply with pain. I fell back off my knees. What I saw sent panic through me, during all my years as a doctor I had never seen anything like what was happening to this poor man, nor would I have ever believed it possible. He was trying to hide his face in his hands as his back bent at an odd angle behind him. Gasping desperately for air, his mouth opened with each heavy breath and in disbelief I saw from where I had fallen that his mouth was full of sharp teeth, tearing through his gums before my eyes as a horrible cry twisted from his throat. His face looked longer and monstrous in the yellow of my office light. His eyes, before a pleasant calm blue, were changing to gold, terrified and desperate. I was trying to get away, trying to get to the phone. But Sky fell to the ground too, not that far from me, twisting in the most horrible way I’ve ever seen. I whipped my head to my window, my eyes frantic.
The moon. It was full. I turned back to Sky and heard his clothes rip. From the neat cuffs of his shirt his hands were gray, changing. I snapped my eyes shut. I didn’t want to see this. I blindly reached for the phone I knew to be there, stopped suddenly as I heard a smashing as the lamp fell to the ground and the room was left to darkness. In the dark I heard him sobbing but soon the vocalizations were incomprehensible. I heard more ripping. I covered my ears. A gasp of pain. A horrible cry that was more of a beast than the miserable cry of a human, ending in a long eerie howl. My hand reached the receiver. I picked it up. Sky was moving. Standing up. A sickening sound of bones cracking, straightening. He was on all fours, close to the ground, I could see the heavy rise and fall of his chest as he breathed heavily. Oh, my God. His breath was different, horrible sounds came from the inhuman throat incapable of much more. I had the phone to my chest, the dial tone ringing dully in my ear. I slowly dialed, they answered right away. What would I say?
“I have an emergency, there’s a-an animal, a wild animal in my office. I need help. Please hurry, I’m in the office building on Baker and Albert Street, office n-number 170.” A reassuring female voice came through the phone.
“Alright, sir, we’re sending people right away. Where is the animal now?”
“It’s about two meters from me, it’s not really moving right now. But I can hear it breathing.”
“Alright, I want you to stay very still. Most animals are attracted to movement. What kind of animal is it?”
“He’s a, it’s a-a dog.” I stammered, “A wolf. But I want you to tell your people not to harm him, do you got that? You can’t hurt him.”
“I’ll inform them,” she said, silence. “Sir?”
“He’s listening, I can tell. He’s coming closer.” It was true, he was coming closer, shreds of his clothes still hanging off of him. His gold eyes were more hungry and merciless with each passing moment. I recognized nothing. It had his teeth bared, long and wet, red with his blood, it’s curled lip was rough with short whiskers, it’s nostrils flared, and it’s eyes bore into me just like Sky’s did when he was human. This hadn’t happened, I told myself, this is impossible. Suddenly it was like I felt his teeth sink into my throat, snapping my spine, me living just long enough to feel my blood pumping uncontrollably from my neck. But that was only an instant and my eyes focused when I saw the wolf’s head whip to the side, ears erect. I saw the dark fur over it’s neck rise.
They were coming. I thought I heard a small whimper in the dark but whatever the sound was it almost indistinguishably changed into a deep growl, he lashed his tail from side to side. He had turned to the window, the moon for an instant shimmering off his fur like silver then he slunk back into the shadows and I could hear them coming too. My door was closed, how would they get in. I tried getting up, his attention was drawn away from me, but gritted my teeth in pain as my knees unfolded. Sky slunk to the side of the door, waiting. When they opened the door he be behind it and could get by and run away. Or he would kill them. But he wouldn’t. Sky wouldn’t kill. Would he? But was this Sky? Or was he a monster with no human conscience, no human remorse? It was quiet now. I heard traffic outside my window. I couldn’t understand what had happened. My whole life was based on analytic facts, finding logical answers in madness. And now maybe I had lost my mind. Poor Sky, I kept thinking over and over, pitiable man, this thought coinciding with a second thought that was poisoned by fear, I wanted the animal dead. The line of light under my door was suddenly blocked by the emergency people’s feet. They wouldn’t see him. The door swung open, light spilled in, blinding me, shedding light on the disorder. They saw me. I don’t know if what I did was smart or not but I raised a shaking finger to point to the shadow behind my door. A low growl seemed to move over the room, it was almost small and suddenly my own impression was that an animal had become trapped in my office, insignificant and nothing but an animal.
“Hey, what’s that,” one man said. I saw a paw step from the shadows and I wanted to close my eyes, not watch.
“Jesus,” the other said. And before I could say anything I saw Sky dart out the door. “After it!” they pursued.
“Don’t hurt him!” I yelled after them, struggling to my feet. I followed. There weren’t many places to go and as I limped along the hard floors, my shoes scuffing loudly, echoing off the close walls I came to the only place Sky could have gone with having to open a door. The lobby. When I got there, breathing with difficulty, Sky was backed against the far wall baring his teeth but not acting. One man had a gun. I panicked.
“NO!” I yelled, “No don’t!” I found strength somehow and ran, my arms waving. Not only did I startle the animal, who jumped in confusion but I also scared the men. One turned around sharply, off balance. I saw Sky move fast, close to the ground, sinking his teeth into the meat of the man’s calf. He screamed, falling hard. I saw Sky violently jerk his neck in one direction, tearing the muscle bloodily from the man’s leg. The man managed to kick Sky hard in the ribs with his good leg. Sky yelped. Jumped. Without pause, it closed it’s mouth around the man’s neck. There was a snap. This had happened in barely an instant. The other man reacted. Sky ran away as a pool of blood spread over the marble floor from around the other man’s body. The other had raised his gun in panic, eyes widened from the bright red blood that was spilling from what was left of his partner’s neck, he fired three shots before he lost sight of Sky. I’m not sure if he had been hit. As I had ceased my charge I only watched stupidly at the beast running madly across the lobby of my office building.
I saw him in the crude office building light as one finally sees the monster that lived in their closet since they were five. I saw the truth that had always been easier for me to disprove. That was Sky. The man I knew well, maybe more than himself. I remember the horrible sounds he had uttered he transformed, while he was twisted painfully against his will into another shape, another body. I saw how much he wanted to rip my throat out, how he would enjoy it but along side that thought, but not so far away that one dominated the other, he was screaming internally, he hated these feelings, he hated that he also loved them. And the fact that he had exercised such control in the moments before the moon pierced into him astonished me.
Where was he going? That corridor only led to the parking lot. The parking lot. I hurried down a different corridor out a different door, making it outside. Moving against my better judgment, arthritis inhibiting my movements, I ran to the door that Sky would come to at the end. I’d tried to help him. I’d get him away from here before they killed him. In one movement I reached for the door, swinging it open hastily. Sky had been right up against the door and in horrible speed that I couldn’t follow he had me pinned. I reacted, swinging my arm to hit him. He caught my arm in his jaws and bit down. Hard. I felt the bones snap. I tried rolling over but before I could even get my good arm under me he had my by the throat. The last thing I saw, as I stared upward, blood rushing out of me, was the full moon against the black sky.
Officer Jim Dannon
I was like nothing I’d seen in all the time I’ve been a cop. No kidding, we were called in for some kinda dangerous animal, they didn’t really tell us any details, we were just supposed to-you know-regain order, the usual. Me and my friend, Rich, we were going to go out for a round of Cokes after we got off, we were both trying to quit drinking. And by some crazy dog, too. What a meaningless way to die, I mean, one minute we were talking like normal, both tired, figuring we’d kick back after this, and then in a second, not saving a life, not defending anything, it was for nothing, Rich is dead. I mean, how am I gonna just go on as a cop without him. I don’t know if I can. And we couldn’t even save the old man, either. He’s dead too. And now here I am, having to pack up two bodies. As far as I’m concerned I’m just gonna call animal control and have the beast killed. Or I’ll do it myself.
I sat back in the front seat of my squad car, rubbing a shaking hand over my dry lips. I stop when I notice I still got blood on my hands. I quickly put my hands on the wheel, then sighed and let them fall slowly to my lap. It was dark outside, except for the moon and the pulsing red and blue lights of my squad car which I hadn’t turned off. I wanted to go home to my wife and daughter but instead felt frozen, my hand wouldn’t put the key in the ignition.
I kept going over what had happened in my head. Got the call. Got there. Office-type building. Opened the door. Lights were off. Old guy was on the floor next to his chair. Didn’t look good. Light from the hall showed the broken lamp. Otherwise no signs of prior struggle. We didn’t see the animal. Only stood there for a second. Saw a bunch a ripped clothes but didn’t know what to think of that. Then the guy pointed behind the door. We turned. It had waited till we had gone into the room far enough. I thought that wasn’t very much like an animal. But then it ran out the door. We pursued. The thing was trapped. As far as I was concerned we had to get it away from other people. Weird thing was it wasn’t really trying to attack no one. Wasn’t rabid. We got it up against the wall. I was trying to fit the tranquilizer darts into the gun. Kept dropping them. It was growling its head off. Biggest teeth I’d ever seen. But there was something weird about it. Wasn’t there? What was it? Something about the way it looked. And it seemed, I don’t know, scared. But its mind seemed to be all over the place. Looked confused. Conflicted or something. Maybe rabid. Ain’t like no animal I ever seen. Eyes kept looking around. Back and forth. Rich had his gun out. His hands were shaking like crazy. Thought he’d drop it. Didn’t. But then it jumped him. I could barely react. It got him down and then . . . then . . . and . . . I fired three shots. Not tranquilizers. Didn’t think they would do any good. Why had we been called in, this wasn’t we were prepared for at all. The thing went tearing down the hallway. Don’t know how it got out the door at the other end. However it did, the old man was found dead on the other side, torn up real bad. Turns out he was a psychologist and was in session with a patient when the call came in. Guy named Sky Renfolds. Whoever he was, he wasn’t found on the scene. Gotta look him up. Ask him questions.
What time was it? Late. Too late? Maybe this Sky Renfolds would be at home. I picked up my radio, patched into headquarters.
“Hey, Shirley?”
“Yeah, Jimmy?”
“Can I get an address? Guy by the name of Sky Renfolds, R-E-N-F-O-L-D-S.
“Hold on a sec,” she answered. I heard her typing. I fidgeted a little, waiting, the radio held close to my mouth, stiffly. “Alright, I got a 1701 Rite Street, you know down by Rex’s Bar, in that new housing development.”
“Yeah, I know, thanks Shirley.”
“No problem, Jimmy”
“Over and out.” I said, fitting the key into the ignition and setting the radio in place. I’d go over there. Could be home, could not. I just wasn’t ready to just go home. I pulled from where I was parked, switching off my lights. I drove slowly, eyes fixed ahead, watching the yellow lines on the road pass under the hood of my car. My head lights bore a path ahead of me in the night as I listened to the dull hum of my car’s engine moving down the quiet street. Wind played over my cheek from my open window as silence prevailed. My foot went on and off the gas pedal, costing down hills. My mind seemed locked in place, not thinking forward or backward but fixed. I was in shock, I knew that. I knew Rich was dead, it just hadn’t hit me.
When I found this guy’s house I parked in front. I sat in the car as I killed the engine and turned my headlights off, watching. No car in front, or in the driveway. Seemed like a big house. This neighborhood was mostly young couples starting a family, extra rooms for children. I opened my door and stepped out. His lawn was covered in a light dusting of snow, crunching under my boots. I walked up the steps, hand sliding over the cool metal of the railing, guys mail was still in the slot. I saw a light on though. I rang the door bell. No answer. Again. Silence. Wind through the trees. I looked up and down the block. Maybe this guy wasn’t involved. Just a name. Why was I here anyway? Was I searching for answers, motives that weren’t there? Maybe. I felt sick that Rich was dead. And there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t just go home to my wife and kid after this, somehow, retreating to my happy life felt like turning my back on Rich. But he was dead, it was my fault. I felt like being alone.
I wanted a drink.
That’s what I needed. I ignored the strengthening want, need, for a drink for the moment and decided I’d just chug about six or seven Cokes when I got home. I went around back, figuring I’d check out what light was on. He could have just left it on by mistake. But it was pretty late, he would be off work, right? At home. But he wasn’t. That doesn’t mean nothing, I told myself. Around the side of the house I looked in a window and saw a solitary lamp lit in what looked to be the guy’s living room. Normal looking. Very clean. Wonder if he’s married.
I sighed. Everyone’s lights were out on this block. It was quiet. I should go home. Late. Barbara’s probably already asleep. She was friends with Rich, too. I’d have to tell her. I moved back to the front, slowly, reaching into my inside pocket I got out one of my cards. Never used the damn things. Nice though. I slipped one into the guy’s mail slot and started back to my car. Now I really wanted a drink. I stepped from the driveway where I was walking, to the grass, cutting across the lawn to my car. As I opened the driver side door its hinges squeaked as usual, loud in the quiet neighborhood. Over this sound which I had come to expect I heard a growl which seemed right in my ear. I jumped, my shoes scraped against the sidewalk as I pivoted to turn in either direction. I didn’t see anything. Could it be that dog? Here? I gulped, listening for something else. But it was gone. I looked around again, everything looked the same. Then, in the shadows where the bushes were being blown steadily by a gathering wind I saw independent movement. I shivered with cold. It was the same dog, like a wolf. In this guy’s yard. In a crowded neighborhood. I suddenly fumbled for my gun, lowering my gaze. I felt the cold, hard weight of my gun in my hand but as I looked up again it was gone. I had lost it again. Damn it. Or had it even been there? I could have imagined it. I put my gun back and got in my car. By Rex’s Bar, Shirley had said. By Rex’s Bar. I could go have a few drinks right now, just to calm down. I rubbed my hand over my lips again, neurotically, and started my car, but headed for home.