Bestial (14 page)

From the bible to Jack London, from the Brothers Grimm to Stephen King, from Lon Chaney Jr. to Jack Nicholson, wolves had been depicted in literature and film as bloodthirsty monsters that regularly preyed on humans. Centuries of fear and ignorance had led most people to believe things about wolves that were the exact opposite of the truth. Wolves shunned humans, feared them—someone walking in a forest populated by wolves had a better chance of being struck by lightning or being killed in a collision with a running deer than of being attacked by a wolf. They possessed a sensitivity that was evident in their deep affection for their lifelong mates and for their offspring, and in the fierce loyalty they held for their packs. They were intelligent and sensitive, not the monsters myth and misconception had made them out to be.

And yet, Ella found herself surrounded by exactly that—monsters. But she was determined not to be like them. She knew she could rise above what they had become, and what they wanted her to be. She could do that by tapping into the new side of her, into the true nature of what she had become. Those around her were monsters because they allowed their humanity to rule their lupine nature—humanity was the source of that monstrousness, not their lupine side. If she could do the exact opposite, she was certain she could be different than the others. Better.

Since being raped in her own home in January, her life as she knew it had ended. That same night, her husband Arlin, Sheriff of Pine County, had been killed in the meth lab explosion at the old Laramie house with a group of his deputies while investigating the house for drug activity. Of course, there had been no such investigation, no meth lab. They had been slaughtered, eaten, and their remains burned in the explosion that had been set up by their killers—by the very people with whom Ella now lived. While Arlin was being killed, Ella had been spirited away to the Sheriff’s Department and kept in her husband’s office for the night. She had only a vague, dreamlike memory of that—she’d been in and out of consciousness after being beaten by her rapist. While she was in a daze, Irving Taggart and members of his pack had been busy taking over the department, swiftly dispensing of anyone who did not submit to them and turning those who did. Ella remembered the sounds she’d heard outside Arlin’s office during her periods of foggy consciousness—the gargling screams of the dying, the grunts and gasps and fevered cries of those being infected by force, as she had been, so they would turn. Arlin’s office had always been such a familiar, comfortable, and safe place, but that night it had become part of the landscape of a nightmare. The nightmare had not ended, even after she was brought to this house the next day. She had been there ever since.

She looked different now. Taggart had insisted she change her hair color—if anyone she’d known in her former life saw her, he did not want her to be recognized as the widow of the former sheriff. The strawberry blond hair she’d once had was now a deep, dark brown, but that was not the only change. The lines around her eyes and mouth were gone, as were the faint creases in the skin around her throat. At forty-seven, she’d looked good for her age, but now she appeared even younger, with smoother skin, brighter eyes. It was part of the change, the result of being turned. She felt better, too—stronger, lighter, more energetic.

She needed less sleep, her mind was clearer than ever, and her sight and hearing had become acutely improved. But her emotional health did not match her new physical condition. She thought of Arlin every day, saw him whenever she slept in dreams so vivid and clear that she often awoke with his voice in her ears, his scent in her nostrils. When she woke, she always expected to find him next her. But of course, she did not. She found someone else there, someone for whom she feigned attraction and devotion while loathing him with every fiber of her being. She hated them all, but none with the force and passion with which she hated him. Every smile she showed him hid her desire to end his life. Every touch, every kiss, every carefully modulated sigh was a lie, a performance, a way to buy time while she plotted and planned. The man with whom she slept now, while yearning for Arlin and silently mourning his loss inside, was the very man who had killed her husband: Irving Taggart.

Ella had plans. She was afraid even to
think
about them, but she had plans. Taggart was the alpha male, the head of this particular pack. Ella quickly learned that this gave him a hold on his pack that frightened her. It was a mysterious, invisible hold, a sort of mental connection that bound them to him. She was not sure how deep this mental connection went. Did it mean he could read her thoughts? Did he know of her plans? She was not sure, and that worried her.

A muffled cry came from beyond the closed door that led into the next room. Ella looked up from her book, waited a moment, and when the cry came again, she set the book aside and stood.

Ella had been given the job of caring for Cynthia Newell, the mother of the First Born. Essentially, it was her task to keep the girl quiet until it was time for the inevitable. But Ella had been making the best of her time with Cynthia.

She opened the door and went into the room. The bed was empty, the covers thrown back, and Cynthia was pacing. Wearing a baggy white T-shirt and a pair of blue panties, she was hunched forward slightly, wringing her hands. Ella approached her and gently placed a hand against her back.

“What’s wrong, honey?” Ella whispered.

“Another dream,” Cynthia said tremulously. “I dreamed of my baby.” She stopped pacing and turned to Ella with wide, glimmering eyes. “Why won’t they let me see her? It’s been so long, it’s been—” She frowned as her eyes darted around searchingly. “How long has it been? What day is it?”

“It’s Saturday. You’ve been here for... a few months.” They let the girl go outside only occasionally, but only for short, supervised walks in the large, fenced-off back yard. They kept her drugged and disoriented. They gave her TV and music and movies and books to occupy her, but she could seldom concentrate enough to enjoy them. They fed her well, but she looked too thin in spite of that because she had no appetite. But her comfort was only temporary, until it was time for her to meet her fate—a fate Ella dreaded, and from which she hoped she could save the young woman. It was a fate from which she hoped she could save many.

“Why won’t they let me see my baby?” Cynthia asked.

Because it’s not a baby anymore,
Ella thought. “I’ve told you. They don’t want you to have any influence over her.
They
want to be the only influence over your child.”

“Why? What are they going to do to her?”

Ella put a hand to Cynthia’s pale cheek. “We’ve talked about this.”

Cynthia’s voice took on a whining quality. “But you haven’t
told
me anything.”

“I told you, Cynthia. Your baby is no longer a baby. Not anymore. And she’s not... well, Cynthia, honey, she’s not human. Not really. She’s a monster.”

Cynthia’s face screwed up and tears rolled down her cheeks. “Luh-like m-me?”

“It’s not your fault, honey. This was
done
to you, like it was done to me. It was done to us by these people, these
things
.”

“But why can’t I
see
my baby? What are they
doing
to her? Why won’t you
tell
me?”

“Because, as I said, it’s dangerous for you to know too much.”
 

“I know, I
know
, but I don’t care.” She became more agitated, pounding the air with her fists as she spoke. “
Tell
me. I want you to
tell
me, goddammit! There’s something you’re
keeping
from me and I want you to
stop
it!”

Ella stepped in front of Cynthia, put her hands on the girl’s forearms, and backed her to the bed. She pushed gently until Cynthia sat on the edge of the mattress. Ella paced slowly in front of her, choosing her words.

“Sheriff Taggart has... a plan,” she said. “He wants you to have no influence over your daughter.
He
wants to be the only one with any influence over her. He’s keeping her to himself, allowing only a select few see her and speak with her.”

When Ella said no more for several seconds, Cynthia said, “What is this
plan
?”

Ella stopped walking and faced her. “I’m not sure when, but at some point, he’s going to call a meeting to introduce her to everyone. All of the others. They’ve heard about her, but they haven’t seen her. He wants her debut to be a big deal. And his plan is for you... to be there. To make sure he wipes out any possible connection between you and your daughter... to make sure she has no possible lingering feelings for you... “ She bowed her head a moment, took a deep breath, then looked Cynthia in the eyes and said, “He’s going to feed you to her.”

Cynthia’s eyes widened and softened with pain. Her voice was thick when she said, “She’d... she would... I mean, she would actually... “

”You have to stop thinking of her as your child, Cynthia. She’s a monster. Even if that weren’t his plan... his intention... if she were here right now, she’d probably do that, anyway. On her own.”

As she thought about that, her eyes wandered from Ella and slowly narrowed. Her jaw set and her lips took on a slight, angry sneer.

“Then she really
is
a monster,” she whispered.

Ella hunkered down in front of Cynthia and got serious. “I’ve asked you this before, but I’m going to ask you again. I’m like you—I don’t like what they’ve done to me, to my life. I hate them. I want to hurt them. They’ve ruined your life and taken your baby, and you hate them, too—don’t you?”

The fear and uncertainty in Cynthia’s face faded a little. Her chin jutted and her jaws flexed as she nodded. “Yes. I hate them.”

“I have plans to hurt them. I’m not going to tell you what they are because it’s best if you don’t know too much. So you’ll have to trust me. When the time comes, you’re going to have to help me. You’ll have to do as I say, when I say it.” She lowered her voice to an intense whisper. “
Will you do that
?”

Cynthia’s expression became angrier, more determined. “Yes. Yes, I’ll do that. Whenever you want, whatever you want.”

“Good. Good. Until then, Cynthia, let’s do some more of the exercises we’ve been doing. Why don’t you lie back on the bed.”

Once Cynthia was stretched out, Ella sat on the edge of the bed and gently put a palm flat against Cynthia’s stomach. She began to rub her hand in slow circles.

“Close your eyes,” Ella said, “relax, and listen to me very carefully.” She spoke in a low, soothing tone and kept rubbing Cynthia’s abdomen. “There is something in you, Cynthia, that wasn’t there before. They put it there thinking it would make you like them. But they have abused this thing. Debased it. This thing in you is noble. It is loyal and peaceful and pure. Find it, Cynthia. Find it within yourself, like the last time we did this. Find it and embrace it. Let it fill you. They are wrong, Cynthia. It will not make you like them. It will make you better than they, but only if you let it fill you. Let go of what you always have been and become this instead. Learn to surrender to it.”

She continued to talk to Cynthia in this soft, gentle way as she rubbed the young woman’s abdomen. Ella had done it with Cynthia before, several times. At first, she’d had no idea if it would work and wasn’t even quite sure of what she was doing—she made it up as she went along, acting intuitively, doing and saying what
felt
right. It had worked for her, and she hoped it would work for Cynthia, too. Ella was certain it was the only thing that would save them.

After entering their destination into the on-board navigation system, Gavin took a right out of the Blind Dog Bar & Grill parking lot. He passed the BMW parked at the curb on the left.

“Is he following us?” he said.

Karen looked in the mirror. “He’s started the car. Now he’s pulling out. Yep, looks he’s making a U-turn.” She took a cigarette from her purse and lit it.

“Good.”

The navigation system’s narcotized female voice told him to take the next left. He followed the monotone directions out of town and up a hill.

Karen reached into her purse just as Gavin said, “Can I have a drag off that—”

”Here,” she said, handing him a cigarette and the lighter.

In their Saturday wanderings in Big Rock, Karen and Gavin had chatted with several people—at the flea market, in town, and at a bar called the Domino—and the topic of the animal attacks had come up more than once. Sometimes, they didn’t even have to raise it—some of the residents they spoke with brought it up first. But very little was said. Karen and Gavin tried to drag information about the attacks out of the locals, but they seemed reluctant to discuss them in any detail.

The voice of the navigation system finally directed Gavin into Harmony Estates, an attractive, high-end neighborhood of gated driveways, sprawling yards, and large, attractive houses situated a distance off the road and surrounded by dense trees and foliage.

The voice told him to turn right. Once on Melody Lane, Gavin slowed down. A moment before the voice said, “You have reached your destination,” he pulled over to the curb in front of 13774 Melody, stopped, shifted to Park, and looked in the side view mirror.

They sat there a moment and smoked silently.

Finally, Karen laughed. “What’s he doing?”

In the mirror, Gavin saw the BMW turn slowly onto Melody. “He’s wondering why we’re parked in front of his house.” The BMW came to a stop. “And now, he’s probably feeling rather annoyed.” Suddenly, the silver car shot forward and sped by them, then took the first right turn. As soon as it was out of sight, Gavin put the SUV in gear, made a quick U-turn, and increased his speed as he headed back the way they had come.