Authors: Unknown
Erin Dameron-Hill (9 page)
“Ms. Morgan,” he repeated, “did you find anything?”
“No,” I said quickly.
“Nothing at all?”
“No. The spirits weren’t talking to me that night.”
“You say spirits talk to you?”
“Well, it really depends. I can’t explain it really. Sometimes there are feelings other times it’s like some sort of entity sends me images…I can’t really explain it.”
“So you said.”
“You have to use all five of your senses to use the sixth one. I guess that’s the best explanation I can give it.”
“I see,” he said sending a glance over at Shirley’s notebook, watching her scribble down every word, “Was that the only reason you were brought there?”
“What do you mean?” I asked trying to delay the inevitable
Are you a werewolf
question. I just knew the Hunter was making a list of all of us and checking it twice. There is a lot of money to be had selling the skins of werewolves. You wouldn’t think so either because Siberian Tigers are more endangered than we are. Werewolves are actually quite common. But it’s still murder if someone wants our skins.
“You were just there to divine information?” His poker face was beginning to fail and I could feel the disdain for my occupation on the air. He didn’t believe I was for real, well, neither did I, so technically, could I blame him for not believing in me?
I crossed my arms in front of my chest and stared into those golden brown eyes. They were so vivid and rich with color that I could have gazed at them all day. If he wasn’t a Hunter, I would have.
“Ms. Morgan, I hope you understand the urgency of this situation. Clyde Benson has been murdered and Billy Masterson has gone missing. I really hope I don’t have to keep repeating myself because that’s going to use up time that I don’t have and will most likely, get someone else killed. So, let’s agree to stop wasting each other’s time and just answer my questions.”
I kept my arms firmly crossed. He can make as much sense as the next guy, but one thing’s for sure, the devil can quote scripture, too. Just because his logic was sound doesn’t mean he isn’t dangerous and I couldn‘t trust him.
“Ms. Morgan?”
“Clyde was a friend,” I said through clenched teeth. I was never good at being lectured to especially from an enemy.
“Just a friend?”
“Yeah, just a friend.”
“How did you two meet?”
“What does that have to do with anything?” I asked feeling more and more like a suspect in a homicide investigation instead of the victim with a Hunter sitting right across the table.
“Please answer the question.”
I threw my hands up because it was obvious this guy wasn‘t going anywhere until I answered his stupid questions. And if he started poking around at the werewolf aspect, then I was inclined to change and rip him to shreds before he could kill again, “At a picnic.”
“When?”
“A few months ago.”
“Why were you at the picnic?”
“Because I socialize. I have friends.”
“I find that hard to believe,” he said underneath his breath.
“Excuse me?”
His eyes widened just a little bit more than usual fully breaking that impenetrable blank face that he had been sporting, “You have really good hearing.”
“No, you’re just being loud.”
He grinned then and just like that, his poker face was back in full swing, “How do you know Billy Masterson?”
“He’s a friend.”
“You’re right, you do have friends.”
I smiled mockingly and clenched my arms tighter to my chest.
“Was he a close friend?”
“Yeah, he was.”
“How close?”
“Oh, please. Billy is gay.”
“And Clyde was his partner?”
“Yeah.”
“When was the last time you saw Mr. Masterson?”
“Around three last night.”
“Can you give me a more specific time?”
“Does it look like I wear a watch?” I asked maliciously and as I raised my hands to show my wrists the sleeves of my robe fell down around my elbows revealing the white bandages that were wrapped on my arm.
“What happened?” He said, nodding to the obvious.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? Then why the bandages?”
“Fine, you caught me. It’s embarrassing,” I said trying to reach for the con-man costume that I wore with my clients, “I was cooking, boiling water and I slipped on some spilt water on the floor and somehow my arm landed on the eye of the oven and I burnt myself pretty badly.”
“May I see?”
“Its wrapped up. I’m not supposed to let air reach it.”
“What sort of cream are you using?”
Great. Follow-up questions. Perhaps I should have thought that lie through instead of walking head first into these traps.
“I don’t need any cream.”
“Well, that’s a relief. At least the burns aren’t as bad as you made them out to be.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, I’m just glad you’ll be alright,” his smile seemed to be sincere, but I couldn’t be sure. He really did have a great poker face.
“Thanks.” Although I was sure he wanted my arm to be infested with gangrene so that I would be an easier target.
He smiled with those beautiful and tasty lips and I just wanted to kiss him again. Which, by the way, is really aggravating. He’s a threat to my life and all I can do is think about his touch, his kiss, the sweet caress…there I go again. I feel like a male praying mantis just wanting to get it on knowing the consequence is losing my life.
So, instead, I focus on the other elephant in the room, “Matt tells me you’re a Hunter.”
He cocked his head to the side and seemed to really look at me for the first time. I probably shouldn’t have asked that because I think he can smell fear, and I knew I reeked of it.
“I am,” he replied softly, “is that why you’re not answering my questions?”
“I’m answering them.”
“Not readily. Are you afraid I’ll hunt down your friends?”
“Something like that.”
“I’m not a poacher, if that’s what you’re thinking. But I do hunt rogue wolves and dangerous beings if the occasion calls for it. If they have hurt someone, killed someone, then they need to be kept in check.”
“There are a few wolves around here,” I said softly, “and I don’t want them hurt.”
“They won’t be, so long as they stay in line.”
“Who made you God?”
“Who else is supposed to protect the non-supernatural community? Who else would? Have you ever thought about a rogue wolf attacking an innocent, just leaving them to either die or change without caring about the consequences? Do you know what that’s like to have your life changed abruptly and without your permission?”
I knew what it was like.
“I view myself as a public servant, so should you. By the way, how do you know Clyde and Billy were werewolves?”
“I’m a really good friend.”
“I see. Do you know of any other werewolves in the area? You mentioned there were a few around here.”
“Why would I tell you?”
“So, you don’t believe I’m not a poacher.”
“You’re still a Hunter. You still kill them.”
He sighed and fell back into the couch, allowing his firm body to relax into the folds, “I don’t know how to convince you otherwise, and frankly, it’s not important that I do. But we both want to find Billy and we both want whoever killed Clyde to be brought to justice. On those two points, I think we agree.”
He paused again and I felt those deep, dark eyes roam over my clenched arms, “Okay, you’re right, I am a Hunter. And as such, I am good at finding my target. It’s my job. So the one thing you can be sure of, is that I will find Billy. You can count on it. But what I need from you is honesty. You have lied several times to me so far and that I don’t appreciate. If you’re lying, then you have something to hide and as much as I don’t want to view you as a suspect, that’s what you’re becoming because you keep lying to me. So, let’s try this again, Ms. Morgan, who are the other wolves?”
“I don’t see how that’s relevant,” I said, copying the tone and texture of a CSI program. I was angry and scared mostly because he was right. I was lying, so therefore I could be hindering his investigation but I was terrified that he would hurt everyone else. What if he was the murderer this whole time and I just gave him names of wolves to be taken to the slaughter? I couldn’t have that on my conscious. But if he was truly trying to help, then what choice did I have?
“The killer might be on a rampage and wolves his target. So it is most relevant.”
“You should ask Matt,” I said knowing that I was being absolutely honest in my answer. I’m not the one who should be telling my family’s secrets.
“I did.”
“So, why are you asking me?”
“Because he gave me a list of ‘friends’. That’s it. Just people who knew the victim. He said I should ask them personally if they had wolf-form.”
“Sounds like Matt.”
“So, my question to you is, are you?”
“Am I what?” Oh God, I wanted to delay this as long as possible. I didn’t want a Hunter knowing my secret because he could turn on me. Or worse, he could treat me like I wasn’t human. Technically, I’m not human 36 hours a month and sometimes more, but the point remains valid. Even other members of the supernatural community treat each other as something less than caring, feeling individuals. And the funny thing about that is, it’s
human
nature to make others feel inferior. Everyone does it. That’s why slavery existed in the past. Its why there is a class system in every single economy--the rich look down on the poor and the poor look down on the desperately poor. There will always be divisions because its human nature.
“Are you a werewolf?”
“What do you think?”
He smiled and stood up, flexing a bit of his chest muscles as he silently stretched.
“Well, Ms. Morgan, thank you for your time,” he said.
“That’s it?” I asked secretly wishing he could stay just a little bit longer.
Shirley stood up beside him and I had just remembered she was in the room. She’s a sneaky little thing. She would be a great asset on a hunt because you forget she’s there.
“I’m pretty sure you don’t want me hanging around longer than necessary.”
I chuckled nervously and walked slightly ahead of them, focusing on the heart beat of the Hunter. It thumped with a normal rhythm, occasionally speeding up as I felt him closer behind me. If I hadn’t known better, I would have said he was staring at my butt.
“Thank you again, Ms. Morgan,” he said as I stopped in front of the door, “Here’s my card if you remember anything.”
As I took the white rectangular card from his hand, I managed to just brush along his firm and rough index finger and instantly things grew tight in between my legs. My beast opened its eyes and took a deep inhale. The Hunter still smelled of dead meat and yet he also smelled of sandalwood and night air. And as those other scents wafted gently towards me, I knew I wouldn’t be able to control myself for much longer.
I basically pushed him out the door feeling his ripped back muscles under my small, soft hands tense. I felt an unexplainable pull towards that immaculate body and the sexual frustration howled at me in the form of my beast.
“Goodbye!” I yelled as if my voice was going through male puberty, cracking on every syllable.
My heart was beating uncontrollably and I could feel it pounding against my chest, threatening to rip itself out if I didn’t touch him one more time.
I ran into the kitchen and threw open the white, side-by-side doors and struggled to tear the cellophane from the wrapped up bundles of meat. I stuffed the cold, squirmy bits into my mouth, piling the chunks of flesh effortlessly until I was gasping for air.
Sex is like a hunger, and if it can’t be filled by normal means, then I fill it with other things. After I had downed more than ten pounds of the chilly meat, my beast finally backed off and returned to its home. It was sated for the time being, but I didn’t know if I could control it if I saw the Hunter again.
Chapter Five
I turned the knobs over the bathtub hearing them shriek with a squeakiness I didn’t know new knobs could have. I had just replaced those things and still they squeaked as I turned them on.
I had called all my customers and cancelled the readings for today, because after the events with Ms. Jean, I was too nervous to try again. I had almost shape-shifted three times in the past twelve hours so I was worried that I might lose control in front of my clients. That would be a very bad thing.
The knobs on the bathtub continued to squeak until I turned the knobs to off; the tapping at my window was still going on strong as the black cat continued to push on the branch. If I wasn’t such an animal-lover, I would have taken a shovel and killed it. Wow, that was a morbidly gross sentence. I could never do something like that, not even to my worst enemy, so why was I fantasizing about killing the cat? That just seemed so wrong.
I should fantasize about something else.
My feet sunk into the deep bath feeling the hot sting of water come rushing over them. Slowly, I sat down, twitching as the liquid burned at me. I don’t know why I keep the water so hot that it practically boils me alive, but I know that after a few seconds of uncomfortable stinging, the bath feels so good.
I let out a deep breath into the silent bathroom hearing the air circle around the shower curtain and drapes. My eyes closed slightly, shuttering in the steam.
The water continued to rise, resting in the crook of my neck as my body sunk deeper into the water. My toes poked out of the water sending chilly sensations down my legs only having those goose pimples be burned away by the warm liquid.
I was glad to feel normal hot/cold sensations like everyone else because I was tired of feeling the heat from my beast constantly rising and now, only recently, feeling the cold breath from the Entity that had returned. And trust me, I wasn’t happy about the latter. I didn’t want that spirit to return because it wasn’t a very nice spirit. It was mean and cruel and it didn’t care that someone was dying or being molested, no, it only cared that someone received its’ message. The bastard.
I really didn’t want it back in my life. For the past two years I had grown comfortable, as much as I could living with my beast, but now, my life was taking a curve that I didn’t want to follow.
I hated the spirit. I still hate the spirit. And I don’t relish its’ return.
As much as I feel like a sleaze ball ripping off my clients, it’s still a better feeling than those horrid dreams and visions that the entity sends. I was required to take Valium back in the day because it would knock me out cold, stopping the dreams in their tracks. Of course, the psychologist thought I was a nutcase because I could divine things and that helped to fill the prescription.
But I didn’t have any valium left and I hadn’t seen my doctor since that fateful night. So, I was going to have go this alone. Not something I was looking forward to. I would rather go to a friend’s funeral than be paired with that spirit.
Or would I?
If Billy was dead, I don’t know if I would be able to handle it. Billy meant so much to me, he had always been there for me, ever since we were first paired up as safety-partners. He never once let me change. He always had a way of calming me down, of keeping my beast in check. Not even Matt could do that. Matt just used raw power to force my beast into submission; Billy used love. He loved me. And I love him. I don’t know whether to think of him in the past or present sense and it drives me crazy.
I want him to still be alive, I pray he’s still alive. But Clyde’s body tells me different. This thing doesn’t take prisoners. No, it takes lives.
I brought my hands up to my eyes and felt the soft pulls of my heart strings. A ball of emotion had wadded itself in my throat and the only way to release it was through tears. So I cried. I cried for Clyde, I cried for Billy, and then I cried for my parents.
I couldn’t lose anyone else, I just couldn’t. I don’t know if I could stomach the loss of Billy because he meant,
means
, so much to me.
My chest began to shake as the sobbing became worse. Flashes of Clyde’s torn and shattered body ran through my mind like a disgusting array of apocalyptic horsemen. His blood and tissue were splayed all over that immaculate room and I couldn’t help but remember the fine details of vomit-inducing blood. Billy had been so angry, so hurt, so depressed and I had done nothing. I just let him face that abyss alone thinking I had done the right thing.
Even if he was a manly male with a sensitive ego, I should have comforted him. I should have been there for him. Instead, I left him. I drove away from him, turned my back on him.
My imagination ran wild when I thought of Billy still alive. There had been blood, so he was hurt. He was probably being tortured into turning into a wolf so that the poacher could take his hide and leave that torn, broken body.
My stomach flipped at the thought. What if it really was a poacher doing these things to werewolves? What if he was pulling the beast out and leaving the human body behind as nothing more than a mangled corpse? The poacher would, of course, leave the body behind but take the wolf. He would probably skin it elsewhere, in a factory of some sort, where it wouldn’t be seen.
That makes sense. That makes perfect sense.
I wiped the remnants of tears from my cheeks and jumped out of the tub splashing water across the gray walls and onto the white-tiled floor. My feet slipped a little as I struggled to maintain balance but if I happened to sprain my ankle, who cares? I really needed to call Matt and tell him my theory because it was so plausible. The evidence matched up and there was definitely a Hunter in town.
I don’t know why none of us saw it before.
My hand reached for the silver flip phone and I dialed a 1 plus send to instantly reach Matt. The phone rang several times and finally Matt, huffing and puffing (no pun intended) answered. He was completely out of breath as he managed to exhale a ‘hello’.
“What’s wrong?” I asked hoping that some word of Billy had come through.
“Nothing, nothing,” he stammered.
“Why are you out of breath?”
He was nervous. I could feel it. I could almost smell it. He reeked of salty sweat mingled with dog shit and cigarettes. I don’t know where the dog shit nor the cigarettes came from, but the stench was unmistakable.
“Just out for a jog.”
“Oh,” that would explain the dog shit and cigarettes. I know whenever I jog outside I always step in something foul and I always manage to run through a cloud of smoke.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine, but listen, I just thought of something.”
“What?” he asked.
“Clyde was found strewn, right, just like we get when we shed our human bodies, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I was thinking, what if the killer took the wolf and skinned him, like a poacher.”
“I think I know what you’re getting at, but, Sophie, it’s not…”
“It’s possible,” I said interrupting him, “and I think very likely.”
“Sophie, I’ve already thought of this angle and both myself and Mr. Black have dismissed it.”
Fraternizing with the enemy, was he? Well, that’s just great. Of course the Hunter would say that it was a ridiculous theory because he’s behind it all. Why would he admit to it?
“Sophie, there aren’t any poachers around here.”
“Yeah, but there’s a Hunter.”
His deep, heavy sigh exploded through the receiver sending chills down my spine. It was the sound of disappointment, like a parent giving their child a sigh because the child was found in the cookie jar. But my hands weren’t covered in chocolate chip cookies so he had no right to be disappointed. I was merely stating fact.
“How many times do I have to tell you this, Sophie, he’s here to help us.”
“Matt, he’s a Hunter. There’s no denying it. He is what he is.”
“He
is
a detective. He only has the safety of the public on his mind. Therefore, he’s here to help.”
“But he…”
“Sophie, I’m saying this one more time,” he said, his power now drilling through the receiver in an attempt at pacifying me, “He…” Matt began, slowly enunciating every single word, “is…not…here…to…hurt…us. Are we clear?”
“Well, maybe he’s not, but what if someone else is?”
“I can see why you would think it’s a poacher, but it’s not.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it doesn’t add up. That’s how I know.”
“Can you tell me why it doesn’t add up?” I asked now wanting to shake him so hard that my logic wouldn’t be looked upon like a kindergartener’s play-doh model compared to Rodin’s
The Thinker.
“Look, Sophie, it’s late. We’ve had a long, hard day and I think we both just need some rest. After seeing Clyde, losing Billy, and having to deal with a Hunter, we both need some sleep. I’m going to hang up now and work on that, I suggest you do the same.”
“But…”
“No buts, Sophie, just get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning after our brains have rested up some. Okay?”
I took in a deep inhale and nodded. He was probably right, but my theory just made sense. I really wanted to know why he could dismiss it out of hand so easily. Couldn’t he just tell me why he didn’t believe my theory?
“Can’t you just tell me why you don’t believe my theory?”
“I’m going to bed. I’ll talk to you in the morning. Goodnight, Sophie.”
“Wait,” I said into the phone hearing the dulcet tones tell me he had already hung up.
I snapped the phone back into place feeling more and more useless. Matt was most likely right and I had no clue as to what had hurt Clyde. I guess I was grasping for straws because I wanted answers. I wanted to avenge Clyde, avenge Billy and I couldn’t.
The investigations were for the big dogs, so to speak, and I just wasn’t one of them. I was a puppy compared to their experience and know how. I was especially a puppy compared to the Hunter. He had been dealing with these sorts of affairs for several years, probably, and if he didn’t think it was poachers, then I should agree.
But I didn’t trust him. Even though I wanted to. Hell, I wanted to do more than just trust the Hunter. I wanted to finally see him naked instead of just wonder, I wanted to touch that smooth skin, feel his rough hands scrape over my own silky flesh…
I took another deep inhale. I had run the emotional gambit for the day and I was tired.
And what a day it had been. I saw the slaughtered remains of Clyde, felt the rage at his loss, felt the tear and pull of my heart as Billy went missing, and now, I was feeling the temptation and lust as the dangerous Hunter kept entering my thoughts.
I stood in my bathroom, watching as a vanity light bulb flickered and then died. The dim room suddenly made me very aware that I was still naked and wet and dripping all over the tiled floor. Something just isn’t right when you’re standing alone and wet, it’s almost unwholesome.
Matt was right. I needed some sleep.
