Return of the Wolf Man (22 page)

Caroline gave Talbot’s arm a little tug. “Come on, Lawrence,” she said. “Mr. Stevenson needs to become bearable.”

Stevenson made a face. “That was cute. Look, I’m sorry things’ve worked out this way. It’s been a long and frustrating day—”

“For all of us,” Caroline pointed out.

“I know and I’m sorry. Let me have a word with Deputy Clyde and I’ll be right over—I promise.”

Caroline and Talbot walked back to the bench and sat while Deputy Clyde brought Stevenson up-to-date on the day’s activities. Stevenson listened very attentively and then took a moment to read Trooper Willis’s report. When he was finished, he walked over to Talbot and Caroline with long-legged strides. His expression was more relaxed now.

“Well, it sounds like it’s been a helluva day for you both,” he said. “Why don’t we try and start this part of it over again. I’m Tom Stevenson.”

Talbot stood and offered his hand. “Lawrence Talbot,” he said.

The men shook hands and then Stevenson turned to Caroline. She stood and extended her hand.

“Caroline Cooke,” she said.

“Dr. Cooke,” Stevenson said, “my condolences on your loss.”

“Thanks,” she replied.

“And again, I’m sorry about the wait,” Stevenson said. “This was a bench trial that should have been over before lunch. But there was the fire and then the plantiffs wanted to get all kinds of facts and figures on the record in case there are future hearings. That’s why it took so long.”

“Mr. Stevenson,” Talbot said anxiously, “the two of you can chat later. Right now it’s terribly important that you lock me up.”

The lawyer’s brown eyes darkened. “What?”

“I want to be locked in the cell or at the clinic,” Talbot said. “Someplace that’s very secure.”

Stevenson looked at Caroline. “Is something wrong here? Have you been mistreated during your stay here?”

“No, it’s nothing like that,” Caroline said.

“Then what is it?”

“Mr. Stevenson,” Talbot said, “in just a few hours the moon will be full and I’ll experience another of my horrible—”

“Seizures,” Caroline interrupted. “Mr. Stevenson, I’m a medical doctor. Mr. Talbot suffers a physiological condition that appears to be aggravated by the full moon.”

“Not
appears
to be,” Talbot said. “It is.”

“What kind of condition?” Stevenson asked.

Caroline answered before Talbot could say anything else. “To put it simply, Mr. Stevenson, Lawrence is an auto-hypnose. Sometimes his spells can become rather violent. We can discuss the specifics of his malady in private. Right now, proper treatment cannot be administered because we lost his medication in the fire. So I suggest that we bring Mr. Talbot to the LaMirada Clinic for the time being, to keep him from harming himself or anyone else.”

Stevenson looked from Caroline to Talbot. “You’re talking about the psychiatric ward?” Stevenson asked.

“Yes,” Talbot replied.

“You understand,” said Stevenson, “that your expressed need for incarceration will have to be divulged to and logged by Deputy Trooper Clyde. If, Mr. Talbot, you are in any way implicated in the activities the state will claim were committed at the Tombs—”

“The murders
were
committed,” Talbot cried. “Damn it all, don’t you see? I committed them both!”

Deputy Trooper Clyde froze behind his desk. Stevenson stared dumbfounded. Caroline’s shoulders sank along with her spirits.

“Mr. Talbot,” Stevenson said, “please say nothing else at the present time. Do you understand? Mr. Clyde is obliged to report everything he hears.”

“We understand,” Caroline said disgustedly. “Maybe
you
should have thought of that when you got here.”

Stevenson rattled Willis’s report. “Excuse me,” he said irritably, “but this report doesn’t say anything about a murder charge against Mr. Talbot or anyone else! Only two missing persons and some unknown attacker you described to Trooper Willis.”

Deputy Clyde rose behind the desk. “Tom, I think you and I better have a little chat—”

“Can’t that wait?” Caroline asked. “It’s imperative that we get Mr. Talbot to the clinic.”

Clyde shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t let you go now.”

“Why?”

“Because of what Mr. Talbot just said. I’m going to have to take a statement.”

Caroline turned to Stevenson. “Do something. Lawrence is distraught. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. That’s part of autohypnotic mania.”

“I see,” Stevenson said.

Clyde came around the desk. He walked toward them. “Is there some way you can get Mr. Talbot’s records faxed over?” Stevenson asked.

“His records,” Caroline said.

“Yes,” Stevenson said. “His medical history. So we can show that Mr. Talbot’s been under your care for his condition. That he’s not himself because he hasn’t had access to his medication. When we do that we can postpone any further action until he’s been treated.”

“His records are not accessible,” Caroline said hopelessly.

“What do you mean?” Stevenson asked.

“I mean they’re—” she started, then stopped. What was she going to tell him? That they were in London and that the last entry was fifty years ago? “They’re in transit,” she said. “En route from my office to here.”

Deputy Clyde arrived a moment later. “Attorney,” he said, “are you going to let me talk to your client?”

Stevenson regarded Caroline. “Doctor, unless you give me something concrete, I can’t stop Deputy Clyde from taking a statement.”

“You want a statement?” Talbot said angrily. “Here it is. Last night I killed two men at the castle. Now I want to be locked up so I don’t kill anyone else. Are you going to do it or not?”

“You’ll sign a document to that effect?” Clyde asked.

“No, he won’t,” Stevenson said. “But if he’ll feel better being in the cell, I have no objection to you putting him there—for now. Let me talk to Dr. Cooke and then you and I will have a chat.”

“Fair enough.” Clyde looked at Talbot. “You coming?”

Talbot nodded forlornly and Clyde led him away.

The holding cell was tucked in a corner of the station house, near the lavatory and the water cooler. The cell was three yards deep and four yards across. There were brick walls on two sides and steel bars on the other two. Inside was a cot and a porcelain sink. Clyde opened the double lock, placed Talbot inside, then shut and locked the door. Talbot went to the far side of the cell. His back to the others, he wrapped his fingers around the bars and stared out the high window at the deepening blue of the sky.

Caroline felt sick seeing him in there. She looked away from the cell. Talbot seemed to have the weight of the world on his broad shoulders.

“Dr. Cooke,” Stevenson said, “I want to help him. I want to help you both. But there’s something you’re not telling me. What is it?”

“To tell you the truth,” Caroline said, “I’m not sure.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure what to tell you about any of this,” she said.

“I’m confused,” Stevenson said.

“Me too,” she said. She was tired, her mind was tired. It was all too much to process. “The truth, Mr. Stevenson, is that I haven’t been treating Mr. Talbot for anything. Before last night I didn’t even know he existed.”

Stevenson glanced at Clyde. The deputy had returned to his desk to log the time and nature of the incarceration. He didn’t seem to have heard. The attorney took Caroline by the arm and led her toward the back of the station house. Caroline sat down on the old iron radiator, her arms folded across her chest.

“Maybe you’d better start from the beginning,” Stevenson said softly. “Tell me everything.”

Caroline did. As she spoke, she found herself doubting what she’d seen, what she remembered. There had to be another explanation for all of it. To his credit, Stevenson listened as though she was describing nothing more unusual than a mugging or a car accident. While they spoke, Talbot didn’t say anything. He didn’t even move. He simply stood in the cell, holding the bars and looking out the window.

When Caroline had finished telling Stevenson everything that had happened, he stood for a long time just staring at her.

“And you believe all of this is real,” he said at last.

“I didn’t hallucinate any of it, if that’s what you mean. Ask Stephen Banning, if you can find him. He saw the Frankenstein Monster.”

“Unfortunately, Stephen’s not the most reliable witness in the world,” Stevenson said. “He’s got a history of seeing monsters. Mummies when he’s sober, pink elephants when he isn’t.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that he saw the Frankenstein Monster,” Caroline admitted. “Jesus, listen to me.
Monsters.
I can’t rule out the possibility that this whole thing is a sick joke. That someone’s trying to scare me away.”

“I wouldn’t put it past a few of the townspeople to do that,” Stevenson said. “Some of them can be pretty territorial, especially the old-timers. The thing is, creating a scam like you described would require a lot of people to pitch in. Getting inside the castle, sealing someone in the basement, rigging a guy in a monster mask to float to the surface—and then there’s Talbot.” The attorney looked over at the cell. “What would he say if I talked to him?”

“Oh, he believes,” Caroline said. “And—there’s something about him. Something very sincere, something that’s not of this time. He’s the main reason I can’t simply dismiss this whole thing as a fake.”

“What do you think is going to happen when the moon rises?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Caroline said. She looked out at the darkening sky. She didn’t want to believe it was going to happen, that Talbot was going to transform. It wasn’t that she was afraid of facing something new. Whatever happened to him, there had to be a medical explanation for it. A
scientific
explanation. She simply didn’t want the man to have to go through the hell he had described to her.

Suddenly, Talbot turned toward Caroline and called her name. She excused herself and walked toward the cell.

“What is it, Lawrence?” she asked.

“Caroline, I’ve been watching the sky. There isn’t much time. Do you remember what we were talking about earlier? About the silver?”

She nodded.

“I want you to find something. Now.”

“Lawrence—”

“Hear me out,” Talbot said. He ran his hands over the bars. “This cell may not be strong enough to hold me. If I get out, a silver knife or bookend, anything, may save your life.”

“Lawrence, I’ve said this before and I’ll keep saying it. You need to calm down.”

“I am calm,” Talbot replied. He looked toward the window. “But soon it will be out of my control.”

“Lawrence, you can’t think that way,” Caroline said. “One of the first things any doctor learns is that a patient’s positive outlook is the best medicine there is.”

“That may be true for patients who are sick,” Talbot replied. “I’m not. I’m cursed. And tonight you’ll see. Tonight you’ll learn the difference between them. Now please, do as I ask.”

Caroline saw the earnestness in his eyes, heard it in his voice. She turned from the cage and walked slowly toward Deputy Clyde. Stevenson ran after her.

“What is it?” the attorney asked.

“He’s worried about my safety,” Caroline said. “He’s afraid the cell may not hold him.”

“Jesus,” the attorney said.

“He wants me to arm myself with something made of silver,” Caroline said, “and I think I’d better do it to put his mind at—”

Caroline stopped as she felt something: a change in the room.

“Dr. Cooke, what’s wrong?” Stevenson asked.

She looked back at the cell just as the first hint of moon-glow spread up over the dirty window. Her eyes shifted to Talbot. He was still standing with his back to them.

“Lawrence,” Caroline said quietly. “Are you all right?”

He didn’t answer.

“Lawrence?”

Just then he gurgled, dropped to a knee, and screamed.

Only it was not a human scream.

FOURTEEN

T
he LifeSaver helicopter knifed through the dark skies. Onboard were three people who had devoted their lives to saving the sick and the injured: not one of them had ever seen anyone like the patient they were carrying. He was extraordinary not just in terms of his size and weight but also his wounds. Many of the burns and cuts were new, but many of them were extremely old and very poorly healed. The medics couldn’t begin to imagine how he’d acquired them—or how he’d survived.

On the flight deck, sitting beside pilot Lew Kelly, copilot and emergency medical technician Mary Stewart had radioed ahead to LaMirada Memorial Hospital to inform the emergency room staff of their ETA. The medic also told them they’d need a bed with an extension for the nearly eight-foot-tall victim, one who was suffering from extensive third-degree burns, virtually nonexistent vital signs, and the most extreme hypothermia she’d ever seen in a living human.

“I really don’t know how the big guy’s still alive,” the blond-haired Mary added, “but he is. At least, Junior moves a hand now and then. Right, Emma?”

“He surely does,” elderly paramedic Emma Dunn replied into the mouthpiece of her headset. The white-haired woman was sitting on a fold-down seat in the closed-off medical bay behind the flight deck. She looked down at the patient. He was too big for either of the cots and was lying on green blankets that had been spread on the floor between them. “His eyes flutter open a little now and then too,” Emma said. “LaMirada, I’ve got to tell you—this man defies every scrap of medical science I was ever taught. His chest expansion is virtually nil, diastolic and systolic pressure aren’t registering at all, and if he’s got any veins in his big body for an IV, I couldn’t find them. He’s also got flesh as tough as elephant hide. The patient’s temperature is eighty-eight point three. By all rights he should be a corpse. But like Mary says, he surely—wait.” The paramedic leaned close to the body. “Hold on, LaMirada. It looks like he may be trying to speak.”