by Clea Simon
‘It must have been the shadows, Chris,’ Dulcie called over. Whatever she had seen, she wouldn’t be able to follow up if they locked her in here. ‘Or something.’
‘Wolves?’ The young doctor – he couldn’t be any older than they were – turned, tired eyes blinking. ‘You didn’t say anything about that.’
‘I have realized I must have been mistaken.’ Dulcie tried to sound as clear as she could. Only as the words came out did she realize that they were stilted, as if she was indeed only barely holding madness at bay. ‘I was out there alone, and it was cold. And where were you anyway, Chris?’ She hadn’t meant to turn the conversation toward him. However, it was a useful strategy. ‘I kept looking down the street and you didn’t show.’
‘I was a little delayed.’ He paused, but didn’t explain further. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Because when I first heard a man screaming …’ Dulcie stopped too late. ‘That is, when I thought I heard someone yell.’
‘Maybe we should admit you.’ The doctor had woken up now. ‘Let me get the attending.’
‘Please.’ Dulcie jumped off the examining table. She wasn’t sure what her rights were, but surely they couldn’t – wouldn’t – detain her on the basis of something her boyfriend said. ‘Maybe I misinterpreted something I saw, but really, I’m fine.’
He paused, considering her request. ‘Well.’ He looked at Chris. ‘Will you be with her?’
Chris nodded.
‘I’d like you to come in again tomorrow,’ the young doctor said finally. ‘I would simply have you under observation for tonight anyway. But you –’ he turned back toward Chris – ‘you’ve got to keep checking on her. If she seems to be sleeping too heavily or you have any trouble waking her at any point, call nine one one.’
Dulcie was pulling her boyfriend through the door before he could reconsider. ‘Chris, please,’ she said as soon as she got him outside. ‘We’ve got to go to the police.’
‘Dulcie, what?’ He seemed about to turn back into the brightly lit health center, when she grabbed his hand. ‘I’m worried about you.’
‘And I’m worried about that man I saw.’ She stopped, trying to figure out how best to explain what she saw, and then just launched into it. ‘So, no, I don’t understand it,’ she finally concluded. ‘But I know what I saw and more to the point, I know what I heard.’ She shuddered, remembering that blood-curdling shriek, and looking up at her boyfriend found herself once again contemplating the unthinkable. ‘What gets me is that you didn’t hear anything.’
Chris only shook his head. But since he was no longer protesting, Dulcie took his hand and started walking up Garden Street to where the campus police were based. They were only a few blocks away when he found his voice.
‘Dulce, I don’t think this is the best idea.’
She didn’t stop walking. For one thing, it was too cold.
‘Dulcie, will you think about it for a minute?’
‘Think about what?’ She glanced over. Despite the bright moonlight, he didn’t look lupine. ‘About not reporting a crime?’
‘You don’t know what you saw.’ His legs were so much longer than hers, he didn’t have to strain to keep up, but Dulcie still thought he was a bit too out of breath. ‘Dulcie, please?’
‘Chris.’ She stopped now and turned toward him. ‘Do you have something you want to tell me?’
‘Just that I don’t want you to get hurt.’ He looked so sad suddenly that Dulcie wavered. So what if he was … not what she had first thought him to be. She still loved him.
But that didn’t mean she could stop being a responsible citizen. And so she walked that last block and pushed the door open. He could follow or not; she didn’t turn to see.
‘Hello.’ She walked up to the uniformed officer at the counter. ‘I would like to report a crime.’
Twenty minutes later, she was grateful that Chris had in fact followed her into the building. In between trying to explain what she had seen and heard and why she had run toward what had appeared to be a horrible situation, she’d become dizzy again.
‘She hit her head when she fell.’ Chris must have seen her swaying and helped lower her into a chair. ‘The doctor at the health services wanted her to stay overnight.’
‘Maybe that would have been a good idea,’ the uniformed cop answered drily. ‘Better than rushing into a wild-dog attack.’
‘They weren’t … oh, never mind.’ Dulcie leaned forward, hoping the nausea would pass. When she sat back up, Chris and the cop seemed to have come to an agreement.
‘Thanks.’ She saw Chris mouth the word as the cop picked up the phone.
‘What?’ Dulcie didn’t have the energy for any more words.
‘He’s called a cab for us, Dulcie.’ He helped her to her feet. ‘We’re going home.’
It took the last bit of her strength to get up the stairs, but the greeting she got from Esmé made it worthwhile.
‘Wow,’ said the little cat, rubbing against her ankles. Dulcie couldn’t resist. She scooped Esmé into her arms and buried her face in thick fur. The deep rumble of her purr was more than soothing; it felt like a validation that she had not only been brave, earlier that evening, but right.
‘You understand, don’t you, Esmé?’ Chris had gone to get her a glass of water, leaving her alone with their pet. ‘I know what I saw – and I had to try.’
‘I know, little one.’ The voice that responded was deeper than that purr. Older, too. ‘But we have senses other than sight, and sometimes even the heart may be misled.’
SIX
The Howl pursued her like a beast possessed, breaking into her solitude as a warning of the fiend to come. Like a cry from Hell, that demonic Wail echoed in the night, an aggrieved Bay that drew strength from the Thunder, seeming to grow in volume e’en as it rose, like a soul in agony. E’en as it sounded again and again. The wolves were coming. The damn’d Beasts were at the Gate. She could hear their Cry, the howling. Shaking her …
Even without the nightmare, Dulcie would have slept badly. Chris seemed intent on waking her every few minutes. And although he cited the doctor’s warning – don’t let her slip into a deep sleep – Dulcie thought him a bit overzealous in its practice.
‘Chris, I’m allowed to get some sleep,’ she protested finally, after he once again shook her back to consciousness.
‘You were tossing and turning,’ Chris answered, looking concerned.
‘I was dreaming.’ She buried her face in the pillow. ‘Let me sleep,’ she mumbled.
Whether or not he could make out her words, her intent must have been clear because he lay down next to her and she could hear him sigh. She should apologize, she knew that. He was only doing what he thought was right. If only that last dream hadn’t been quite so vivid. If only she hadn’t woken to the thought that one of the wolves was pawing at her.
‘Is being touched so bad?’ She started at the voice and felt Chris stir beside her.
‘Mr Grey?’ She barely whispered his name. If Chris had already fallen back to sleep, she shouldn’t wake him. Besides, she treasured the idea of having a private conversation with her spectral visitor. ‘That is you, isn’t it?’
The low rumble of a purr greeted her, and she smiled.
‘You welcome some contact.’ The rebuke was clear, despite the voice’s warmth. ‘What difference lies in the touch?’
The image of a paw came into Dulcie’s mind. She could almost feel the cool leather pad against her cheek.
‘That’s different, Mr Grey.’ She didn’t want to argue, but he had to understand. ‘A house cat and a wolf …’ She paused, unsure how to continue.
‘Mrrrup?’ The question was clear.
‘I know, Mr Grey. Even if Chris is a wolf, he’s still Chris.’ She stopped, unsure of how to continue. ‘At least, I think that’s what you’re trying to say. Is that it?’
But before her feline visitor could respond, Chris had turned. Flinging one arm over her, he nestled in beside her. Even through th
e pillow, she could hear his gentle snoring. Or was that a purr?
By the time Esmé joined them, curling up on the bed beside them, Dulcie was sound asleep.
SEVEN
After the previous night’s fiasco, Dulcie didn’t expect anything from the police. In fact, at first she suspected the voice on the phone to be pulling a prank.
‘You’re who?’ She blinked at the receiver, which she’d grabbed on the first ring. Chris was still snoring gently.
‘Officer Tomley. I took your report last night?’ She vaguely recalled a portly young man in a uniform. ‘I have some photos I’d like you to look at.’
‘Today?’ Photos of what, was what she had meant to ask. Surely they wouldn’t expect her to ID a victim. To look at horrible wounds …
‘At your convenience.’ The voice on the other end of the line didn’t sound distressed or hurried. ‘I’m on duty until ten, but if that doesn’t work for you, I’m sure the next desk officer will be able to help.’
His lack of concern as much as anything else woke her fully. Promising to be there within the hour, she slid out from under the covers to start the day.
‘Mrrup?’ Esmé met her in the kitchen.
‘Yes, of course.’ Dulcie had been reaching for her own cereal bowl, but she put it down to get the cat’s dish.
‘Plus ça change … ’
Dulcie was so startled, she nearly dropped the can. ‘Esmé?’
‘Oui?’ The wide green eyes that looked up at her couldn’t be more innocent.
‘Did you just speak French to me?’
In response, the little cat simply rubbed against her shins and purred. And so Dulcie popped the can’s lid, emptied it into the dish, and set it on the floor.
‘What did you mean, anyway?’ she asked. ‘The more things change? I haven’t been doing anything different around here.’
Esmé ignored her, intent on her food.
‘I haven’t.’ Dulcie couldn’t help feeling a little defensive. ‘If anything, it’s Chris who is changing.’
Nothing. But since she no longer had any appetite for her own breakfast, Dulcie donned her coat and headed out into the cold.
She was halfway into the Square when her phone rang. Hoping it was Suze, she reached into her bag. She paused to pull her glove off with her teeth before noting that the caller wasn’t her friend. Instead, it was departmental headquarters, which meant – most probably – Thorpe.
‘Good morning, Mr Thorpe.’ She pulled the glove from her mouth and struggled to keep her voice even. If he was calling to see if she’d signed up for that seminar, she was going to lose it.
‘Ms Schwartz.’ In the pause that followed, Dulcie pulled a strand of wool from her lip. ‘You sound a bit … fuzzy.’
‘Sorry.’ She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘Is that better?’
‘We need to talk about this spring.’ His non-answer was his response. ‘About Commencement.’
‘Commencement?’ Dulcie didn’t mean to sound dim, but it was hard to think about the June ceremony on this frigid winter day.
‘Is there an echo on this line?’
Dulcie couldn’t tell if her adviser was seriously asking or simply being rude, and so she held her tongue.
‘Because, if you expect to be part of the ceremony, we really should begin to talk about your defense.’
At that, Dulcie could no longer be silent. ‘Defense? But Mr Thorpe, this spring is too—’
‘Yes, yes.’ Her adviser sounded as if she had already made her case. ‘We’ve been through this before, Ms Schwartz. It’s only natural to be a bit nervous.’
‘But that’s not …’ She heard herself sputtering. ‘It’s not that I’m not ready. I mean, I’m not, but it’s because the work isn’t ready—’
‘As I’ve said, it’s quite natural—’
‘No!’ She was yelling now. A cyclist looked over, concerned. ‘I’m not done yet! I still have work to do.’
‘Well, then.’ Thorpe didn’t sound fazed by her outburst. ‘You really ought to get cracking then, Ms Schwartz. Have you considered that seminar?’
It was only through an extreme force of will that Dulcie was able to be civil after that. It helped that she was nearing the Square by this point and was able to plead a more pressing engagement. At least, it should have helped.
‘More pressing than your dissertation, Ms Schwartz?’ Thorpe’s voice positively dripped disbelief. ‘I doubt anything in your present day is more pressing than your entire academic future.’
‘I’m due at the campus police headquarters.’ Never before would she have thought she’d be relieved to say such a thing. ‘I’ve been called in as a witness.’
So grateful was Dulcie for the escape that she momentarily forgot her dread about the upcoming meeting. For while she didn’t understand what had happened, she knew what she had seen. Could a pack of feral dogs – she didn’t dare say the word ‘wolves’ aloud, not in the light of day – carry a man off without leaving even a trace? Had that poor man, or some part of him, been found?
EIGHT
It must be the job. Dulcie could conjure no other explanation for why she had been greeted with a smile once she made her way into the police headquarters and asked for Officer Tomley.
‘Right this way.’ Tomley had led her in without any kind of warning or show of concern. Fatigue, she told herself. Or simply the wear and tear of too many violent interactions. The man must have lost any natural sense of shock or horror years before. ‘Please.’ He motioned to a chair in one of the small interview rooms she knew too well. ‘Take a seat.’
Dulcie did and removed her gloves. Her hands had gotten unaccountably cold since she had arrived, but it seemed wrong to keep them on when, undoubtedly, she would have to sign some kind of a statement, perhaps even swear an oath about what had occurred the night before. Tomley didn’t seem to notice how she rubbed her hands together, however, as he pored over a thin folder in his hands.
After about a moment, he seemed to find what he wanted. ‘Ah, this will do,’ he pulled out a photograph and paused.
Dulcie braced herself. This would be when he would warn her. When he would ask if she needed a female officer to stand by. She wondered if she had done the right thing in not waking Chris. If she had to view the bloody remains of a slaughtered stranger, it would help to have someone she loved close by.
Instead, the portly cop simply laid the photo face up before her. ‘Is this who you saw last night?’
She looked down at the photo. It was the man – the long-haired stranger – she had seen on the street last night. But this was not a crime-scene photo. Instead, it was a close-up, dramatically shot, with that thick mane lit so that it glowed. She nodded with relief as she picked it up to examine it more closely.
‘Yes, that’s him.’ Until the words came out, she hadn’t realized she was holding her breath. ‘Thank you,’ she added as she placed the photo gently back on the table. Poor man. He had been rather handsome. Looking up at the round-faced cop before her, she found herself comparing the two and silently rebuked herself. This officer might not be as good-looking as the stranger, but he had been kind. Asking her to identify the victim from a ‘before’ photo had been both considerate and professional, and she kicked herself for thinking that anybody here would have done otherwise. That smile must be how he dealt with the public, his way of making himself – and the crimes he must often have to help people with – seem a little less daunting.
‘Has he …?’ She wasn’t sure how to ask her next question. ‘Has he been found?’
‘He has indeed.’ If anything, Tomley’s smile grew broader. Shock, Dulcie figured. Of course, it was always possible the man was a sadist. She recoiled slightly, pulling her hands from the tabletop back into her lap. ‘And, believe me, we aren’t taking this lightly.’
‘Excuse me?’ Her voice came out as a croak, and she swallowed. ‘He’s – he’s alive?’
The smile disappeared. ‘For now.’<
br />
Dulcie heard herself gasp. Officer Tomley did, too. ‘I’m sorry, Miss,’ he said quickly, as he reached for her. ‘It’s okay.’
Dulcie shook her head, confused. She heard a buzzing and felt a strange chill running up her spine.
‘It was a prank,’ Tomley was saying. ‘It wasn’t real. This … this “victim” you were so worried about? He’s an actor. What you saw was part of some play they’re doing. Only they’re doing parts of it out on the street, trying to get audiences interested.’
The chill was almost physical – a brush, a soft touch – climbing to the base of her neck.
He was shaking his head now, his mouth set in a firm line. ‘The most we can get them for is performing on the street without a license, but someone really ought to consider pressing charges. You’re not the only one who was frightened, Miss. We had several complaints. Some people really thought they saw a man turning into a wolf.’
NINE
‘You saw Heath Barstow?’ Trista’s smile looked positively lupine as she hovered. Dulcie had barely made it to the departmental offices before collapsing, and while Nancy plied her with coffee and donut holes, Trista did the same with questions. ‘Up close?’
‘Close enough.’ Dulcie accepted another donut hole and a napkin from Nancy, and turned to her with a smile. ‘Thanks.’ The sugar was working; she felt a little less light-headed than she had. And angrier. ‘What a jerk.’
‘He’s an artist,’ Trista corrected her, a gleam in her eye. ‘A genius of the stage.’
Dulcie rolled her eyes.
‘Dulcie, are you sure you should be out of bed?’ Lloyd was looking at her funny as he repeated the question Nancy had asked when she’d first shown up.
As she had before, she nodded in reply. ‘I’ll go get checked out later, I promise. It was just a shock, that’s all.’
‘I’d heard that they were staging scenes in the Square, but I couldn’t find out when or where.’ Trista was shaking her head. ‘And it was realistic?’
‘Too much so.’ Dulcie took a sip of her coffee. Nancy had put extra sugar in this, too. ‘Trista, it was scary.’