Coyote Blues

by Karen F. Williams

  Werewolf? Peggy’s thoughts reeled, her mind flashing to the dog she’d seen in Riley’s window. It couldn’t be. No way. And then she remembered the werewolf movies she’d seen in Riley’s cottage, the reference books on mythology and wildlife. The internet hadn’t yet made it into the homes of every American family, especially up here in the country, and she suspected Riley had been conducting her own research via Blockbuster and the college library.

  Peggy took a deep breath, trying to put things in perspective. Maybe Riley’s delusional thinking had to do with being born in the woods to an unknown mother. That would fuck anybody up, wouldn’t it? And this tail thing! God, if it were true, maybe that’s what had her all worked up about thinking she must be part animal. “Is that why you registered for my course in abnormal psychology—to diagnose yourself?”

  Riley nodded. “If I can’t find a way to help myself, there’s not much point in living.”

  “Have you thought of taking your own life?”

  “Yep.” Riley forced a snort of laughter. “Like every single day.”

  “Every day? Have you thought of how you might do it? Do you have a plan?”

  “No…no plans…it’s just that knowing I have to live my whole life alone gets to me.”

  Peggy didn’t know what to say, what to think. None of this was jiving. It didn’t make any sense. Maybe she could put her hypnosis training to work. She’d become certified in hypnotherapy two years ago, just before she’d been granted tenure. She’d successfully used hypnosis on several clients since then, mostly for smoking cessation. But maybe…just maybe…

  Peggy stood and pulled her hood up. Between the heebie-jeebies and the cold air, she was shivering. “Let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  “Back to the house.”

  “You still want me in your house?”

  Peggy made a face and held an arm out. “I’m sorry I lied to you about being afraid. You did scare the shit of me for a minute, but I’m okay now. And I have an idea.” She draped her arm around Riley’s shoulders as they headed back, carefully navigating the uneven terrain. “I want to try something that might be helpful…if you’ll agree to it,” she said.

  “What’s that?”

  “I’d like to hypnotize you.”

  Riley was the one who looked scared now. “That’s not a good idea. I don’t want to lose consciousness. I don’t know what might happen if I—”

  “You won’t lose consciousness. You know how you said you’re not like the werewolves in movies? Well, hypnosis isn’t like it is in the movies either. People under hypnosis are conscious….aware and in full control…they’re just in a super-relaxed state. We put ourselves into hypnotic states all the time. We just don’t realize it.”

  Peggy let go of her as they approached the parking lot and got in the car. “Have you ever been so lost in a daydream that when you come out of it, you realize you were oblivious to what others were saying, what was going on around you? Or have you ever been so totally absorbed in a good book or writing a school paper that you totally lost track of time? That’s a self-induced hypnotic state. People do it while they’re driving, too. Haven’t you ever been listening to music in the car or thinking about something, and the next thing you know you’re almost home and have no memory of having traveled the last few miles?”

  “Yeah, I have,” Riley said with sudden interest.

  “Well, that’s self-induced hypnosis. And that’s exactly how it would be…except that I’d be the one putting you in that relaxed state.”

  Peggy asked a few questions on the way back. Having been adopted, she couldn’t know whether mental illness ran in her family, although the mother who had abandoned her in the woods certainly had issues. She asked about Riley’s own psychiatric history, about any drug use, child abuse. Nothing. Riley insisted that she’d been a happy, well-adjusted kid until the summer before last when the change had first come upon her. She even told Peggy about her first sexual encounter with a girl named Fiona, and how she’d shape-shifted that very same day.

  “I can record or, better yet, videotape our session so that you can watch and listen to what you’ve said when we’re done,” Peggy offered.

  “No! No camera. Nothing that anyone can ever use as proof that—”

  “Okay, okay. No recorder. No camera. Just you and me. I promise.”

  Peggy made hot chocolate when they got back and gave Riley a while to relax and warm up before coaxing her onto the couch in her office toward the back of the house. They began their session, and it wasn’t long before Riley drifted into a hypnotic state.

  “May I speak to the wolf?” Peggy asked when Riley was fully under. She expected a yes or a no, but what she got instead was a growl…a series of startling yips and whines…and then…

  Peggy stared in disbelief as hairs sprouted, quickly covering Riley’s face. And when her nose began to elongate, turning her face into the animal Peggy had seen peeking out at her through the curtains, she quietly stood and backed up a few feet. Fur covered the backs of Riley’s hands, but her fingers remained human, as did the rest of her. Lying there in jeans and a flannel shirt, she looked like a Looney Tunes character, like Wile E. Coyote wearing oversized clothes.

  Peggy turned and tiptoed to the door. She needed Barbara to see this. Felix and Brandi were frantically sniffing along the bottom edge now, and when she opened it, she pushed them back with a foot and whispered a shout to Barbara. “Barb? Barb!”

  “What?” Barbara yelled from somewhere in the house.

  “Shh! Come here. Quick.”

  “All right, all right. What’s going—”

  “Shh!”

  Peggy pulled her in and shut the door before the dogs could squirm through, then squeezed her hand and pointed to the couch.

  “I don’t get it. Is this Thanksgiving or Halloween? What, are you two pranking me?”

  “It’s not a prank. It’s Riley. I swear. She’s under hypnosis,” Peggy whispered. In the time it took for her to call Barbara in the room, Riley had partially transformed. Lying there was what looked like a dog asleep on its back, its paws limp at the wrist. Her chest looked suddenly narrow and deformed, deep and barrel-shaped now, and the buttons of her flannel shirt were bulging, ready to pop. But her pants were baggy. It seemed her legs had shrunk and all but disappeared into her pant legs.

  “You’re fucking joking me, right? Where’d you get the mask?” Barbara asked.

  “It’s not a mask,” Peggy hissed through clenched teeth. She shook Barbara’s arm. “Listen to me. While we were out on the trail, she confided that she’d been born with a tail and worried that she might be a werewolf. So I hypnotized her…and she…she turned…”

  “Into that? No fucking way. It looks like some kind of malformed coyote.”

  “Shh!” Peggy pressed her fingers to Barbara’s lips. “I want you to be quiet and stay right here as my witness.”

  “I’m not staying in here.” Barbara made a move for the door, but Peggy grabbed her arm with two hands and stilled her. “Listen to me. Focus!”

  “What the fuck, Peg?” Barbara said, her face a mixture of horror and disbelief. “What the fuck’s happening?”

  “I need you here while I try to turn her back.” Hopefully she would turn back. Peggy didn’t want to think about what she’d do with Riley if she stayed this way. “Don’t make a sound…don’t move…and please don’t leave me.”

  She nodded, but when Riley growled, Barbara let out a gasp and reached for the doorknob.

  Peggy held up a hand, signaling for Barbara to keep still, and walked back over to Riley, whose arms were twitching and jerking like a dreaming dog’s. There were a few whines and whimpers, but no intelligible words. Peggy saw no point in asking any further questions. As they say, a picture is worth a thousand words. “Okay, Riley…very slowly now…I want you to come out of trance…you’re becoming aware of how relaxed and comfortable you feel…becoming aware of my voice…very slowly now…”

>   Before their eyes her pointy ears shortened, the hair retracting first from her hands, then her face, and then her fantastical snout receded. Peggy glanced back at Barbara, who still had one hand on the doorknob, the other covering her open mouth. Her eyes, which favored the Asian side of the family, were wider than Peggy had ever seen them.

  Peggy spoke in a soft, soothing voice. “Take your time, Riley…no rush…I’m going to start counting back from five now…and when I do, you’re going to come back to the room…fully awake…feeling calm…feeling safe…” The calm-and-safe suggestion was important. What if Riley was a fear-biter? What if she could change at will? The last thing they needed was for her to awake in a panic, decide she’d been wrong to trust Peggy, and proceed to rip them both to shreds.

  The chihuahuas started scratching at the door, and she motioned for Barbara to go out and quiet them. She had promised Riley that it would be just the two them, and she felt bad for letting Barbara see her favorite student in this very private and vulnerable state—this impossible state that gave new meaning to the term teacher’s pet.

  “You’re back in the room, Riley…five…four…three…your eyes are open now…two…one…”

  * * *

  The snap of Riley’s fingers in her face startled Peggy from her reminiscence.

  “Hey! Where’d you go, Peg? You haven’t heard a word I’ve said.”

  Peggy looked at Riley sitting across from her. “Gosh, I’m sorry. I was lost in thought, thinking about our…early days together. Having you back on campus is strange for me, too.”

  “A little self-induced hypnosis, huh?”

  “Apparently.” Peggy laughed and shook her head. “What were you saying?”

  “Lunch. You feel like running across to the Mexican place before I head to the office?”

  “You know what?” Peggy glanced at her watch. “Good idea. I’m starving. I have another class in forty-five minutes. And two long and boring committee meetings after that.”

  “Then let’s go. I don’t have much time either. I have a client at three thirty.”

  “Speaking of clients,” Peggy said as she grabbed her bag from the desk drawer and they headed out.” I know your schedule’s tight, but can you squeeze in a new one?”

  “Possibly. Who is it?”

  “It’s a family. The Barrett family. They moved into the area a few months ago. The guidance counselor at the daughter’s new school called in a report back in June,” Peggy said as they left Lily Hall and walked across campus toward Main Street. “The father’s in an anger-management group through social services. I spoke to the man who runs it, and he described the guy as a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

  Riley pulled at her polo shirt. “Not a wolf in human clothing?”

  “Ha-ha. Very funny.” Traffic was heavy, and they waited on the corner for the light to change. “Anyway, the family has insurance, and the mother wanted a private therapist. Sounds like an NVS case,” Peggy said. That stood for Narcissistic Victim Syndrome. “I did an intake last night. I’ll be seeing Edy, the girl, on Monday. I’d like you to see the mother, Fiona. Have Miriam schedule an appointment when you get to the office.”

  Riley’s mouth dropped open. “Fiona? Wow…I haven’t heard that name in years. It was the name of—”

  “Your first love. I know. She’s all you used to talk about. This is Fiona Barrett.” The light turned, and Peggy had to take Riley by the arm and pull her along to Mama Iguana’s. Peggy opened the door when they reached the place and held it for Riley. “Come on. I’ll fill you in on the case while we eat.”

  Chapter Three

  It was six thirty by the time Riley finished writing process-notes from her afternoon sessions. She yawned, stretched in her chair, and looked at the walls. Last weekend, on a whim, she’d painted her office peacock blue. The color was rich, a bit intense, but it balanced all the dark wood in the room: the vintage-oak filing cabinets, bookcase, and desk, the brown leather couch reserved for clients, and the studded armchair Riley herself occupied during sessions. Best of all, it popped the oil-rubbed bronze finish of the original tin ceiling. She and Peggy would never have known those tin tiles were up there if they hadn’t torn down the drop-ceiling and fluorescent light ballasts when they’d bought the place ten years ago. A small Federal-style building situated in the busy town of Great Barrington, it had been a house in the1800s, a bank for several decades, and after that divided into commercial space that had housed a real-estate agency and law office.

  Riley’s eyes, like her nose and ears, were sensitive, and getting rid of those ballasts was the first thing she insisted on. Fluorescent lighting made everything and everyone look awful. It was harsh on skin tones and gave a room a generally cold, sterile feel. The therapeutic relationship was an intimate one, and she always strived to create an atmosphere that offered the warmth and comfort of a cozy living room.

  Riley locked her files in the cabinet and went around turning off the lights—the banker’s lamp on the desk, the floor lamp that stood over the armchair, and the two new ones on either side of the couch. She’d picked them up at HomeGoods the other day. The yellow bases were speckled with turquoise that pretty much matched the peacock blue. And adding that splash of yellow had inspired Riley to bring in her most cherished possession from home, a tortoise-shell footstool. With its bright-yellow starbursts worked into a geometric design, the stool was a beautiful accent piece. Not that she’d ever put her feet on it. Aside from being a work of art, strictly for display, it was a precious memento of happier times—the best summer ever—before the change had come and her life had gone to shit.

  Riley passed the window on her way out and saw the twinkling garden lights of the Greek restaurant across Route 7. It had been hours since lunch with Peggy, and she was hungry again. A falafel sandwich and a salad sounded good. Maybe she’d pick up dinner to take home, grab a short nap on the couch, watch the news, and then feed her coyotes and take off with them for a few hours. Thank God it was Friday. She could sleep late tomorrow, then catch up on housework before her date with—who was it this month? Tina. Tina something or other.

  Miriam, their office manager, was still up front working on insurance claims. With her bleached-blond hair, assorted tattoos, and pierced nose, she had an air of intimidation, as young people often do. But Miriam was a sweetheart. A petite and perky little thing, she was super organized, a wiz at medical billing and coding, and had a wonderful manner with clients.

  A tiny kitten slept on her lap, and seven more lounged on the shelves of a tall cat cage by the front desk. The summer had seen a population explosion of feral kittens in the area, and Miriam’s father, Paul, the police chief of Monterey, had borrowed some traps from the local humane society. Miriam and her mother, Doris, baited them with cans of tuna and in two nights caught eight kittens.

  It was Peggy who had suggested setting them up in the waiting room during business hours. Why have them home alone? They needed to be handled, socialized—advertised for adoption. Besides, having kittens on display would be good for the depressed adults, anxious children, and angry teenagers who filed in and out of the office all day. Animals relaxed people, Peggy said. They helped strangers start smiling and talking, letting their guard down. And she was right. The waiting room hadn’t been quiet since the kittens’ arrival. Four of them already had homes. The FedEx guy, two clients, and Scott Quigley, their plumber, were all waiting for one, although Miriam wouldn’t let them go until they were eight weeks old.

  Riley looked at the one on Miriam’s lap. Except for its gray ears and a few gray spots, it was white and presently curled into a perfectly round ball, like a moon.

  “It looks like the full moon fell from the sky and landed in your lap,” Riley said.

  “Huh?” Miriam stopped typing and looked down. “Yeah, she does look like a little moon.”

  “We should name that one Luna Maria.”

  Miriam crinkled her nose. “Not a good cat name. I mean, Luna’s nice, but wh
y Maria?”

  “Because those gray patches on her white coat look like the lunar maria.”

  Miriam swiveled her chair and looked at Riley. “What’s the lunar maria?”

  “The dark areas on the face of the moon. Maria is plural for mare, which in Latin means the seas.”

  “Like the Sea of Tranquility?”

  “Exactly. The Sea of Tranquility is a lunar mare. Mare is actually where the word maritime comes from.”

  “Hmm…so the Sea of Tranquility really is a sea? I thought there wasn’t any water on the moon.”

  “There isn’t. But early astronomers thought so. They figured the dark areas must be bodies of water, but they’re actually just low-lying plains. They look dark because they don’t get as much sunlight as the highlands, the lunar terrae, which are the white areas you see.”

  “That’s so cool.” Little Luna Maria began to uncurl herself and stretched her arms to Miriam’s face. “How come your Aunt Riley knows so much about the moon?” she asked the kitten as she lifted and kissed it on the lips.

  “All werewolves know about the moon.”

  “Yeah, right,” Miriam said with a roll of her eyes. She didn’t know about her boss’s affliction. Riley often amused herself by telling people, including her dates, that she was a werewolf. Sometimes the best way to hide the truth was to offer it up, put it right there in someone’s face.

  “Werewolves aren’t the only ones affected,” Riley said. “The moon helps control the oceans and stabilizes the tilt of the earth’s axis. Anyone with a lunar tattoo should know these fun facts.” Riley pointed to the half-moon and star on Miriam’s wrist. It was small, tastefully done, and served to cover the thin scar there. Riley remembered when the cut was fresh.

  * * *

  Police Chief Paul Foster had dragged his daughter in straight from the ER that day, almost four years ago. Miriam didn’t have a history of depression, and the Fosters were reportedly a close and happy family until Paul Junior was killed in Afghanistan. Paul and Doris, drowning in grief, had withdrawn from each other and from their daughter. And as was the case with many teenagers, Miriam had turned to social media and the ill advice of maladjusted teenagers in chat rooms: cutting is a great way to express anger and relieve tension, and when you get to the point of feeling nothing at all, the pain of cutting will remind you that you’re still alive. Except that Miriam cut a little too deep.