What the hell was she doing, undressing? He saw her stomach and breasts. She was naked underneath the jacket. Next, she unzipped her pants, then bent down to untie her boots—his boots—unlacing them halfway and tying the two together. The wind was whipping, and she worked fast, slipping out of her jacket, throwing it around her shoulders, and knotting the arms around her neck before pushing her pants down to her knees. No underwear either.
Easing one sockless foot out of a Timberland, she balanced herself, pulled off a pant leg, slipped her bare foot back into the boot, then did the same with the other leg. When her pants were off, she stuffed them into the arm of the jacket around her neck. She was naked now, except for the boots. But something else was happening. Through a blur of tears and whirling snow he watched in shocked fascination as her face and body began to darken, her skin covering over with—what was it, fur? Was he hallucinating? His head spun. He was dizzy. Whether it was the effects of the alcohol or hypothermia setting in, he didn’t know. Probably both. Noises were coming from her, too—sharp pops, like a bunch of people cracking their knuckles all at once. Her body jerked and twitched. She fell forward with a grunt then, and filling her boots now were the skinny ankles of a coyote, a—had she used the word werewolf? His mind flashed to the animal who had been visiting his house, peeing by his porch, posing for him on the trail camera up here.
He was about ready to faint but fought to stay conscious. Pulling his glove off with his teeth, he slid his free arm under and across his stomach, frozen fingers fighting their way to his pistol. Almost…he almost had it. The middle finger of his left hand caught the opening of his right pocket. He pulled and dug and clawed at it, working his other fingers in until he felt the grip of the gun. Now if he could just pull it out.
Whatever she had become, she wasn’t paying attention to him anymore. She had the shoelaces looped through her lower jaw, a boot dangling from either side of her mouth as she nudged the snow-covered pelts, carefully grasping the long end of the zip tie between her front teeth. She looked at him then, her head held high to keep from tripping over the boots, and started trotting away, dragging the pelts along in the snow.
He had it. Finally, he had the grip of the gun in his hand and pulled it out, feeling for the safety button. If he shot her, she’d fall too far away for him to search her pockets for a phone, but at least she’d die here with him. He twisted his torso, pointing the gun as best he could.
“Hey, Riley!” he yelled, hoping to get her to stand still. He could never hit a moving target from this position. Calling her made her stop. “That’s your name, isn’t? Riley Dawson?” You know how I know, you fucking freak?”
She didn’t turn around, but she hesitated long enough for him to take aim. The joint on his finger was so stiff that bending it to pull the trigger was an effort. At that moment, though, he heard a rumbling growl, a vicious snarl, something bursting through the trees with enormous speed. The lens of the flashlight was covered with snow, but in its faint glow he glimpsed the flash of white teeth, felt the searing pain of his forearm lacerated through his sleeve. The gun went off as the thing slammed into him, the force knocking the weapon from his hand. Heavy paws were on his back then, his torso collapsing under its weight.
A bear? A big coyote? Jim couldn’t tell. He was facedown in the snow. But he heard it panting, felt its hot breath against his frozen ear. He shut his eyes and cringed, waiting to feel its teeth sink into his throat. But suddenly the weight lifted from his back, and as fast as it had attacked, it ran off.
Chapter Twenty
Hearing Jim shout her name startled Riley, but she wasn’t about to engage him. It was the vicious, bone-chilling snarl that made her stop and look back to see the body of a large animal, dark and vague, moving so swiftly through the cloud of snow that it seemed to fly out from between the trees. Not until she heard the crack of a gunshot did she realize Jim had a weapon. The report sent her running, still holding her head high. She hadn’t made it ten yards, though, before she heard the raking of snow and heavy panting of something overtaking her. It rushed by in a blur, brushing her shoulder and snatching the coyote pelts from her mouth as it passed.
Gadget! Good ole Gadget. He’d followed her up here, probably just saved her life, and now offered to lighten her load. Without the pelts she could move faster and focus on keeping the jacket balanced on her shoulders. Riley squinted against the white-out conditions, almost blinded by the snow, but she needed only her memory and nose to find her way home.
Jim’s screams, muted by the howling gale, diminished behind her, and from ahead came the rumble and scraping of snowplows on the road. She suspected Fiona and Edy were home by now, but they wouldn’t hear his cries for help. No one would be out here on a night like this. Emerging from the woods, she picked up speed, trotting across the field until she caught the metallic scent of blood. Gadget had been wounded. Heart pounding, nostrils flaring, Riley followed the smell out to the road, where the plows had just spread salt and sand. She ran as fast as she could, staying well behind the trucks, until she reached her driveway.
The pelts had been dropped right there at the entrance, but Gadget’s pawprints continued down the road. Riley feared he had gone off to hide, as dying animals tend to do. She couldn’t help in her present form, had no way to get him home and stop the bleeding. She needed human arms, opposable thumbs—she needed her car! Frantic, Riley forced the change as she ran up the driveway, flipping and flopping and tripping over the jacket that had swung down and now dragged underneath her belly. Halfway up the incline, naked and human again, she gathered the pelts and boots and jacket, and staggered to her front door. God, it was bitter cold without her fur.
With no time to put on a shirt or underwear, she slipped on dry pants, grabbed a parka and boots from the closet, then snatched her car keys and a flashlight and ran back out.
Riley drove along the shoulder of the road, creeping along with her arm out an open window, the flashlight in her left hand. Snow was already covering the sand and salt on the asphalt. She kept the beam on the trail of pawprints and the spots of blood that had melted holes in the icy mix every ten feet or so. Before she knew it, Peggy’s cottage was coming up on the left, but the coyote tracks veered to the right, straight into the parking lot of the church.
That Gadget would come this far didn’t make sense. She turned in and jumped out. The rectory was lit, and sitting in the window was a burning jack-o’-lantern, but the trail led away to the back door of the church. Pink and muddy smears covered it, as if the animal had stood up against it to push down on the lever handle.
Riley tried the door. It was unlocked. Cautiously she stepped inside, shutting it against the storm, and spotted blood on the inside of the door as well. Whatever had opened it had pushed it shut.
“Hello…? Reverend?” Only the echoes of her own voice coming from the vaulted ceiling answered her. She waited in the eerie silence, her breathing labored as she glanced around at the stained-glass windows, empty pews, her eyes dropping to the bloody puddles of melting snow. Pawprints. She followed them, crossing the nave, continuing down the center aisle toward the chancel and up the steps to the altar. It was dark beyond that, but she could see a crack of yellow light coming from underneath what must have been the vestry door. She heard noises then—something thrashing, a chair falling over. “Hello?” She tried again and chanced opening the door as quietly as she could, but it creaked on the hinges, and when it did, a low growl sounded.
Riley peeked in with one eye, trying to comprehend what she saw. There on the floor—naked, wet, and curled into a fetal position—lay the reverend, his shoulders covered in black fur thinning before her eyes. He flashed white fangs, his face misshapen, slightly elongated, his dark eyes wild and unfocused. Muscled body heaving, he quickly wrapped his arms around his waist, hiding his private parts.
My God…She had never observed a lycanthropic morphing, never had the other perspective to appreciate. The human at one end, the animal
at the other, were beautiful to behold, but the transitional stage between the two? Hideous!
The reverend lifted his head from the floor and worked his jaw as though rediscovering his human mouth. “Brother,” he groaned.
“Brother?” she squeaked.
He nodded, clearly more concerned with gesturing to a small door at the back of the vestry. Lying there nude, the wrist of his outstretched arm hanging limply as he pointed with a finger, he looked like the male figure in Michelangelo’s Creation of Adam. Except for the blood all over his thigh. “In there…a towel…please.”
Shaking, Riley stepped over him and turned the white porcelain knob of an old door that led to a bathroom. She yanked a bath towel from the rack and handed it to him, turning her back while he got up and wrapped it around his waist. “Okay,” he said, righting the bentwood chair he’d knocked over and sitting down.
Brother? Her brother? The reverend? Every now and then she’d entertained fantasies about hiking on trails and meeting the parent who’d passed on their lycanthropic genes. But a sibling? The possibility had never occurred to her, and she was too overwrought to fully comprehend what was happening—what had happened up there in the woods tonight. Part of her was feeling guilt for what she’d done—the killer’s equivalent of buyer’s remorse, she supposed—and creeping up right behind the guilt was the anticipatory anxiety over what would soon unfold.
It wouldn’t be long before someone found Jim Barrett’s body. Fiona would secretly thank her lucky stars, for sure, but who knew how Edy would fare. Victims responded differently. Traumatic bonding was a strange but real phenomenon. No matter how bad the abuse, home was still home, family was still family. Edy might hate her if she ever found out Riley had trapped and left her dad for dead.
She couldn’t think about it right now. A man-wolf in the room claimed to be her brother, and he was injured because he’d taken a bullet intended for her.
“Can I go to the rectory and get you clothes?” she asked.
David nodded, grimacing at the blood seeping through the white towel. “The door’s unlocked. Usually I just turn the knob with my teeth, but it was wet, and I was having trouble getting a grip. Then I saw a car pull in and ran over here instead. The lever handles are easier to open, and the church wasn’t locked.” He gave a wan smile. “You’ll find sweatpants and a hoodie on my bed…I think I left my socks and sneakers in the living room.”
“I’ll be right back,” she said. “We’ll get you dressed and to the hospital.”
“Nooo!” The word came out sounding like a husky howl. “It’s only a matter of time before they find a dead man with a gun. I can’t show up at the hospital with a bullet wound, Riley. Bring back my tackle box. It’s on the back porch. You’re going to have to sew me up with fishing line.”
Fishing line? Riley had no idea how to suture a wound. She’d end up doing more harm than good. Reluctant to argue, she took off through the church, stopping when she saw a bright light pass over the stained-glass windows, followed by a loud scraping noise. Tony, their plow guy, was clearing the church parking lot. Chances were he’d already been to her house and would come again in the morning. Maybe he’d noticed her black Outback parked beside the reverend’s car. It would be a good alibi if she ended up needing one.
Riley waited until she thought he couldn’t see her, then hunched over and darted across to the rectory, toward the carved pumpkin whose smiling face glowed orange in the window, an incongruous image in the All Hallows Eve blizzard.
David’s shoes and socks lay right there, but before going to the bedroom, Riley headed for David’s office. The television was on, the cats asleep on the couch. They stretched and yawned when they saw her. “Hey, guys,” she said, heading straight to the phone. Barbara would know what to do.
Peggy answered on the third ring. “Happy Halloween.”
“Where are you?”
“On our way home. We left the party early. The roads are getting treacherous.”
“Come to the church. as fast as you can. The reverend’s been shot. Not bad. Just grazed, I think, but—”
“Shot?” Peggy gasped. Riley heard her relaying the message to the others in the car, and then Peggy must have put her on speaker, because suddenly Riley heard the commotion—everyone talking at once and Peggy shushing them so she could hear. “Is the ambulance there?”
“He won’t let me call one. But he needs a few stitches.”
“How bad is the bleeding?” Barbara asked.
“I think it’s stopped, but he’s got a gash, about three inches long…with some white stuff coming out.”
“Stuff?” she heard Barbara ask. “You mean like tissue?”
“Yeah. Flesh. He wants me to stitch it with fishing line, but I—I can’t do it.” Riley’s voice cracked. “You have to come.”
“Is he nuts? I wouldn’t know how to suture him either. Get him in the car and drive him to the ER, Riley. We’ll meet you there.”
“He won’t go, Barb. He can’t. And I can’t explain. All I can say is that David is…he’s like me. He says he’s my brother.”
“David’s a werewolf?” Tom shouted, his speech a little slurred, as if he’d had one too many drinks at the party.
During the silence that followed, Riley thought she’d lost the call, but then she could hear the back-and-forth swishing of the windshield wipers. “You still there?”
“We’re here,” Peggy said. After another moment of silence, she heard Barbara asking Peg to check the glove box for keys to the pharmacy.
“Okay.” Barbara spoke up. “We’re passing through Great Barrington now. I’ll make a quick stop for Steri-Strips. I don’t know if they’ll be enough, but it’s the best I can do. Give us a half hour. We can’t drive fast.”
“Don’t. Be careful. We’ll be in the rectory.” Riley hung up and raced to find the bedroom and gathered up clothes.
Considering David was almost sitting on the wound, the applied pressure had stopped the bleeding. Riley didn’t see any more blood on the towel.
“Thanks,” David said, taking the pile of clothes. “Where’s my tackle box?”
“I didn’t bring it. Barbara’s coming to patch you up. She’s with Peg and Tom, on their way back from a Halloween party. They’re stopping at the pharmacy right now.”
David’s eyes shone like those of a cornered wolf looking to make an escape.
“It’s all right. They all know about me.”
“About what happened tonight?”
“No! No one knows anything about that. And it needs to stay that way. I meant that Peggy and Barbara know what I am. What you are…”
“They do?” The idea seemed to daze him.
Riley nodded. “They’ve known for twenty years that I’m a werewolf…werecoyote, as you may have guessed from what you saw of me. According to Tom’s analysis, I’m twenty-three percent coyote, Canis latrans…only seven percent Canis lupus.”
David blinked several times in rapid succession. “Tom? Tom knows, too?”
“He does. And in case you haven’t noticed, he’s crazy about you.”
“Wow….” David’s voice drifted, his body seeming to relax. “I’ve always been attracted to Tom, but…I could never have risked exposure. He was too close for comfort.”
“Well, now you can be comfortable.” She walked out of the vestry, giving him privacy to dress, but looked back before she shut the door. “Listening to Tom go on and on about you is getting kind of pathetic, so when you’re feeling better, at least take the poor guy out for dinner.”
By the time Barbara’s blue Toyota Tacoma pulled into the parking lot, David was settled on the couch in his office. Riley watched from the window as the three of them got out and hurried in against the windswept snow. One by one, she took the parkas they wore over their costumes and hung them on the coat rack. Peggy stood there in a long flannel nightgown, pulling off a gray wig to which she’d sewn on a granny nightcap, then fluffed up her flattened auburn hair with he
r fingers. Tom, who had apparently left his werewolf mask in the car, looked rather silly in his furry one-piece suit. It was brown and fuzzy and so bulky it made his head look shrunken. And Barbara, who came in carrying her Little Red Riding Hood basket stocked with supplies from the pharmacy, quickly shed her cape. “Where is he?” she asked, pushing up the sleeves of her red turtleneck and regarding Riley with the readiness of an emergency medical responder.
“In his office.” Riley led the way. “The lights are brighter in there.”
“I hope you have him lying down, elevating that leg.”
“He’s on the couch.”
David was on his back, both cats purring on his chest. He turned his head as they walked in, looking embarrassed. “The whole gang’s here, huh?”
“Not for long,” Barbara said. “I’m gonna kick them out in a minute, but let’s have a look at that wound first. Can we get your pants off?”
David raised his hips, letting Barbara help pull his sweatpants down, then turned on his side. At least he was wearing boxers now. Blood soiled the leg of one, and she flinched when she rolled it up and saw it. “How the hell did you get shot?”
“We don’t need to know,” Peggy interjected. “Whatever went on tonight, I have the feeling it isn’t over,” she said, narrowing her eyes at Riley. “And I’m a bad liar. It’s best if none of us know anything…in case we have to answer questions.”
Coyote Blues Page 35