by Nem Rowan
The chains clattered and clinked together. The snap of a padlock. I wanted so desperately to get up and turn around. The human was coming back. Footsteps approaching cautiously. It was still afraid. It knew I wanted to destroy it. Its words were a jumbled noise as it crouched at my side and spoke to me. I made a low, rumbling snarl as it reached out to touch my back. Its monkey fingertips raking through my mane of silver fur. Its hands lifting my head slightly so that it could shove a chain beneath it. The icy metal slithered round my throat, secured by a padlock. Another round my wrist. The human returned, tentatively dropping to sit close. Its hands reaching to stroke my head. So close, close enough to taste it. But there was no strength in my jaws. It carefully placed a tea towel over my eyes, forcing me to close them, but instead I sniffed deep, my nose picking up on its position. My head was lifted, placed down on its lap. Its hand stroking me, caressing my head, tickling behind my ears. I growled again, a slow cry of anguish and frustration.
I want to kill you. I want to kill you.
Part Two
Eight
I could hear Nina Simone's sultry voice singing somewhere nearby, her whispering tones rousing me from the dead sleep that enveloped me. Hunger twisted in my belly like a knife. I could feel the presence of the full moon was still there, only the daylight had suppressed it, hidden it behind a veil of sunshine. My eyes were dried shut; I dragged my heavy arm up, rubbing at my eyelashes with my knuckles and finally squinting into the day. I was in the attic again; Ceri must have carried me up here and put me on the bed. Shivering, I pulled the duvet up to my chin and listened intently for movement in the building.
Mecky might have been awake because I could tell someone was in the kitchen, and the radio was on down there, I could hear it playing 'Plain Gold Ring'. Hearing that song again brought back bittersweet memories; it was one I had sung on stage myself, many moons ago. For a while, I lay there unmoving as I listened to it, but eventually it ended, and adverts came on, disturbing my peaceful mood. The hunger was intolerable, and I knew if I stayed where I was, it would only get worse. Whimpering, I crawled to the edge of the bed and pushed back the covers, the cool air causing goosebumps all over my naked body as I searched for some clothes to wear. Ceri had left the ones I had worn yesterday in a folded pile beside the bed. I pulled on the t-shirt and underwear and stretched, feeling an assortment of bones clicking in my back with a sigh of relief.
To my surprise, it wasn't Mecky in the kitchen. Ceri was leaning against the open window in a vest and the washed-out jeans he had worn last night, his hair tied back in a small stump. He didn't hear me come in, my bare footfalls like those of a cat as I peered in through the doorway. He was smoking a strong cigarette and there was a plate of half-eaten toast on the table.
"Ceri?" I spoke, and he startled, leaping round with a gasp.
"Shit! Oh, it's you Leon. I didn't hear you by there." He smiled sheepishly as he relaxed once more. He took a drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke through his nostrils. "How are you feeling today?"
"Hungry. Listen, I'm sorry about what happened last night. I know I threw up, I couldn't help it. I didn't hurt you, did I?" I inquired anxiously, terrified that he would say yes, pulling up his trouser leg to reveal a bandaged bite wound.
"No, it's fine. It was an accident." He shook his head slowly. "I managed to get you to swallow some of the remedy before it was too late. Could have turned out much worse."
Seeing him standing there looking so tired and bedraggled suddenly made me realise how close I had come to hurting him, and all because I couldn't control my gag reflex. He could have been bitten and become one of us, or worse still, I could have attacked him and killed him. I could have woken this morning to find Ceri in pieces all over the basement. But here he was, in one piece. I hadn't felt relief like it before, and perhaps it was the time of the month that was making me emotional, but I just wanted to hug him so tightly.
"Come here, you old bastard," I requested, putting on a show of being tough as I stepped closer and grabbed him in a one-armed hug. Fortunately, my chin was on his shoulder and he couldn't see the tears in my eyes.
"Oh—what's this for?" he asked, seeming doubly surprised this time.
I breathed in his warm, musky scent, the smell of tobacco and deodorant and dusty paper. I was playing a dangerous game, letting myself get attached to him, but when I had gone so long without anyone I could call friend, he was making it too easy for me to do so.
"I really thought I had hurt you. That's all," I replied through clenched teeth.
Cautiously, he put his arms round me in return and we shared an awkward, tentative hug for a moment, neither of us moving or speaking until I was sure I had my emotions in check. I could hear his heart beating; last night, that heart had been a vivid beacon that my beastly ears had been attracted to, a thumping organ that my mouth wanted to bite into. This morning, it was a ticking clock that only served to show me how fragile he was and how limited his strengths were. Under the weight of my wolf body, he had been no stronger than a child. But here and now, I felt like I was the weaker of the two.
Abruptly, I moved away and turned towards the kitchen counter, reaching for the kettle so that I could boil some water. I hated the sensation of tears in my eyes, the lump in my throat. I had killed so many people; I didn't want to kill Ceri, too.
"Are you okay?" he asked gently.
Before I had a chance to respond, the news came onto the radio.
"The body of Bristol-born Kathy Dodd was found early this morning by a fellow dog walker at the edge of the woods. A statement from the police reports the woman was fatally wounded but they are reluctant to release the full details as of yet. This is the first serious crime to take place at the Blaise estate since..."
"Did you hear that?" Ceri glanced at me, and I nodded.
"She might have just been killed by another person, not necessarily a werewolf, though," I reasoned, but I could already see that his brain had gone into overdrive. "It might have just been a coincidence that it was a full moon."
"Maybe," he agreed, leaning against the window sill and sucking on his cigarette. It had almost burned right down to the filter.
"Are you going to finish your toast?" I pointed to the table, and he chuckled.
"No, don't feel all that hungry to be honest. Barely slept a wink," he grumbled as he wiped at his forehead. "Why, you don't want it, do you?"
"I've eaten cold kebab meat out of alley bins; a bit of toast you took a bite out of is a luxury by comparison," I reminded him, moving the plate to the counter where the kettle was heating so that I could take care of his unwanted breakfast.
"Well, I guess Mecky will appreciate us not wasting food," he agreed as he smiled at me timidly.
The toast crunched when I bit into it; it was crispy and golden, just how I liked it. While I chewed a mouthful, I looked at Ceri's bare arms, at the thick veins that ran through them like rubber pipes under his skin, the dark hair on them and the many scars. Zigzagging lines, white and pink slashes here and there. He had a lot of scars, I realised.
"Why are you covered in scars like that?" I questioned off-handedly.
"I got hurt lots of times." He shrugged, but I could tell he was being evasive. When I just stared at him, he smiled and hesitantly continued. "Well, a few of them came from shearing sheep. Others, I got from fishing and doing taxidermy."
"What about that one on your mouth?" I pointed out.
"Oh, that? I fell when I was climbing over a barbed wire fence as a kid." He grinned, the stretch in his smile causing the scar in his lip to become more pronounced as it pulled taut.
"And your eye? Was that barbed wire, too?" I assumed, biting off a mouthful of crust.
"Oh, no. That was a—a knife." He became awkward all of a sudden, lifting his cigarette and taking one last puff before tossing it out the window.
We were distracted by the sound of Mecky's voice calling down the hallway, her bedroom door slamming and her footsteps hurry
ing along the hallway. She peered round the corner of the doorway at us, flapping her dressing gown closed and clutching it together at her bosom.
"You hear on radio now?" she exclaimed, her eyes wide open. She looked about as tired and worn out as we were, and her blonde hair was sticking up all over the place.
"The murder? Sure, just now." Ceri nodded.
"What channel you listen? I am on local radio, I am hearing animal attack." She came into the room and eyed us both imploringly. "You hear this?"
"No, they didn't say animal attack on the news a minute ago," I replied as I poured hot water into my mug, the round teabag bobbing on the surface. "Why, what did they say on the local channel?"
"Animal—uh, attack, killing lady on the wood and police search for dog, big dog," she stuttered as she struggled to get the words out as fast as possible. "You are going to look?"
Ceri looked at her, then at me, then back at her. "What, now?"
Mecky nodded quickly, flinching slightly when I appeared beside her suddenly and pushed a steaming mug of tea into her hands.
"Oh, thank you Leon. Yes, you are going now, to look?" she repeated, causing Ceri to let out a grumpy sigh.
"Well, I guess we had better. Are you opening the shop today?" he questioned, and she nodded again before sipping her tea. "All right. I want Leon to come with me, though. Is that all right by you?"
"It is all right, I am happy in shop," she agreed, letting out a sleepy yawn.
"Okay then. Looks like we've got some detective work to do." Ceri glanced at me with a wary smile, and I responded with a crunch as I bit into the second piece of toast.
Nine
News crews were clustered around the entrance to the enormous field, where in the distance, a white tent had been set up at the treeline of the woods and police cars blocked off most of the view of the crime scene. We pulled up in the car at the roadside and Ceri got out to go take a look, only to be prevented from getting any nearer by a policeman, who turned him round and sent him straight back. The traffic moving along the road was thick and a small truck beeped its horn at us as it squeezed between the car and an oncoming bus. Ceri rested his elbow on the roof as I wound down the window, his hair falling either side of his stubbled face when he bent to speak to me.
"I don't think we're going to be able to get in by yere. Let's find a more inconspicuous entrance," he whispered, glancing this way and that in case anyone was listening. "Do you know the area?"
"Get in the car." I gestured as I blew a plume of cigarette smoke out at him and began winding the window up again. The suspension creaked as he climbed into the driver's seat and abruptly pulled us away from the kerb to mingle with the traffic.
"There's a back way into the woods. It involves climbing over a fence." I was unable to prevent a slight smirk as I looked across at him.
"You've been yere before?" he assumed.
"A few times. I used to have a boyfriend from this area, and we used to go and do the dirty in the woods at night. His mum caught us once and she chased me with a Rottweiler." I sighed, remembering all the fun times I had had here.
"You make it sound like she was wielding the Rottweiler like a sword or something," Ceri remarked, and I burst into laugher.
I directed Ceri away from the main road, taking a more indirect route through suburban streets fringed with houses, where, just as I remembered it, there was indeed access to the woods, but that fence had been replaced by a gated public footpath. There was no one around. Perhaps the police didn't know this gate existed, or perhaps because the news crews didn't know about it, they didn't think anyone would try to enter through here. From the moment we had pulled up earlier, I had been able to smell blood on the wind, and although we were more than a block away from the murder site, the stink of rotting iron was strong in the air. My belly groaned with hunger, but I knew it wasn't a human kind of hunger that would be satisfied by a burger and chips.
I waited as Ceri locked up the car, and making sure no one was watching, we quietly made our way along the dirt track. The heavy steel gate hissed on its oiled hinges as we passed through, the path on the other side canopied by the twisted limbs of leafless trees. Robins and blackbirds chitted and cried and branches swished in the gentle breezes. I shivered as we walked, chucking down my cigarette butt and squashing it underfoot into the icy ground. The woods stretched over 650 acres of land; if someone wanted to hide here, it wouldn't be difficult if they stayed away from the concrete walkways.
"Can you smell anything?" Ceri asked as the path sloped down into the forest.
"There's a lot of blood in the air. But I'm not picking up anything else at the moment." I puffed through my nostrils, hoping to pick out something of interest. There was the usual fox musk, human scents left on fly-tipped appliances and the pungent herbal aromas coming from the sparse, half-frozen plants that still grew around the tree trunks.
The hill became steeper and steeper to the point where we had to hold onto the branches of level trees and the roots jutting from the earth in order to keep ourselves from falling or skidding down the slope. The ground was muddy in places, and Ceri slipped and landed on his backside. I had to keep my laughter hushed, just in case there was anyone nearby, and it caused tears to swell in the corners of my eyes when I saw the wet brown stain on the back of his trousers. He didn't seem to think it was very funny and sulked for awhile as we walked through the silent woods. When we reached the bottom where there ran a narrow stream, the winds didn't sweep through as thoroughly in the dip, and for the first time the air seemed clear of the iron stink. I breathed deeply through my nose, turning this way and that. There was the very faint residue of someone else having been here.
"Stop. I can smell something," I whispered to Ceri as I grabbed onto his arm. He paused beside me, his pale eyes peering down at me.
"Is it a werewolf scent?" he inquired curiously.
"I don't know. But I think there's a trail. It's not a fox or a dog." I gestured along the trench where the stream was flowing. "It could be human, I'm not sure."
"You're not sure? We can't go following any old trail; it could turn out to just be the trail of a dog walker or some kids coming out here to play..."
"Follow me," I dismissed him as I lurched forward, the mud sucking at the soles of my trainers.
The scent trail took us deeper into the woods at first, and soon I realised it was leading us back out again. By then, I had figured out that whoever the scent belonged to, they were definitely female, which meant it wasn't Wallace Reed we were following. After twenty minutes of walking, I stopped again. We were close to the edge of the woods now, on the opposite side of the forest to where the murder had occurred. Ceri was grumpy because he wanted to light a cigarette, but the tobacco would interfere with my sense of smell, and he seemed even more frustrated now that I had halted.
"What is it now?" he questioned, his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket.
"We're following a woman, just so you know. It ain't Wallace Reed, but whoever it is, they were involved with the murder. That I can tell," I told him as I reached out to lift a fungus-encrusted branch close by. The surface was spattered with dried blood, or perhaps it was frozen, it was hard to tell. Ceri bent at the waist and eyed it closely.
"Hmm. All right, so where does this scent trail lead to, then?" he looked up at me with raised brows.
"Out of the woods. There's a church near here that has rear access to the forest. It's heading in that direction." I pointed through the trees before examining the faint blood stain on my fingertips from touching the twig.
"Take me there," he declared as he reached into his inner coat pocket and took out his tin. Instead of taking out a smoke, he thumbed himself a wad of chewing tobacco and started chomping on that instead. I rolled my eyes and began walking again, half-wondering if I could get away with another cigarette myself.
I figured that it must have been frozen here over night since there were no footprints, but as we made our way along
the trench and came out the other side onto flatter ground, I discovered a line of large pawprints tracked through the ice-topped mushy soil, and we followed it through the trees to a patch of bare bushes where it seemed the owner of the prints had suddenly collapsed. A few clumps of black fur were snagged on the sharp twigs. Ceri pushed aside the branches and we struggled through the undergrowth, stumbling onto a different set of tracks on the other side that continued in the same direction. The werewolf had crashed here and returned to its human form. I had no knowledge of hunting or tracking, but from the staleness of the scent here, I got the feeling that the person had lain here for some time and moved off when they woke to the dawn. The human prints were much smaller than ours, and I began to wonder—dread was probably a better word to describe the feeling—that the stranger might have been a child.
The footprints meandered; she stumbled a few times, perhaps from exhaustion, until finally, the visible trail disappeared onto the asphalt. Clumps of frozen hail crunched under our shoes as we walked along the passageway that led round the backside of the church, the air outside of the forest becoming harsher, causing our breath to turn to steam. I wasn't sure where to go from here. We entered the graveyard, surrounded by the silent shapes of various headstones, some with bouquets of flowers resting by them, the vicinity quiet except for birdsong and the nearby sound of cars passing.
I stopped, but Ceri wandered by me, hands in his pockets as he observed the writing on a few of the closest headstones, turning only to spit on the pathway. I knew that he was tired today and hadn't had any intention of coming out; I could tell from his behaviour and the way he kept getting grouchy with me that he wasn't in the mood for walking around frozen churchyards or marshy woodland, and neither was I, really, but something serious had happened here. Something that might bring us closer to discovering Wallace's whereabouts.