Two massive, clawed hands wrapped around his chest. He screamed, “Nooo,” as the beast sank its teeth into his shoulder, sending white-hot pain through his entire body.
One of the guards removed a pistol from his waistband.
The beast yanked his teeth away, along with most of the flesh from Steven’s shoulder.
The guard aimed his weapon.
The beast released Steven, who dropped to his knees. Blood flowed from his wound and down his back and chest. His left hand went numb. The light in the center of the room blurred. Here came death.
The guard fired his weapon.
The blood-thirsty werewolf yelped and fell backward.
Steven looked at his shoulder. He saw a white lump within the flowing red and realized he was staring at his bone. He glanced at the retreating werewolf, who had a yellow dart protruding from his chest.
The guard fired another shot that struck the beast’s neck.
Steven looked down at the ground. Resting just out of reach was his precious locket. It had come open during the struggle, and staring back at him was an old, worn picture of his wife.
“I’m coming,” Steven whispered.
The guards came toward him, but he didn’t look away from his locket. One of the guards stepped on the last treasured possession Steven still owned. Steven wobbled on his knees and fell forward, crashing face-first to the ground.
A thud echoed from behind, and the snorts and growls ceased as well.
The guards continued laughing. They reached down and lifted Steven by his arms again. Steven’s locket lay crushed on the hard floor. He imagined reaching for it, but his arms didn’t listen to his brain.
He figured he was dying; the pain in his shoulder convinced him he wasn’t dying fast enough. Then even that pain faded, along with his vision, as the guards dragged him from the dungeon. And then he saw and felt nothing.
7
COYOTE LIES
A TV hung from the ceiling in the corner where two stale, white walls met. A pair of local news anchors read a story about the latest homicide in the city. Christine stared at the screen, disoriented, but having enough sense to recognize she was in a hospital bed. The camera closed in on the female anchor who read the intro to the next story.
“We have an update on last night’s report involving the strange case of what was initially reported as a rabid coyote attack. Here is Mindy with more on this story.”
The screen switched to a reporter standing next to a middle-aged man who was dressed in a dark blue Giorgio Armani suit with pinstripes. Their backdrop was a familiar house within a cove of trees with yellow crime scene tape across the front door.
“Thank you, Andrea. This story continues to develop. As we previously reported, two local paramedics, whose names are being withheld, responded here at 128 Skelwaller Lane late last night for what they thought was a routine medical call. What they discovered when they arrived was anything but routine. They found the man and woman who lived here had been mauled to death. The two paramedics were attacked, and as of tonight one of them is still missing.”
Christine covered her mouth. Oh, my God. Billy.
The reporter went on to talk of Christine’s stable condition at an area hospital. “The official report is that rabid coyotes were the culprits, but there are rumors that a werepet may have been responsible. Here to comment on this theory is Senator Wooten. Thank you for joining us out here this late in the evening, Senator.”
The senator’s voice was deep and authoritative. “Thank you, Mindy As you know, I founded and head the WOC and—”
Mindy interrupted, “Which, for our listeners who aren’t familiar with the WOC, you are speaking of the Werewolf Oversight Committee.” She shoved the microphone back to his mouth.
“That’s right, Mindy. Though the WereHouse insists their product is safe, my constituents, along with all Americans, must be protected. The best way to accomplish this is with a tight leash, pardon the pun. I have spoken with the mayor about my concerns, and he has assured me the police will further investigate just to make sure our furry pets didn’t have anything to do with this attack.”
“Is it true the victims owned a werepet?” Mindy asked.
“That is correct.”
“And where is the werepet now?”
“The WereHouse has reported it was returned a few days ago.”
Mindy dug deeper. “Why was it returned?”
“The authorities are still looking into that.”
“Do you have any reason to doubt the initial investigation results?”
“Well, Mindy, it isn’t that I question the police, as they are doing a fine job, but we have to remain vigilant.”
“As I’m sure you are aware, there are those who question your motives. They say you are using this werepet trend to further your coming presidential bid.”
Senator Wooten chuckled before answering, “Well, I didn’t see much of a boost in the polls back when I started the WOC, and I doubt I’ll see much improvement now, either. I simply want these creatures regulated, and I plan to keep fining the WereHouse as long as they commit violations.”
Mindy pulled the microphone back to her lips. “PETA says you’re not doing enough.”
“Well, if we went by what PETA wanted, no one would be allowed to own goldfish. No, the fines appear to be a good deterrent.”
“Let’s talk about those fines for a moment. If I’m not mistaken, to date they have been for relatively mundane reasons, most of which involve working conditions at the farm and not werewolf regulation. Why should we believe you aren’t wasting taxpayers’ money on—”
The TV screen went blank.
“Damn WOC.” A man’s voice beside Christine startled her. She spun toward the chair next to her bed. The man wore all black, with dark sunglasses and a three-quarter length leather coat. She was unsettled that this stranger had been sitting next to her for who knew how long.
“Who are you?” she asked.
He stood up and strolled to the foot of her bed. “How are you feeling, Ms. Alt?”
She felt uncomfortable and pulled her sheets up to her chest. “Why are you here?”
The man lifted her medical chart from the foot of her bed, though he didn’t open it. “Tell me, Christine. Did you get bitten by the coyotes last night?”
Christine hesitated before answering, “I’m sure it says in the folder you are holding. Why don’t you look and see?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to invade your medical privacy. You know, with HIPAA laws, and all. No, if you want to tell me, I’ll believe you.”
Christine didn’t trust the stranger, but she couldn’t imagine that answering his question would cause much harm. She figured maybe he would be satisfied and leave. “I don’t think so. Why?”
“It is very important I know for sure.” He removed his sunglasses, revealing gorgeous hazel eyes. His stare sent a chill along her spine.
“No, they didn’t bite me. Will you tell me who you are now?”
He set her file back on the bed and strolled toward the door. Before leaving, he turned and said, “Just think of me as animal control. Don’t be concerned, we’ve taken care of the coyotes.” With that, he disappeared through the doorway.
Christine’s fire lieutenant, Alex, passed him as he left.
“Christine,” Alex said. “How are you feeling?”
Still stunned by the stranger, she was speechless.
“Christine?” Alex said again, breaking her daze.
“Oh. Alex. How’s it going?”
“I’m fine. The question is how are you?”
“I’m okay, I guess. Tired.”
“Who was that just in here?”
“He’s nobody.” She paused, wondering whether she should tell Alex what the man had said. Then she said again, “Yeah, nobody.”
Alex sat in the chair next to her bed, and the two talked for the next few hours.
8
AIDEN’S FIRST “DOG”
AIDEN Talik reclined in the passenger’s seat of his truck. “Let me know when we’re close,” he said. “I’m going to get a few hours’ rest.”
Greg shook his head as he drove. “I don’t know how you can sleep right before a job.”
Aiden rolled to his side, facing the passenger window in the uncomfortable, half-reclined seat. “I haven’t slept for three days. It shouldn’t be too hard.”
“Well, sweet dreams,” Greg said. “Pass me a beer before you’re—”
That was the last Aiden heard before he drifted into his dreams.
He was ten years old again, riding with his dad in the company car.
The limousine was typical jet-black with tinted windows and highly-polished chrome accents. The fresh wax job glistened in the blinding sun on the bright, cold Ohio fall day. The driver slowed to a stop in front of a fantastic three-story brick building.
The many windows of the storefront were tinted as black as the limousine’s, blending against the dark façade. The front door was tinted glass as well, with a red Welcome sign hanging from a hook on the outside. Between the second and third floor windows were large red letters that spelled WEREHOUSE. The letters were not lit, nor did they sparkle with any type of fancy designs. They were simply red—dark red.
The car rocked slightly as the sweaty, overweight chauffeur climbed from his seat behind the wheel. He waddled to the back door. Aiden hopped from the back seat almost before the chauffeur could completely open the door.
“Come on, Dad,” he shouted to his backseat companion with childish exuberance.
His father stuck his snakeskin boot out from the vehicle and grunted with the effort of hoisting his aging body onto the sidewalk.
“I’ll circle the block and find somewhere to park,” the chauffeur panted with a winded smile. “Take your time, sir. Your next appointment isn’t for a few hours.”
Aiden grabbed his father’s hand and pulled him toward the store. A little bell above the door jingled as he led him into the building. The lobby was magnificent—plush carpet, reclining leather chairs, and a projection TV that was at least a 60-inch model in the corner.
At the far end of the lobby was a glass desk with a brown-haired beauty sitting behind it. She was everything a model would want to be, with collagen-puffy lips and actress-caliber make-up hiding any blemishes she might have. Aiden didn’t much care for those types of features, but he had been around his father enough to understand that Daddy sure did.
Aiden caught his father ogling the secretary’s long, exposed legs extending from beneath the hem of her red leather miniskirt. When his father realized he was staring, he lifted his eyes to her face. Aiden giggled to himself.
“How may I help you today, sir,” she asked.
At first Aiden wasn’t sure if she was talking to his father or some unknown caller at the other end of her headset.
“Christmas is coming soon,” his father answered. “My boy needs a gift.”
“Excellent,” she said with a smile. “He’ll love what we have to offer. Do you have an appointment?”
“As a matter of fact, we do. Two o’clock.”
The white-faced clock on the wall behind her read ten minutes to, and Aiden could hardly wait.
She tapped on the keyboard of her computer while staring at the screen. “Ah,” she said. “You must be Howard. Have a seat, and Mr. Henderson will be with you right away.”
“I’d rather stand here and talk with you, if you don’t mind.”
She grinned shyly, but didn’t rebuff his advances.
Howard leaned against the desk with the same swagger he got whenever he talked to pretty girls. “So, what’s your name?”
Aiden rolled his eyes—he had seen this game before.
The secretary’s eyes moved down his father’s arm to his left hand; more specifically, to the white gold wedding band on his ring finger.
“Let’s not worry about that,” his father said. Aiden looked toward the clock again. He hated when his father flirted while his mother was at home.
The secretary reached over the desk and brushed her finger across his ring-adorned hand. “I wasn’t.” Her cleavage seemed to burst from her tight V-neck sweater, which was a sight Aiden had seen enough times from being around his father to know it was intentional.
“You wanna get out of here?” he asked. “When I’m finished with the boy’s business, that is.”
A smidgen of redness flushed her cheeks, almost taking away from her deep dimples. “I’m working. I don’t get to leave until—”
The door behind her opened, interrupting their game. Aiden glanced at the clock again, which now read 1:58. Two minutes until pay dirt. Another dark-haired woman at least as pretty as the secretary peered at them over her black-rimmed glasses. “Howard?” she asked. His father nodded with the same grin as when he first saw the secretary moments before. “Mr. Henderson is ready to see you, now,” she continued and smiled back.
“Come on, boy.” Aiden smiled at the secretary, who appeared less than pleased with how quickly his father seemed to forget her. More in the form of a question than a statement, his father said, “See you later?”
“Not likely,” she replied.
“Was it that obvious?” Howard asked.
“Maybe you should wipe your drool,” she said, and turned back to her computer. Aiden glanced at his father’s chin to see if he actually had drooled. He hadn’t.
His father lifted his hands and shrugged his shoulders, as if to say, “What do you want from me?” Then he nudged Aiden toward the door with a tap on the back of his head.
They were immediately met by a large man with the physique of a retired football player. He wore a tacky beige suit and a mustache more fitting for a car salesman than an employee of a multi-million dollar corporation.
The man offered his thick left hand. “I’m Bernard Henderson,” he said. “You must be Howard. It is nice to meet you.” The two men shook hands. He looked down at Aiden. “What’s your name, little man?”
“Aiden, sir,” Aiden answered.
The office was as large as the front lobby with a single oak desk smack dab in its center. Mr. Henderson settled himself behind it in a large, worn leather chair. Aiden and his father took the only other seats in the room. Aiden sat on the edge of his seat and gazed around the large room. The bare, windowless walls were almost the same color as the man’s suit. There was another door on the farthest wall, but this one looked like it was made of thick, heavy metal, maybe even impenetrable like a vault.
Mr. Henderson spoke up, “Well, I know you’re a busy man so let’s get right to business.” He leafed through a folder of papers until he found what he needed. “Ah, I see Harley Jacobs recommended you. How is old Harley?”
“He’s well,” Howard said.
Aiden sat quietly like his father had always taught him. “When grown-ups speak business,” his father would say, “young ‘uns keep their yaps shut.”
His father leaned forward on the desk like he always did before he began talking money. “Let’s get to it,” he said. “I want your product, but a quarter of a million is a lot of cash for something so ... perishable. What will I get from it? Ten or fifteen years of use?”
“No, no, no,” the man said with a slight chuckle. “You’ll get at least forty years of enjoyment from a single purchase.”
“Harley said there is considerable upkeep. What are we talkin’ in terms of cost?”
The man’s demeanor switched from jovial to all business in an instant. “$50,000 per year. But that includes all maintenance. We retrieve the product once every other week for two days, and return it as good as new.”
“What kind of warranty?”
“Ten years. If there are any defects, we’ll replace it.”
Aiden’s father bit his lip for a few seconds. “Alright, let’s see it,” he finally said.
The salesman grinned like he had just won the lottery. He rose from his chair. “Right this way.”
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br /> Aiden and his father followed him to the back office door. The man continued, “You will not be disappointed. I know the price is steep, but we are the only company with such a product. As of today, we are small, but that’ll change with our pending government approval and aggressive marketing. There is no doubt you can be on the cutting edge if you buy today. If all goes well, soon we will be advertising during the Super Bowl.”
Even at ten years old, Aiden could tell this salesman was talented. The way he keyed in on his father’s penchant for buying the latest and greatest was very skillful.
“By the way,” Mr. Henderson continued. “Has old Harley decided whether he’s going to take the plunge?”
Aiden’s father answered, “You know Harley. He takes two hours just to decide on breakfast. But he sounds pretty interested.”
“Hm. Maybe I should send him a little reminder and a slight nudge.”
“Probably a good idea. Though, if we buy one, he’ll see it.”
“Yeah, just think. You could beat Harley to the punch right now.”
Aiden’s father smiled. “Let’s just see it.”
The metal door opened into a long, cold room. The smell reminded Aiden of the time he had left his Golden Retriever in the laundry room for too long after being out in the rain. Not that it was a terrible smell or anything, just wet dog. The concrete floors led down a dark narrow pathway. The iron bars and blacked-out rooms along either side of the hall gave the impression of prison cells.
The salesman whistled and walked to one set of bars. Two green eyes glowed at the back of the dark cell. Something clunked and hummed and an overhead light flickered to life.
“Get over here,” the man hissed at the eyes.
They lifted until they were higher than the tallest man Aiden had ever met.
“Come ‘ere,” the man said, and then made a clicking noise with his mouth.
The eyes behind the bars moved from the shadows of the cell. Aiden felt his eyes go wide. He had to remind himself to breathe. The green eyes belonged to an incredible beast that was taller than his father, even taller than the massive pro wrestlers he had seen at a wrestling event that his father had taken him to a few months before. The beast’s eyes stared at him past its wolf-like snout. Its long, pointy ears tucked tight against its head. Its head drooped like a dog that had just been caught in the trash, with a sorrowful blend of humility and shame. Aiden knew he should have been the one who was afraid, but something deep inside pulled him closer to the bars.
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