Return of the Wolf Man

by Jeff Rovin

  “You’ll sign a document to that effect?” Clyde asked.

  “No, he won’t,” Stevenson said. “But if he’ll feel better being in the cell, I have no objection to you putting him there—for now. Let me talk to Dr. Cooke and then you and I will have a chat.”

  “Fair enough.” Clyde looked at Talbot. “You coming?”

  Talbot nodded forlornly and Clyde led him away.

  The holding cell was tucked in a corner of the station house, near the lavatory and the water cooler. The cell was three yards deep and four yards across. There were brick walls on two sides and steel bars on the other two. Inside was a cot and a porcelain sink. Clyde opened the double lock, placed Talbot inside, then shut and locked the door. Talbot went to the far side of the cell. His back to the others, he wrapped his fingers around the bars and stared out the high window at the deepening blue of the sky.

  Caroline felt sick seeing him in there. She looked away from the cell. Talbot seemed to have the weight of the world on his broad shoulders.

  “Dr. Cooke,” Stevenson said, “I want to help him. I want to help you both. But there’s something you’re not telling me. What is it?”

  “To tell you the truth,” Caroline said, “I’m not sure.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not sure what to tell you about any of this,” she said.

  “I’m confused,” Stevenson said.

  “Me too,” she said. She was tired, her mind was tired. It was all too much to process. “The truth, Mr. Stevenson, is that I haven’t been treating Mr. Talbot for anything. Before last night I didn’t even know he existed.”

  Stevenson glanced at Clyde. The deputy had returned to his desk to log the time and nature of the incarceration. He didn’t seem to have heard. The attorney took Caroline by the arm and led her toward the back of the station house. Caroline sat down on the old iron radiator, her arms folded across her chest.

  “Maybe you’d better start from the beginning,” Stevenson said softly. “Tell me everything.”

  Caroline did. As she spoke, she found herself doubting what she’d seen, what she remembered. There had to be another explanation for all of it. To his credit, Stevenson listened as though she was describing nothing more unusual than a mugging or a car accident. While they spoke, Talbot didn’t say anything. He didn’t even move. He simply stood in the cell, holding the bars and looking out the window.

  When Caroline had finished telling Stevenson everything that had happened, he stood for a long time just staring at her.

  “And you believe all of this is real,” he said at last.

  “I didn’t hallucinate any of it, if that’s what you mean. Ask Stephen Banning, if you can find him. He saw the Frankenstein Monster.”

  “Unfortunately, Stephen’s not the most reliable witness in the world,” Stevenson said. “He’s got a history of seeing monsters. Mummies when he’s sober, pink elephants when he isn’t.”

  “That doesn’t change the fact that he saw the Frankenstein Monster,” Caroline admitted. “Jesus, listen to me. Monsters. I can’t rule out the possibility that this whole thing is a sick joke. That someone’s trying to scare me away.”

  “I wouldn’t put it past a few of the townspeople to do that,” Stevenson said. “Some of them can be pretty territorial, especially the old-timers. The thing is, creating a scam like you described would require a lot of people to pitch in. Getting inside the castle, sealing someone in the basement, rigging a guy in a monster mask to float to the surface—and then there’s Talbot.” The attorney looked over at the cell. “What would he say if I talked to him?”

  “Oh, he believes,” Caroline said. “And—there’s something about him. Something very sincere, something that’s not of this time. He’s the main reason I can’t simply dismiss this whole thing as a fake.”

  “What do you think is going to happen when the moon rises?”

  “I honestly don’t know,” Caroline said. She looked out at the darkening sky. She didn’t want to believe it was going to happen, that Talbot was going to transform. It wasn’t that she was afraid of facing something new. Whatever happened to him, there had to be a medical explanation for it. A scientific explanation. She simply didn’t want the man to have to go through the hell he had described to her.

  Suddenly, Talbot turned toward Caroline and called her name. She excused herself and walked toward the cell.

  “What is it, Lawrence?” she asked.

  “Caroline, I’ve been watching the sky. There isn’t much time. Do you remember what we were talking about earlier? About the silver?”

  She nodded.

  “I want you to find something. Now.”

  “Lawrence—”

  “Hear me out,” Talbot said. He ran his hands over the bars. “This cell may not be strong enough to hold me. If I get out, a silver knife or bookend, anything, may save your life.”

  “Lawrence, I’ve said this before and I’ll keep saying it. You need to calm down.”

  “I am calm,” Talbot replied. He looked toward the window. “But soon it will be out of my control.”

  “Lawrence, you can’t think that way,” Caroline said. “One of the first things any doctor learns is that a patient’s positive outlook is the best medicine there is.”

  “That may be true for patients who are sick,” Talbot replied. “I’m not. I’m cursed. And tonight you’ll see. Tonight you’ll learn the difference between them. Now please, do as I ask.”

  Caroline saw the earnestness in his eyes, heard it in his voice. She turned from the cage and walked slowly toward Deputy Clyde. Stevenson ran after her.

  “What is it?” the attorney asked.

  “He’s worried about my safety,” Caroline said. “He’s afraid the cell may not hold him.”

  “Jesus,” the attorney said.

  “He wants me to arm myself with something made of silver,” Caroline said, “and I think I’d better do it to put his mind at—”

  Caroline stopped as she felt something: a change in the room.

  “Dr. Cooke, what’s wrong?” Stevenson asked.

  She looked back at the cell just as the first hint of moon-glow spread up over the dirty window. Her eyes shifted to Talbot. He was still standing with his back to them.

  “Lawrence,” Caroline said quietly. “Are you all right?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Lawrence?”

  Just then he gurgled, dropped to a knee, and screamed.

  Only it was not a human scream.

  FOURTEEN

  The LifeSaver helicopter knifed through the dark skies. Onboard were three people who had devoted their lives to saving the sick and the injured: not one of them had ever seen anyone like the patient they were carrying. He was extraordinary not just in terms of his size and weight but also his wounds. Many of the burns and cuts were new, but many of them were extremely old and very poorly healed. The medics couldn’t begin to imagine how he’d acquired them—or how he’d survived.

  On the flight deck, sitting beside pilot Lew Kelly, copilot and emergency medical technician Mary Stewart had radioed ahead to LaMirada Memorial Hospital to inform the emergency room staff of their ETA. The medic also told them they’d need a bed with an extension for the nearly eight-foot-tall victim, one who was suffering from extensive third-degree burns, virtually nonexistent vital signs, and the most extreme hypothermia she’d ever seen in a living human.

  “I really don’t know how the big guy’s still alive,” the blond-haired Mary added, “but he is. At least, Junior moves a hand now and then. Right, Emma?”

  “He surely does,” elderly paramedic Emma Dunn replied into the mouthpiece of her headset. The white-haired woman was sitting on a fold-down seat in the closed-off medical bay behind the flight deck. She looked down at the patient. He was too big for either of the cots and was lying on green blankets that had been spread on the floor between them. “His eyes flutter open a little now and then too,” Emma said. “LaMirada, I’ve g
ot to tell you—this man defies every scrap of medical science I was ever taught. His chest expansion is virtually nil, diastolic and systolic pressure aren’t registering at all, and if he’s got any veins in his big body for an IV, I couldn’t find them. He’s also got flesh as tough as elephant hide. The patient’s temperature is eighty-eight point three. By all rights he should be a corpse. But like Mary says, he surely—wait.” The paramedic leaned close to the body. “Hold on, LaMirada. It looks like he may be trying to speak.”

  “Put your mouthpiece near his mouth,” Stewart said. She reached for a button on the control panel. “I’ll record it. The fire chief might want it.”

  “I can’t tell if he’s trying to say something or if he’s trembling,” Emma said. She watched intently for a few seconds more. Then the lips stopped moving. The giant body was still again.

  Emma put her fingers to his wrist for a moment, then sat back. She shook her head. “I just don’t get it at all. It’s like that Edgar Allan Poe story ‘The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar.’ A man’s body was dead but his soul was trapped in limbo, keeping the body alive. Rotting, but alive.”

  “I think I’ll stick to Tom Clancy,” Lew Kelly said.

  “Are you sure what you just saw wasn’t a death rattle?” Mary asked. “Muscles can tense in pretty misleading ways when people die.”

  “I’m sure,” Emma said. “If this man’s dead then so am I. His chest is still moving and I still get a pulse. It’s very, very faint but it’s there.”

  Emma started as something moved by the giant’s feet. She looked over.

  A woman was standing there, staring down at her. She was a ghostly figure wearing a tattered white crinoline gown, a head of filthy black hair, and a depraved expression on her ashen face.

  “How did you get in here?” Emma demanded. “Who are you?”

  The wraithlike figure did not reply. She extended her arms and moved her bony fingers slowly as though beckoning the medic.

  “I asked you a question!” Emma yelled. “Did you come through the storage compartment?”

  “Emma, how did who get in here?” Mary asked.

  Before Emma could answer, a strong, grayish-white hand rose slowly behind her. After the Monster’s powerful hand grabbed her neck and squeezed tightly, she was unable to say anything. His thick fingertips met on the other side of her throat; her larynx and pharynx were immediately pulped beneath his grip, and her internal and external jugular veins both burst. Her head sat on top of his fist like a plucked flower. Blood spilled from both sides of her silent mouth.

  Sandra Mornay’s eyes widened at the sight of the blood. Hissing delightedly, she moved toward the dying woman. The Monster continued to hold the paramedic while the vampire knelt in front of her. A wicked smile on her pale mouth, Sandra parted her lips and placed them over the medic’s bloody chin. Her tongue scooped away the blood, then moved down Emma’s wrinkled neck.

  When the vampire was finished, the Monster lowered his arm. He released the dead woman and his eyes opened slightly. They were dark slits against his pasty face.

  “Emma!” Mary said. “Come in!”

  Sandra rose contentedly. Twin streams of blood leaked from the sides of her mouth as she gazed at the Monster.

  “Rise,” she commanded.

  “Yes . . . Master,” the Monster said in a gravelly voice. He spread his fingers and placed his open hands on the floor. He sat up, his arms extended in front of him. Then he stretched his right arm to the side and leaned against the wall. He rose awkwardly.

  Sandra raised a slender arm. She pointed to the front of the helicopter. “Kill them,” she whispered. “Kill them all.”

  “Yes . . . Master.”

  On the flight deck, the pilot and copilot continued to listen.

  “Emma?” Mary said. “Emma?”

  “It sounds like her radio’s gone dead,” the pilot said. “I can’t even hear her breathing.”

  “I’m going back,” Mary said. She hurriedly unbuckled her seat belt and slid from the seat. “Emma was talking to somebody and it couldn’t have been Junior. Somebody must’ve hidden in the storage compartment.”

  “You want my blackjack?” he asked.

  “No,” she said. “I’ll be okay.”

  The pilot nodded as the copilot went to the door a few feet behind them. She opened it and stopped cold.

  The entrance was filled with the giant. She could only see to the top of his massive chest. The rest of him was hidden by the top of the doorway. As she stood there, his arms rose from his sides. He grabbed her throat tightly and lifted her up by the head. Her feet kicked until three of her seven cervical vertebrae snapped, severing the spinal cord. The copilot went limp and the Monster dropped her corpse. Then the giant raised his arms and pushed against the top of the doorway.

  Pilot Kelly hadn’t heard anything but the loud beating of the main rotor. When he finally turned, he saw Mary lying on the floor. He also saw the giant pushing against the wall above the doorway. A moment later the powerful arms pushed through and the lightweight materials crumbled like cake. The creature stalked onto the flight deck.

  “Mayday!” Kelly shouted into the radio as he threw the chopper into a rapid descent. The Monster fell forward, against the copilot’s seat.

  “LifeSaver One,” said the dispatcher, “what is your problem?”

  “LaMirada! He isn’t human!”

  “Say again?” said the dispatcher.

  “I said he’s not human! Mary is lying on the floor—I can’t see Emma. I’m going to try and land somewhere!”

  The blue nose of the chopper was pointing down at nearly a forty-five-degree angle, the landing lights flashing against the dark sky. The Monster pushed against the back of the chair. It bent across the base and smashed into the systems display. Growling, the Monster leaned on the wreckage and stood unsteadily. In rage, he put his fist through the side door. Wind poured through the opening and whipped the ragged tails of the giant’s coat.

  Battered by the wind, the pilot leaned hard on the control stick and banked to the east. The sudden, arcing turn spilled the giant against the door. It also swung the helicopter toward a cove just south of the marina. He saw a small patch of beach where he could set the chopper down.

  “Come on!” he said through his teeth as he pushed the chopper ahead. “You’re going to make it. You’re going to—”

  With an enraged cry, the giant pushed himself off the door. Tromping over the wrecked copilot’s seat, he stopped in the center of the flight deck, bent his upper back against the ceiling, and pushed.

  “Don’t!” Kelly screamed as the giant pressed upward. “Christ almighty, don’t!”

  The Monster snarled and continued to raise his massive shoulders. The plastic and aluminum of the ceiling structure cracked, buckled, and filled the cabin with sickening groans. Above, the main rotor drive shaft whined as its bolts strained against their base.

  “Stop it!” Kelly cried. “Don’t you understand? You’ll kill us!”

  Frantically, Kelly flipped on the automatic pilot, released his harness, and ran at the Monster. He was too late. As he reached for the giant’s head, the top of the chopper popped open. The helicopter shuddered as the rotor hub came free on the port side. The rotor head continued to spin as it twisted to the starboard side of the craft. With a deafening crash, the blades slashed into the air inlet above the cabin. They sliced through the wall and turned the helicopter on its side.

  “God—!” Kelly screamed, an instant before he fell against the port wall and was knocked unconscious.

  He was unaware of the chopper dropping, like a dart, the remaining two hundred and twenty feet to the cove.

  He was unaware of the awful crash, which crushed the flight deck into the tail boom and send the rotor head pin-wheeling off.

  He was unaware of the fuel tank exploding, of the wreckage being consumed in a black and red fireball.

  He was dead as two figures emerged from the flaming holocaust. The
one who came first was wailing and waving his arms violently, the sleeves of his coat ablaze. He lurched across the narrow sandbar and waded into the sea to put the fire out. The other walked more slowly, the crinoline of her dress in flames. She drifted into the surf, steam rising around her with every measured step. Stopping when the waters were hip-high, she raised her arms to the moon. Ash swirled on the waters and rode the air around her as she celebrated the murderous flames and the blood on her tongue and the eons of death from which these great waters smelled. It was glorious to feel, to walk the earth again.

  Then she heard the voice inside her head. Lowering her arms, she came to attention. The voice commanded her to take the Monster to a safe place. It ordered her to walk in the water, away from the wreckage, so that their footsteps could not be traced. It told her to wait until he came to collect them.

  “Yes, Master,” Sandra Mornay replied.

  She looked at the Monster, who was standing immobile several paces ahead of her. His back was wet and glowing red from the fire of the burning helicopter. His arms were hanging straight down and dripping salt water.

  “Come,” she said to him. “We must do the Master’s bidding.”

  The Monster raised his arms in front of him until they were nearly parallel to the sea. He turned slowly, his head tilted slightly back, his hooded eyes nearly shut.

  “Yes,” he said from deep in his throat. “I . . . come.”

  As sirens sounded in the distance, the undead woman and her living dead companion waded toward the north, toward darkness.

  FIFTEEN

  After the coming of darkness, the motor yacht slipped quietly from its permanent berth. The sleek, modern, forty-nine-foot vessel slashed purposefully through the calm waters off the coast of Marya Island. It moved with almost supernatural ease, barely stirring the waters as it glided swiftly out to sea. There were no lights onboard and no one moved on deck until the ship reached nearly the halfway point between the Morgan Islands and the western coast of Florida. Then, a shadow seemed to pass from the cabin to the foredeck of the yacht. It stopped near the pointed bow.