The Pack

by Jason Starr

  “Bite?” Simon said. “What bite?”

  “You still must be bitten to become a permanent wolfe. Right now you and the other men are temporarer wolfe. You won’t be permanent wolfe until you are bitten. But you must not let this happen, to you or the others. Do you understand me?”

  Simon was dazed. He realized he’d probably been in some sort of state of shock all this time, and now reality was suddenly setting in. “So you’re saying,” he said, “he’s going to try to bite us?”

  “Yes,” Volker said. “Tonight.”

  “Tonight?” Simon said. “You mean at the brewery?”

  “Yes,” Volker said. “You understand that this must not happen.”

  “I don’t get it,” Simon said. “Why does he want to bite us?”

  “He has his reasons.”

  “What reasons? I—I don’t understand.”

  “He says he’s lonely, he says he wants a pack. He tried to bite others, before he made the beer, and they all died. He doesn’t understand that we’re meant to be alone. That’s the way it has always been, since before our family came from Freiburg.”

  Simon thought briefly about Dave Doherty, the murder victim Detective Rodriguez had mentioned. Perhaps Doherty had been one of Michael’s failed inductees, but Simon’s mind was overloaded; it was hard to process all of this at once.

  “I’m telling you all this so you can stop it from happening,” Volker said. “If you aren’t bitten you will no longer be a temporarer wolfe. Perhaps in a month, two months, the effects of the beer will wear off and you’ll be fully human again. But if he bites you tonight there will be no turning back; you will be wolfe for eternity.”

  Again Simon noticed Volker’s dark, penetrating gaze, and he had a flashback to the night he’d drunk the beer at the brewery, how he’d felt like he was being sucked into the darkness in Michael’s eyes.

  “B-but how—how am I supposed to stop them?” Simon asked. “I—I can’t control what they do.”

  “It will be difficult because they have felt the power of the wolfe, which can be very seductive,” Volker said. “But they can still be convinced. There is still time.”

  “But why are you asking me? Why not tell them yourself?”

  “They won’t listen to me, but they like you. You are their friend. You can convince them.”

  “What about Michael? He’s your son, right? Can’t you just tell him not to bite us?”

  “He refuses to listen to me. He’s too stubborn and I’m too old. I don’t have the power to stop him. He has the power in our family now. He is the leader. He has enormous strength and can kill anyone he pleases.”

  “Great, then how am I supposed to stop him? What am I supposed to do, shoot him?”

  Simon was being sarcastic, but Volker said seriously, “A gunshot wound probably won’t kill him—not one shot, anyway. Werewolfe are difficult to kill, especially a powerful wolfe like Michael. The only sure way to kill a werewolfe is to rip apart the jaw and split its head open. You must do this to Michael if you are to have a chance, if we are all to have a chance.”

  Deadpan, Simon said, “You want me to rip your son’s jaw apart and split his head open.”

  “You must, yes. It’s the only certain way to save us.”

  “Come on, you’re kidding, right?”

  “I wish I were.”

  “But why—”

  “There is no time for questions,” he said. “You understand why I am warning you. If you become permanent wolfe, then you can make others wolfe. The wolfe blood is meant for our family only; it’s not meant to be shared with others.”

  “What if I can’t stop him?” Simon asked desperately.

  “You must stop him,” Volker said. “If our blood spreads, it will be the end of all of us.” He glared melodramatically, added, “Good luck to you and to your friends,” and then hurried away.

  Simon was so flustered, so overwhelmed, that he didn’t react right away. A few seconds later, when his brain jump-started and he realized that he still had more questions, it was too late—Volker was already gone.

  TWENTY- FIVE

  Alison and Jeremy had spent most of the day inside a small room in the Radisson Hotel on Forty-eighth and Lex. They went on a short walk to a pizza place to get Jeremy a slice for lunch, but afterward Alison wasn’t feeling well—she was worn-out, nauseated, and a little dizzy—so they returned to the hotel and stayed in bed, Jeremy watching the afternoon lineup on Nick Jr.

  Though Alison felt awful, she knew her symptoms were entirely emotional. Her decision to leave Simon had been impulsive—no plan about where she would go, or how she would actually live on her own. When the cops took Simon away, she was convinced he was lying to her about something; for all she knew he really had gotten a wolf to attack and kill Tom. She didn’t think Simon was a psychopath, but the way he’d been acting, how could she rule anything out? He’d been angry about the firing, so how did she know he hadn’t snapped and done something absolutely insane?

  Angry, humiliated, and fed up with all the lying, she’d packed a suitcase for her and Jeremy—just randomly grabbing clothes from dresser drawers and the closet and stuffing them inside. She just needed to leave, get away, and wasn’t really thinking about plans for the future or anything else. She scribbled a note and then woke Jeremy up. He was cranky and crying as she forced him to get dressed. Then she carried him out of the apartment, pulling the overstuffed suitcase behind her, hailed a cab on Columbus, and said, “Radisson Hotel” only because that was the hotel where her sister had stayed the last time she was in the city and it was the first hotel that popped into her mind. In the cab, Jeremy fell asleep and she didn’t want to wake him up again, knowing he’d start crying again. So she carried him out of the cab—when he was asleep he always seemed to weigh twice as much as when he was awake—and then she was so focused on getting him settled and to bed that it didn’t really set in that this was it, she was all alone.

  Terror set in. She hadn’t lived alone since she was twenty-three years old, and then her parents were alive. Now she had no one. She still had a few good friends in the city, but they were married and had their own responsibilities. Lauren was three thousand miles away, and the emotional support she got from her sister only went so far. She needed someone here, in person, not a Skype friend.

  Simon wasn’t only her husband, but for years he’d also been her only real support system in New York. Suddenly she was terrified and insecure and had no idea how she was going to get through this. Her complete lack of self-confidence was so foreign to her. She’d always been a solid, steady, middle-of-the-road person; she wasn’t used to things veering off course. Assuming Simon wasn’t arrested, what was she going to do, call a divorce lawyer? There was no way she’d settle for anything less than joint custody, and what with Simon’s odd behavior lately she would have preferred full custody. But there was no way Simon would give up custody and—if he felt threatened—he might try to get custody himself. She’d have to argue that he wasn’t fit to parent full-time, which would basically be a declaration of war. They’d both lawyer up and things would quickly get nasty. She knew couples who had spent over $100,000 each on their divorces. And even if she managed to get custody, how would she manage her life? She wouldn’t be able to pay for child care and expenses on the apartment, which was why Simon had become a stay-at-home dad to begin with. They would have to sell the apartment, but then where would she go? Real estate in Manhattan was out of control and she’d need at least a large one-bedroom, but even if she could come up with a down payment, how would she afford the mortgage payments and maintenance? She’d also have to find child care. She could try to rehire Margaret—if she hadn’t found another job yet or didn’t have hard feelings about being fired. If Margaret wasn’t available, she’d have to go through the process of finding a new sitter, which, right now, seemed completely overwhelming.

  Simon had been calling and texting her all day, but she’d muted her phone and had glanced
at the first few texts—Where are you? I’m sorry, I miss you, I want to see you, et cetera—but hadn’t even bothered to open the others. Meanwhile, Jeremy had been asking about Simon all day, saying, “Where’s Daddy?” and “How come I can’t see Daddy?”

  Around four in the afternoon, she got another call from Simon that she screened, but then she listened to the voice mail. Sounding distraught, he said he was “extremely worried” and begged her to please call him back.

  Figuring that ignoring him at this point would border on just plain cruel, she gave in and sent a text:All is well

  It seemed like ten seconds later she got:THANK GOD!!!!!

  Then a couple of seconds afterward, he wrote her:Where r u????????

  Crying, she didn’t respond.

  Then he wrote:Please see me. I can explain EVERYTHING. I PROMISE!!!

  She couldn’t deny that she missed him. Maybe it was because she had the old Simon—who was reasonable, whom she could get through to—stuck in her head.

  After about a minute he wrote:Hello??? R u there????

  Looking at Jeremy, sitting on the bed, innocent and blissful, she decided she couldn’t keep him away from his father forever. So she texted back the address of the hotel. About half an hour later, she and Jeremy were in the loud, active lobby when Simon showed up.

  “Daddy!” Jeremy called out, and ran toward Simon, who was crouching down and smiling widely with his arms extended.

  Alison had to admit—initially it was nice to see Simon too. She had to remind herself of everything he’d put her through lately and recharge her pissed-off persona.

  Simon lifted Jeremy in the air, then hugged him tightly and said, “That’s my boy,” and kissed him on top of his head.

  “I’ll let you two spend some time together,” Alison said.

  “Wait,” Simon said, “I have to talk to you.”

  “This isn’t the time.”

  “It’s important.”

  Alison detected a different tone in his voice—well, different for lately. Maybe her leaving had scared him as much as it had scared her, and he was willing to seriously work on their problems. It couldn’t hurt her to hear what he had to say.

  With her arms crossed tightly in front of her chest, she said, “Fine. What is it?”

  From his messenger bag, Simon removed a couple of coloring books and a sixty-four-pack of Crayola crayons. He said to Jeremy, “Look what Daddy brought for you.”

  Jeremy was very excited, but he loved his dad so much he would have been excited about any present he’d brought for him.

  Jeremy sat on the couch and was immediately absorbed, coloring.

  “So . . .” Alison said.

  “So . . .” Simon suddenly seemed very nervous. “So how have you been?”

  “You said you have something important to tell me.What is it?”

  “First off, I’m sorry,” he said. “You were right and I was wrong. I admit something’s been going on with me lately. Something that I didn’t want to acknowledge because . . . well, because it was too terrifying.... But I understand what’s going on now, and I’m not going to be in denial anymore.”

  Simon was getting choked up, and Alison was getting concerned; was he going to announce that he had been diagnosed with a terminal disease?

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Did you find out you have something?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “What is it?”

  He looked away, in the opposite direction from where Jeremy was sitting, and when he looked at Alison again his eyes were so watery the pupils looked out of focus.

  “I really don’t know how to say this,” he said.

  “Tell me already.” She was terrified. Was he really going to die? She didn’t know how she was going to handle this. She still loved him very much and couldn’t fathom actually losing him. And how would she explain it to Jeremy?

  Now a couple of big tears were dripping down his cheek.

  “Please just tell me,” she said.

  He glanced at Jeremy, who was still coloring, then turned back to her and said in a low voice, practically whispering, “Well, I found out that I’m . . . well, that I’m a werewolf.”

  He had spoken so quietly she couldn’t hear him clearly.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, “what did you say?”

  “I’m a werewolf,” he said, just as quietly as before.

  Maybe because she was still in shock about the prospect of his being diagnosed with a fatal illness, she still couldn’t process what he was saying. It sounded like he’d said “wah waf.”

  “What the hell is wah waf?” she asked. “Is that some kind of virus?”

  “Not wah waf,” Simon said. “Werewolf. I’m a werewolf.”

  This time she’d heard him loud and clear. Her concern about his health was suddenly replaced by anger.

  “Why are you doing this to me?”

  “I didn’t mean to do it,” he said. “It just happened to me that night when—”

  “Coming here,” she said, “acting like you’ve had this big shift, you’re ready to seriously work on our problems, then playing these emotional games with me all over again? How much of this do you think I can stand?”

  “Please,” Simon said. “Just listen—”

  “No, you listen,” she said. “I left you because I was tired of all the lies, tired of you acting like nothing was wrong when obviously something very big was wrong. But if you’re going to show up here and act like this is all some big joke—”

  “I understand,” he said, “okay? I get it.”

  “Have fun with Jeremy.” She went over to Jeremy and said, “Mommy’s going to do some shopping now, and you’re going to spend some time with Daddy, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Alison walked past Simon, but she didn’t get far before he came up behind her and grabbed her arm.

  “I know it sounds crazy,” he said, “but think about it. Just think about it, okay?”

  “Can you let go of me, please?”

  He didn’t let go, saying, “The changes all started that night I went to Michael’s for the beer.”

  “I want you to let go of my arm.”

  “You don’t understand.” Simon let go, but now he was in front of her, preventing her from leaving. “I think I killed Tom,” he said, obviously much louder than he’d intended. His eyes darted back and forth as if he were afraid someone had overheard him. Jeremy, on the couch, had looked over, and Simon asked him, “How’s that drawing going?”

  “Okay,” Jeremy said.

  “Good,” Simon said. “Keep drawing, kiddo, okay?” When Jeremy returned his attention to the coloring book, Simon continued to Alison in a quieter voice, “I think I killed Tom . . . Not me me, but me in another state. I don’t mean another state like New Jersey. I mean, it was Jersey, but I mean another state like in another nonhuman state. When I was—well, when I was a wolf. Look, I know how crazy it sounds, but if you think about it, if you just think about it. I had the blood on my jeans, but a wolf killed him. It didn’t make any sense until I spoke to Michael’s father, and now it makes perfect sense. I didn’t bring a wolf to kill Tom. I was the wolf.”

  Alison was looking at Simon as if she’d never seen him before. He was a total stranger—worse, a maniacal total stranger. It amazed her how he actually seemed to believe all of this; it wasn’t some put-on.The situation was worse than she’d ever imagined. He had completely lost touch with reality.

  “You need help,” Alison said, trying to remain as calm as possible. “Serious professional help.”

  “Alison, please, if you’d just—”

  “Call Dr. Hagan’s office,” she said. “Get a referral to a good psychiatrist. Not a psychologist, a psychiatrist. I really think you need to take some medication, or get some sort of thorough medical eval—”

  “I’m not crazy,” Simon said. “I thought I was going crazy, but now that I understand what’s going on, I don’t feel that way at all. Think, j
ust think about what’s been happening to me. The hearing. Wolves hear well. Or the hair growth. Wolves are hairy. Or, or, or how about all the meat-eating? Wolves eat meat. The changes aren’t random; they’re not a reaction to anything in my life. It’s because I’m an animal now, or more of an animal, or . . . you know what I’m saying . . . I haven’t been acting like myself because I haven’t been myself.”

  “Mommy, I thought you were going shopping.”

  “One second, Jeremy,” Simon snapped.

  Looking at Simon intensely, Alison said, “I don’t know why you’re doing this to me, putting me on this emotional roller coaster.”

  “I’m sorry,” Simon said. “I truly am. But the good news is, it’s going to end. If what Michael’s father told me is true, it’s going to wear off. I’ll be normal again soon.”

  “Daddy, can you play with me now?”

  “One second,” Simon said. Then to Alison, “Please give me another chance. I don’t know how I’m going to handle all of this alone. I need you to be with me to help me through it.”

  “You want help?” Alison said. She checked to make sure Jeremy wasn’t listening, then added to Simon, “Go see a shrink. Don’t do it for me or for yourself . . . Do it for Jeremy.” Then she said to Jeremy, “Byebye, sweetie,” and marched away.

  She reached the revolving doors leading to Forty-eighth Street, when she realized what she was doing—leaving her son with his father, who was obviously unhinged—and she returned and grabbed Jeremy by the arm and pulled him toward the elevator.

  Jeremy dropped his crayons and was crying and screaming, “I want to play with Daddy! I want Daddy!”

  Of course the elevator wasn’t there, and Alison had to wait, trying to restrain her screaming three-year-old. Alison was facing the elevators, but she could feel the eyes of everyone in the lobby, watching the scene like it was great theater.

  Finally an elevator came and they got on. Simon had remained near the couches and was looking right at her.