Dark of Night

by T. F. Walsh

  With only her thoughts for company, her mind wandered to Ryan Williams. He’d followed the Butcher case intently. Every time a call came in about another possible victim, he emerged from the woodwork, notebook in hand. Sometimes bombarding her with questions, sometimes watching and trying to catch conversation.

  She closed her eyes and relived the first time she’d met him.

  Lydia pulled up to the scene of another savage killing. Crossing crime scene tape, she approached a forensic team hovering over shredded remains of a body.

  “By the smell, this one’s been here a while.” Lydia put the back of her gloved hand to her nose. “Okay, what can you tell me?”

  A woman stood and walked over. “Black female, around forty I would guess, but we won’t really know more until we get her into the lab.” She removed her gloves and shook Lydia’s hand. “Castillo.”

  “Davis.”

  “Look, Davis, I’ve been doing this for a long time so I’ve seen all kinds of carnage. If I didn’t know better, I’d say this was done by a rabid animal.”

  “Castillo, I have heard this before, it — ”

  “I know, the range is too broad. I know that,” she said through gritted teeth. “Just look at this.” She led Lydia over to the body, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves as she went. She crouched and motioned for Lydia to do the same.

  The body sprawled face down on the ground. Lydia could tell the woman had attempted to flee her attacker. When she’d fallen, he must have pinned her because she’d tried to pull free. The victim’s right hand still gripped the grass past her head, although the arm it attached to had been completely severed at the shoulder. Other than that, the skeletal structure of the body stayed intact, despite its severe mutilation. Not an inch of skin remained on the back. The organs had been ripped aside, and Lydia could see turned earth through the hole.

  “See this?” Castillo pointed to the victim’s calf. “What do you make of that?”

  “Looks like tooth marks to me,” said a deep voice.

  Lydia looked in the direction of the unfamiliar voice. A man in a sports coat and jeans stooped by the victim’s feet.

  “Who the hell are you?” Lydia and Castillo demanded together.

  “Ryan Williams, Daily Times.” He extended a hand.

  Lydia stood and took it, and then half led, half dragged him back across the tape. “This is a crime scene, Mr. Williams. Cross this tape again and I will throw you in jail.” She stared at him, hoping to see that he understood. Instead he regarded her with the oddest expression.

  “Triumph,” Lydia whispered. She remembered that he’d been extremely pleased with something, but she couldn’t place the reason why.

  She stood to put more wood on the fire and froze at a rustling in the trees nearby. Instinctively reaching for the gun still strapped under her coat, she hesitated to pull it, not wanting to shoot a hiker. She stared into the darkness. After a long minute, a large beast moved through the woods. Another moment and it came into the glade.

  She shook her head and removed her hand from her weapon. The deer had returned. Very slowly, so as not to startle it, she sat. Laughing inwardly at her jumpiness, she reached into her pack and took out a chocolate chip cookie. As she brought the morsel to her lips, the deer lifted its head, its tail raised in alarm, and it bounded away.

  A fierce growl echoed around the glade. Before Lydia could drop the cookie and pull her gun, it leapt on her. Pain seared her right shoulder as the beast bit. Claws raked her legs, and the momentum pushed her onto the ground beside the stump she’d leaned against a second before.

  She tried to push the animal off. It released its grip on her shoulder, and she felt gashes open across her cheek and nose. She choked down the searing pain and fear, and she struggled to focus on her defense. Her left arm rose to protect her face. The beast wrapped its mouth around her arm and shook its head like a dog with a rag. Lashing out with her feet, she bucked and groped for her gun.

  Cold metal pressed against her back where her shirt had ridden up. With great effort, she reached with her right hand, her left arm now useless. Her fingers slid around the grip, years of training coming to the fore and overshadowing the pain. She lifted the weapon and fired into the fur.

  The beast barely yelped. She fired again. It released her arm. She shot again and again and again. Screams filled the air. Her vision swam and her strength ebbed. She was losing blood.

  Another large creature leapt into the clearing.

  “No,” she whimpered. Her strength completely gone, her gun fell from her fingers.

  Blackness.

  • • •

  A wet cloth dabbed her forehead. Lydia groaned and stretched. Someone gently lifted her head and stuffed a soft pillow under it. She opened her eyes to see Mrs. Holly sitting on the edge of a cot, holding a cool cloth to Lydia’s head.

  She lay in her third grade nurse’s office.

  No. This wasn’t right. Her vision swam and the kind face wavered as tears ran down her cheeks. Lydia was an adult, but the pain made it easy to submit to the nurse’s ministrations.

  “Easy now. That was a nasty bump. You say you fell?” Mrs. Holly leaned close to look into her eyes.

  “Yes, um … ” That day so long ago in the third grade came back in a flood of memory. The other children had pushed her off of the jungle gym, laughing and teasing because she had no real parents.

  Mrs. Holly’s eyes narrowed, still staring into Lydia’s eyes.

  God, she doesn’t believe me. If I tell, they will just do worse to me.

  More tears welled on her lids. Her chest hurt with the pain of overwhelming emptiness. So lonely, but maybe alone is better.

  Her body quaked and pain ripped through her shoulder. Gashes opened in her shirt and spurted blood on Mrs. Holly.

  Horrified, Lydia gripped her shirt and stared at the school nurse. Mrs. Holly started to swell, and her nose and mouth stretched into a muzzle. Dark brown fur sprouted all over her body.

  The creature climbed onto Lydia’s cot and crouched over her legs. She tried to call for help, but she could only gurgle in fear. The creature opened its mouth, showing blood-covered teeth in an odd grin. Then it lunged.

  • • •

  Lydia moved faster than humanly possible. Leaves barely crunched under her paws as she ran through the forest. Weaving through trees, she sensed her prey lingered nearby. Its beacon of scent called to her.

  Her powerful body moved fluidly toward her quarry. Firelight shone through the trees. Lydia slowed her pace. She could smell it intensely now. She circled the ring of light and located her prize. A woman sat against a tree stump, facing the fire.

  Every fiber of her being longed to rip into the woman’s flesh. Lydia could barely contain herself. She edged closer, inching toward the clearing. The woman reached into a bag beside her. With unbound joy, Lydia roared as she bounded across the remaining distance and sank her teeth into her own shoulder.

  Chapter 3

  Ryan dressed quickly the next morning and whipped up a protein drink for the road. As he poured the concoction into a travel mug, he wondered if Lydia managed to get any sleep before the station called her about the missing body.

  At his Jeep, he glanced across the street for Lydia’s car. It’s not there. She should be back at the station by now.

  Putting the travel cup in a holder, he sped to find her. No way had the fire actually killed the Butcher.

  When he arrived at the precinct, the calmness of the place astonished him. At the very least, he expected more reporters. Hadn’t Lacy from Channel Six planned to camp on the precinct steps so she could get the best position for statements on the autopsy results?

  Just inside, he came to a security checkpoint. Ryan walked through the metal detectors as the guard on duty sniffed his travel mug.

  “B
erries?” The guard handed back the drink with an amused expression.

  “I just can’t stomach the soy stuff first thing in the morning. Why, want some?” He took a long drink. “Yum,” he said with a grin.

  Chief Fairweather’s voice boomed, “Mr. Williams, I would’ve thought you’d be with the other reporters at the hospital.”

  Ryan turned and greeted the chief with a warm handshake. “Good morning, sir. They’re making the statement at the hospital?”

  “Yup.” Fairweather took a sip from a coffee mug. “The doctors plan to make a statement on the condition of Officer Jacobs at the same time.”

  “Oh. Guess I should get over there.” Ryan stood on unsteady ground all of a sudden. Where was Lydia?

  “Just a minute, Williams. Lydia’s report said you provided the tip that led us to the Butcher.”

  “Yeah, well the paper was getting tips and I just passed them on.”

  A secretary stepped into the hallway. “Chief, there’s a call for you from the hospital.” From the thin set of her mouth, Ryan could tell the call meant bad news.

  “Without you, we couldn’t have set up the sting last night.” The chief clapped Ryan on the shoulder and left to take the call.

  Ryan finished off his breakfast, curiously waiting to hear bad news. After a moment, when no outburst or other reaction came from the chief’s office, he started toward the exit.

  “What!” boomed the chief’s voice.

  Ryan stopped in his tracks. Here it comes.

  “Well, get on it! Get crews out there and comb the area. Process the scene again. Catalog everything!” Several thuds sounded before the chief emerged from his office and yelled into another set of offices. “Adams!”

  “Yes, chief!” came a prompt response along with the loud, abrupt scraping of a chair.

  “Find Davis. Get her back here. Now!”

  Find Davis? Where the hell is she? Ryan thought.

  “Yes, chief.”

  Chief Fairweather turned to enter his office and stopped when he spotted Ryan. “Forget the hospital. The Butcher’s body wasn’t in the wreckage of the house.”

  Never forgetting his duty as a reporter, he quickly asked, “May I quote you on that, sir?”

  “Why the hell not? The damn doctor told the reporter that no body came in last night. Said he’d have someone call them as soon as he had something to tell.” He turned. “Adams, where the hell is Davis?”

  Yeah, where the hell is Davis? Ryan echoed.

  “No answer at her house or cell, sir. She left a voicemail saying she planned to go camping. She must’ve left already. With those hills, she might not get cell service.”

  “Do you know which campground she went to?”

  “No, sir.”

  Chief Fairweather mumbled a string of words Ryan couldn’t make out, but he bet they could blister paint. The man stormed into his office.

  With his heart in his throat, Ryan returned to his Jeep. Although he’d suspected the Butcher still lived, he hadn’t worried that Lydia was in danger until the chief couldn’t reach her. The Butcher would hunt her now that she posed a threat.

  • • •

  Ryan sped to her apartment. The Butcher could track her. People like him had unconventional resources. The ride home seemed to take forever, which worked to his advantage. When his blood started to boil, his perceptions heightened — one of the few benefits of the incident three years ago.

  He parked in a space a block away and wove his way through the press of people. When he arrived at the door to her building, he punched the code to enter. He had watched her long enough to learn it. After racing up the stairs, he knocked on her door. It swung open slowly. Damn.

  He entered cautiously. His eyes searched the room, and he tilted his head to listen for the slightest noise. Sniffing, he detected an odor of musk and soot mingled with the fragrance of an air freshener plugged into an outlet in the living room. The Butcher had been there.

  The room was trashed. What furniture she owned, the Butcher had smashed and shredded. The contents of the kitchen cabinets cluttered counters and the floor. He frowned. Something about the destruction seemed odd.

  What purpose had that criminal served by trashing her apartment? Once the Butcher realized Lydia’s absence, why didn’t he lay in wait for her? Why did it look as if he searched for something? Ryan moved from room to room, scanning for anything unusual. Every room was in disarray.

  Her bedroom held an extra surprise. Apparently, the Butcher wanted to leave a sign that he would be back. Her bed lay stripped, the mattress soaked. The smell overpowered him. Urine.

  Perhaps he did it to mark his territory. Whatever the reason, she wouldn’t be able to use the bed again. A pile of her clothes and the bedding sat next to the dresser. It appeared as though the Butcher had rolled in it. Several stray hairs stuck to the pile.

  Such behavior might seem strange for a normal person, but Ryan knew who and what he chased. This was perfectly in character. Well, at least they could get DNA samples.

  As Ryan made to leave, he couldn’t shake his disappointment. No evidence pointed to where Lydia had gone. Then in the living room, he found it — a balled pamphlet in a corner with the word “camp” visible in green.

  Ryan retrieved and smoothed it. His instincts told him she had gone to this place. About four hours outside of the city, they allowed tent camping and offered hiking trails. After studying the map on the back for a moment, he again wadded the paper and returned it to its place in the corner.

  The Butcher had been in the apartment; he knew where to find Lydia. Ryan swallowed the fear that rose in his throat. The Butcher could be going after her for two reasons, and neither one of them was good. Ryan had to find her first.

  On his way downstairs, he considered calling the police and telling them her location. He discarded the idea almost as soon as he thought it. They would want to know how he knew, why he didn’t tell them when he visited the office earlier, and how he knew where she lived. Questions he would rather not answer.

  • • •

  Ryan pulled into the rather empty parking area of the campground as the sun began to set. The entire trip, he stayed on edge. He had to get to her before the Butcher did. What would he say when he found her? Fancy meeting you here? Okay, it’s official. I’m an idiot. He ran over every possible scenario in his mind.

  He found Lydia’s car and parked his Jeep next to it. He got out and breathed the forest air. Standing beside her vehicle, he caught a whiff of her shampoo. His sheepish smile at catching her scent quickly melted, replaced by the realization that if he could smell her, so could the Butcher.

  He scanned the area but couldn’t see anyone or anything nearby. In the woods, he proceeded carefully so as not to snap twigs and alert anyone to his presence. He followed the wonderful aroma of her shampoo.

  He moved somewhat hunched, and although his hands never touched the ground, he longed to run on all fours. Too hard to explain away if he encountered somebody, he chose instead to slink through the trees just off the path. Every so often, he returned to it, making sure he stayed on her trail.

  After several minutes, he caught another scent. Musky. Like a wet dog, but with another odor layered in. Soot. The Bestial Butcher was here. If he had not already identified that scent in Lydia’s apartment, he may have dismissed it for a camper’s pet that rolled in old campfire ashes.

  Lydia faced grave danger. Ryan saw no alternative except to assume his other form.

  Ryan growled as he placed his hands on the ground. His body wrenched as it shifted into that of a wolf. It was not as painful as in the beginning, three years ago. In fact, now it felt almost like stretching.

  In this form, he could see the scents around him. Lydia’s appeared a robin’s egg blue. Overlapping it floated an insidious dark green that indic
ated the Butcher followed her as well, waiting for the right moment to strike. At this realization, Ryan moved off at a silent run through the forest, bounding over fallen logs and dodging trees with quiet ease.

  Through the forest, he heard a growl and then a scream. Too late! He put forth another burst of speed, swiftly moving around obstacles. Another log. A bush. A deer bolted out of nowhere and bolted over him.

  Gunshots rang through the woods from just ahead. He burst from the trees and hurled himself onto the hairy back of the staggering beast. Ryan sank his fangs into its flesh and yanked its head back.

  Blood spurted and claws reached around in an attempt to dislodge him. They pierced the skin of his neck. Suddenly the beast flipped him onto the ground and it leapt atop him.

  Ryan stabbed his claws into the beast’s abdomen just as teeth closed on his throat. Instead of the crushing bite he expected, the Bestial Butcher threw his head back in a howl of pain.

  Using this opportunity, Ryan pushed his way to a standing position and slashed at the Butcher’s neck. Blood gushed from the wound. The beast grabbed its throat with one clawed hand and made to slash at Ryan with the other, but at the last minute, it ran into the woods.

  Ryan roared in frustration and started after it. However, a frightened moan behind him caught his attention.

  Lydia lay on the ground, her gun in the grass next to her. Her eyelids fluttered. Puncture wounds on her shoulder glistened in the firelight. Ryan cursed. The beast had bitten her.

  Tonight she would start her transformation. Ryan shook his head and knelt by her blood-covered body. In that moment, he knew he would have to get closer to her than he’d ever hoped.

  Chapter 4

  Lydia woke slowly from a fitful sleep. Her body ached, and she rolled over in her soft sleeping bag. The intense pain in her shoulder overpowered the throbbing in her head. Gingerly, she opened her eyes. Backlit by the sun, the tent wall glowed green. She was used to this phenomenon; however, something still did not feel right somehow. She rubbed her eyes in an attempt to ease the pain behind them.