Fatal Moon

by L. E. Perry

  "Of course. I'll be glad to help any way I can." From what Carl had said, he was most likely in wolf form when he was shot, and beyond that, no one would know anything, or if they did, they wouldn't be believed.

  The doctor nodded. "Good."

  One of the young men who wheeled Carl into surgery when they first arrived entered the waiting area. "Your pal's been moved to 215. He's come around and he's responding well."

  The doctor looked alarmed. "On whose orders? He can’t possibly be ready to be moved! Come with me.” He strode away from Jordan, the younger man following quickly after him.

  "He responded thoroughly, fully awake, procedure says..." the voice trailed off as the two took a sharp left out of the waiting room.

  Jordan went to the desk. "Carl's in 215?"

  The attendant looked up at him. "Why don't we give the doctor a moment alone with him, and I'll let you know when you can go up."

  Jordan nodded and sat down.

  * * *

  Carl was looking right at the door when Jordan walked in. Jordan stopped short when he saw the accommodations. So, this is what the other half lives like, he thought with disgust. It was still a hospital room, but it had a huge pull-out couch in the corner along with a double-sized oak closet next to a mirror and vanity, over which hung Hollywood dressing room style bulbs. A 60-inch flat screen T.V. stared at him from the wall opposite Carl, and there was a control panel on a metal arm at Carl's side.

  "Pleasant, isn't it?"

  "You even convalesce in style man."

  "I plan to convalesce at home."

  Jordan shook his head. "You just had a lead-nosed bullet taken out of you, and you have a pint of someone else's blood and a bunch of fresh plasma in your veins. You're not going anywhere."

  "I beg to differ. I feel fine. Apparently, my recuperative powers are beyond those of mortal men," he joked cheerfully.

  "That’s probably the morphine talking,” Jordan replied.

  Carl shrugged, then looked serious. "I'm hoping you can help me out a bit here, Jordan. I don't want to be here. We have a guest I don’t trust at the house, I'm doing quite well, and I need to leave before they take any blood tests."

  "Didn't they do that already?"

  "I don't know, and I don't want to find out. As far as I can tell, standard typing and chemical tests will reveal nothing. As long as they don't put the blood under a microscope I'm fine, but there are some strange cells in my blood that might make them suspicious. You'll be answering the phone for the next week just in case. Switch the landline to voicemail when you’re out. I’m leaving; they can’t keep me."

  "Okay, but you'd better do something about that I.V. first." Jordan shook his head in exasperation, then turned away. "You're the boss. You'll need to make a statement to the police, though, and they may want to question me."

  "Yes, they told me that. I'll try to spare you – after all, you weren't there. Neither was I, exactly, but I'll tell them what they want to hear. Have you said anything yet?"

  Jordan turned back toward Carl. "Just that you went out for a jog this morning, and when I went out to check on you I found you like that."

  "Good. Perfect. I'll sort it out from there.”

  "By the way, what did happen to you out there?"

  Carl frowned, his lips pursed. "Hmmm, I can't rightly say, but I recall an excruciating pain in my leg, then a foggy kind of run through the trees. I remember an urgent need to get back to the house, but it was more like a den – you know how things aren't always what they should be in dreams; it’s like that. There was something crashing through the brush behind me for a short while and... and I... was on four legs.” Carl paused, surprised. “I had a tail! Jordan… I remember! Well, in a way..."

  Jordan's face contorted into a grimace.

  "Never mind that for now," Carl said quickly. "Could you get me something to eat? I’m famished!”

  Jordan acted as if he was going to say something, then turned around and left.

  Carl watched him go, his mind racing for a moment, but he could remember no more about the wolf-dream. He turned to the IV unit attached to his arm and read the label. A moment later, he pressed the button for the nurse. The young man who had brought the doctor in earlier came into the room less than thirty seconds later.

  "Yes, Mr. Sanders?"

  Carl knew other patients had to wait a while for a response, and it irritated him that he was so coddled. "What do I have to do to get out of here?"

  The young man looked puzzled. "Well, you should stay for a while yet – that's a serious wound you have."

  "But I've been given antibiotics?" he questioned, motioning to the IV.

  "Of course."

  "So, what could happen?"

  "Well... there could be complications with the donated blood or plasma, there could be a clot, the wound could start bleeding again–"

  Carl sighed loudly. "Did you use tested blood or fresh stuff?"

  He paused. “I’m afraid we had to use fresh. We prefer to avoid that, but your type is rare and we had a universal donor we determined was highly reliable." He smiled. “Don’t worry, Mr. Sanders. It’s perfectly safe. We would never have used it otherwise.”

  "Okay then. I have an assistant, he can keep an eye on me and if anything happens I can be here in half an hour."

  "I can’t make that decision. Talk to the doctor–"

  "I'll do that."

  A few minutes later, Doctor Balboa walked into the room. "What's this I hear about you wanting to leave?"

  "I make a poor patient and I'd rather be at home."

  "Well, normally, I'd say that any patient who wants out is just about ready to leave, but this is awfully quick. You just came out of surgery, and the anesthesiologist doesn't feel that you should be walking around yet."

  "I know what signs to watch for…"

  "You're not a doctor yet, Carl. Don't start acting like one." Dr. Balboa folded his arms and frowned down at Carl.

  Carl shook his head. "I've got more sense than that, but you know how much better a person's own home is for a quick recovery, and I have Jordan."

  "But he's not a nurse, is he?" the doctor answered, implacably.

  "I don't need a nurse, I need rest. And I don't need what's in this IV."

  "Yes, you do. After the IV’s done, I'll put you on oral antibiotic and some painkillers. Talk to the police officer who's on his way, let the drip finish, and we'll see how you feel then." Doctor Balboa strode from the room, ending the conversation.

  Chapter 14 – Nosing Around

  Diana woke a little after 7:00 a.m. to find the house empty. Seizing the opportunity, she moved quickly through the manor to dig for clues. Ever since the leader of her cryptid hunting group had shown her the crystal skull, she’d felt like she finally had a purpose in life. He had said there were records kept in the skull somehow, including details about a pack of werewolves living in the Cascade Mountains, north of Highway 2, just outside of Baring. She’d been given an alias and was introduced to the man who owned what they’d referred to as a cabin. She had worked quickly to convince the man who owned it that she was the perfect person to do a market analysis for real estate development, appealing to his charitable nature, after receiving a full bio from her team. Which was impressive, considering how little she knew about real estate before accepting this campaign. She was told she was chosen because she resembled a woman whose images were buried deep in the skull. The woman was important, somehow, and if she had an opportunity to pass as her, she might be able to fool them long enough to get access to their lair.

  When she’d first learned his son was staying in the house, it worried her, but it was clear now that there was something going on here, right where she was staying, and she wanted to get to the bottom of it. She wanted to report to her group that she’d found what they were looking for.

  She quickly rifled through the drawers in the huge master bedroom, looking for anyth
ing that would tell her more about Carl. She had noticed earlier during her stay that the door handles, from outside, were all silver, and he never touched them. It could be a coincidence, or it could be a clue. What was she looking for? Fur? She had no idea, and everything in this room looked perfectly normal. Clothes, books, a razor… she made sure she put everything back exactly as she’d found it, then went to Jordan’s room.

  The closet had shelves with very few clothes folded and stacked. Spare boots. The guitar. She moved to the nightstand and found the top drawer locked. There had to be something in there he was hiding. Pulling a small packet of tools from her back pocket, she sat beside the drawer and set her ear to it as she teased the rotating tumblers into motion, listening for the hollow sound that said they’d aligned. She thought she heard it, and tugged the drawer, but it was still locked. She tried again. After several false attempts, she heard a different snap, and when she tugged on the drawer, it slid right out. Inside, there was nothing but a handgun, a spare magazine, and several boxes of bullets. She was astonished to see that they were designed to explode on impact. With such bullets, this would be a wicked weapon. She wasn’t even sure explosive ammunition was legal for street use. What was Jordan worried about? Regular bullets would be sufficient for most intruders. He seemed to be expecting something more dangerous. She slid the drawer closed and rolled the tumblers to lock it.

  From there, she went to the basement; the lab was the next obvious place to tour. She wanted to find out what was on the computer, and since Carl’s system upstairs had been password protected, but maybe the one downstairs was open for convenience. She listened at the front door, as she passed, unsure of how much time she had… or where Carl and Jordan were exactly. Perhaps an early morning workout session outside? Those two were obsessed with their physiques.

  She stepped into the sterile, white room and stood in front of the computer, bumping the mouse to wake the computer up. Immediately she saw images that looked like cells, as viewed through a microscope. She had no idea what any of it meant, but that wasn’t what she was interested in anyway. She slid a nearby stool over and sat down while she looked through the files. There was a directory with a date from several months ago. In it were many images like the one on the screen when she arrived, along with spreadsheets with temperatures, weights, and other biometric details. She opened a document simply called “data,” and her jaw dropped as she saw that the date on the folder was shortly after the date specified as a wolf bite. It looked like Carl believed something happened when the wolf bit him. Further down the page, a journal entry about a visit from the game warden, noting that a local rancher believed his cow had been killed by a wolf. On another line, it stated there was a wolf present when he woke up in the morning, and the area he’d been in when he woke up. She opened the spreadsheet and checked the dates. Flurries of data, three nights a month, with a 28-day cycle. Every evening, around 6:00 p.m. until daylight-saving time shifted it to 7:00 p.m. The following day, there was less data in the morning, more as the time wore on. Problematic weight loss, most intense on the three days of the full moon.

  “Damn,” She whispered. She checked the measurements, and confirmed both the weight and girth of the torso, arms, and legs all pointed to Carl being the subject. This was it, proof that Carl was being affected by the cycle of the moon, and it had started when he was bitten by a wolf. She pulled a USB drive out of her pocket and copied the entire directory onto it. There were others that would be able to get more knowledge from all of this. It might give them an edge in future hunts. This one was nearly over now.

  She went back upstairs to get the gun out of Jordan’s nightstand. She might well need that if they figured out what she was really doing there. Jordan already seemed suspicious. She was glad she knew the three-digit code this time, having made note of it once she had the drawer open. She checked to see that the safety was on and grabbed the gun, along with a box of ammo, then slid the drawer closed, rolling the tumblers with her thumb to relock the drawer. Now, she was committed to action before he found out his gun was gone. She needed to call her clan, but first, while Jordan and Carl were still gone, she wanted to find out if there was any other information in the library. The last time she’d been in the room, she’d thought they were just two young men who were going to be underfoot while she tracked down the pack, but she knew better now. She wanted to see if there were any other journals, aside from what was on the computer, and, more importantly, records of other people, other werewolves. She had a chance to prove herself, and she wanted as much information as she could get her hands on. She obviously had one werewolf, right here, how many more could she find? There was supposed to be an entire pack in this area. Would they come to the house at some point, or was there a different location where they met?

  Carl was clearly a werewolf. Was Jordan? It seemed unlikely, as there were no records matching Jordan’s weight and size; that didn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t one, though. And he was obviously involved. He was protecting Carl at a bare minimum. She rifled through the drawers of the desk, looking for notebooks, address books, anything. It looked like Carl kept everything on the computer. She should go back downstairs and check for names, phone numbers, addresses. She hadn’t thought to do that. She wished she had a bigger thumb drive.

  Chapter 15 – Convalescing

  Carl limped out of the hospital on crutches less than a half an hour later. Carl stopped to see if anyone was looking and quickly switched legs, realizing he'd been pretending to favor the wrong one. He managed to get that mistake past Jordan who continued to walk toward the car.

  "How'd you manage to get out so quickly?" Jordan asked as he stepped toward the back of the car.

  "I ran them out of excuses, and made an incredible ass of myself. They say doctors make poor patients, but apparently, med students can be just as bad. Oh no—" Carl exclaimed, stopping abruptly by the back end of the car. He set the crutches down and dropped into a crouch.

  "Carl! You all right?" Jordan rushed over to him.

  "Jordan! Look at what you did to the paint!"

  "Paint? You son-of-a-bitch, you scared the shit out of me!"

  Carl looked up at him. "You'll have to take the car in for a touch-up. This is horrible. Nicks all over." He appraised the fender. "Have you been scrubbing the wheel wells?"

  "I'll scrub your fucking nose off your goddamned face. Get in the car." Jordan swung the passenger door open.

  "You’ll have to take it in, you know," Carl stated reproachfully as he stepped into the car.

  Jordan closed the passenger door and went around the car to the driver’s side. "I was in a bit of a hurry when I left the house." He started the car and pulled out of the parking spot.

  "Watch out for the pothole!"

  Jordan avoided the pothole and looked over at Carl. "Would you like your glasses?"

  "Actually, I… Oh. That's odd."

  "Your vision?"

  "Yes."

  "Sure as hell is. You're normally blind as a bat without your contacts or your glasses. I brought your glasses, but you never asked for them. And your leg is obviously not hurting," Jordan pointed to the way Carl had his right leg slung over the wounded left thigh. "What's the deal?"

  "I don't know," Carl answered, trying to resist the urge to look at the wound.

  "You recuperated awfully fast." Jordan turned onto the highway.

  "Yes, I had noticed that, which is probably what distracted me enough that I hadn't thought about my vision. I forgot that I didn't have my contacts in."

  They continued in silence, as Carl rubbed his chin.

  Jordan cut through the quiet. “You know I had to give blood for you? The hospital staff told me I was saving your life. You hardly look like a man on your deathbed."

  "I suppose not. Oh, by the way, you remember the blood tests we ran two weeks ago?"

  "Yeah,” Jordan answered as he shifted down to go around a tight curve. "You said we'd run more in
two weeks,” Jordan confirmed.

  "Very good. I just thought I'd warn you."

  Jordan scowled. "I just gave you a pint!"

  "Why, thank you. I shouldn't need any more blood from you, actually, but I could use a hand in the lab. I've already set up the tests, and I'd like to dictate my observations."

  "Great. Now I'm a secretary."

  "That was in the job description," Carl answered as he succumbed to temptation, slid his jeans down and peeled the edge of the bandage back. He stared at it for a moment, then looked up. "Pull over, Jordan."

  Jordan eased the car over to the shoulder of the road.

  "Take a look at this," Carl continued, looking at the wound.

  Jordan tried to keep his eyes on the road, scowled, then pulled the brake handle before leaning over to gape. There were several seconds of silence as they looked at the fresh pink scar tissue where the bullet wound had been.

  Jordan finally spoke. "What does the doctor think of that?

  "He neglected to check it before I left. He'd only bandaged it a short while earlier, and it hadn’t bled through. I told him the nurse had looked at it. I was trying to get out of there."

  Jordan looked up at Carl. "Other than that, how do you feel?"

  "Like I could run a marathon. I had to fake that limp. I'm ravenous, though. Could you stop at the store?"

  Jordan looked up. "We've got food at home."

  "I'm hungry now. Just swing into Rosie's, I'll get a couple of roast beef sandwiches and some bread."

  "Bread! What's with the bread?"

  "It sounds good. Humor me."

  "I'd be glad to. Bread… " Jordan shook his head, hit the turn signal and pulled back onto the highway.

  They picked up the food, and Carl ate voraciously through the half-hour trip home.

  When they walked into the house, Jordan saw Diana came jogging out of the living room and down the hall to meet them, but she stopped halfway, looking at Eric. "What’s up?" she asked stiffly.