by Peter Spokes
He continued, “Some soldiers have it the other way around; after several months in the field, they have trouble switching it off to help little Jimmy with his homework or such.”
“So, you’re a psychologist too…?” I said with blasé disinterest.
He looked at me overlong before rising and turning to leave, but then paused and turned back to me. He appeared suddenly very old.
“Did you notice anything about the wolf?” he said.
“What?” I said.
“Did you notice anything about the wolf?” he repeated.
“I noticed you put several bullets into it,” I said. “I heard it howl in pain!”
“Did you notice its grey muzzle…?” he said ignoring – and not rising to – my combatant reply, “… its canines were worn right down: it was old and lame and unlikely to live through another winter. It would likely starve and suffer long before dying.”
I paused. I had noticed its grey muzzle and a limp though I had given no thought to it.
I was just trying to digest this latest from the man that I had happily been hating for the last several months when he threw me another curve ball.
“My son was in the SAS…” he said oddly quietly, and I thought, sadly. “He too was a good soldier …” he continued.
I bet, I thought, probably had an easy time through the ranks with Daddy as an SAS captain.
“… But … like you …” he continued, “… it turned out that he couldn’t be an assassin one minute and a sensitive man the next,” he said.
Despite my established hate for this man and my bias towards flippancy, I held my tongue; it suddenly seemed prudent.
I watched as the once granite façade slipped further.
He looked up and then down several times, his eyes becoming watery before, “… Several weeks ago, I found him… my son … he was hanging from a tree in our garden…
He hung there among the pink spring blossoms… I have never seen the blossoms look so beautiful…”
I opened my mouth but then closed it again.
“Lowell. It’s important to have another… side to do the dirty work,” he said before turning and leaving.
“So beautiful…” I heard as I watched my old captain walk away.
Fuck! … I thought.
Scene 8: Back to the Cabin
Slowly, I regained consciousness.
I was in the cabin and looked around me not entirely sure I wanted to be back in the real world.
It now held unpleasant possibilities that I had no wish to visit or otherwise entertain.
I reviewed the world around me in the illumination of my recent memory’s epiphany.
I tried to sit upright but it was met with excruciating agony in my side, and I let out several expletives.
I took several deep breaths before the pain began to ease and I looked about me.
So, this was it… but what was real?
I found myself reliving my time with Ryker.
Unfortunately, doubt and incongruous memories began to flood in. I remembered the odd lack of cigar smoke in the flat despite his constant smoking.
I had wondered how it was Ryker seemed aware of the shared Christmas with our pets though only the keepers had ever been involved.
Perhaps I had told him about them.
Ryker was never present or engaged in public meetings… but then, he said he never liked them…; not unreasonable.
I recalled stopping at the monastery and maybe Lucia’s acute senses hadn’t noticed Ryker sitting beside me in the darkness.
When we had arrived at the Capul de Lup, Ryker had gone straight to the room; again – no one had interacted with him, but… so what?
What was really odd though was how Lucia had thought it was I that had freed the wolf; and she hadn’t seen him at the car while I was changing the tyre or heard him as we discussed my old wolf.
When she had visited the cabin – in both guises – she had not seen him or maybe simply ignored him.
With some perplexity, I remembered Lucia walking through the cabin door, but rather than sensing the tall, assertive and charismatic Ryker, she had headed to me.
I remembered wondering why, especially as Ryker had been closer to the door – he was hard to miss.
Once again, I looked around me. I lay there looking at the bloodless floor to my right; a wolf to my left, and Dănuț’s form. There was no sign of anything intimating a nine-foot ghoul.
I wasn’t sure where reality and truth lay – but I so badly wanted to find it.
Was the blood loss giving me a sudden clarity or exacerbating my confusion?
There was no doubt that despite the lie, I had gained so much comfort and support from Ryker’s presence.
Was it better to live a lie in contentment? Or suffer loneliness in truth and reality?
I looked over at the wolf that I believed had been a pretty woman; I questioned her existence too. I had lost my old wolf – Lucia – she was blind, and here I am with a blind wolf called Lucia.
I guess I didn’t want to see it. In a way, I was with my old wolf Lucia again – as I had always wanted. Ryker had told me it was a coincidence, but perhaps that was a demonstration of his constant support – and my need for it.
It was scary how powerful the mind can be in its attempt to find succour to a mental wound.
I remembered an odd dream long ago where my old wolf had become human.
What had she looked like? Yep; delicate, with auburn hair – and blue-white eyes…
The lady from the mănăstirea had clearly been conjured by my injured mind and I was surely the only ‘entity’ here that was real.
The wolf looked unremarkable. It lay with its blind eyes seemingly staring at me; their occasional blink told me the beast wasn’t dead.
How could I have ever believed that it had actually talked to me – like in a fairy tale, never mind changing into a lady?
Nothing around me was true. Ryker had never been real. Lucia – if she existed at all – was a lady that looked after the church. The creature lying beside me was a wild wolf and had no connection to Lucia. And of course, I had believed my old friend Michael to be a ghoul!
All quite ludicrous.
I looked over to where my old friend Michael had been – I believed in my confusion – decapitated by a wolf.
Of course, there was no body – or head – but oddly quite a bit of blood. But then both my side and the wolf’s back were bloody.
I shook my own head and smiled sadly.
Absurd…!
Briefly the clouds of confusion parted further and I saw rational possibilities and furtive rays of lucidity.
I had been in the cabin – perhaps I had left the door open; and a wild wolf had entered and attacked me; we had fought and badly injured each other.
That is what happened; certainly, far more likely than the alternative that I had introspectively conjured.
But I felt a sudden discomfort as I experienced a strong feeling that though I was still feeling blind to so many things, I was all too quickly mentally wrapping up the rational story too fast and seeking the solution too rushed.
I slowed down – something didn’t sit right.
There could be reason for blood on the floor as already alluded to; but there was no sign of Ryker – or his blood; but as he had never existed, then that was okay.
I looked around and stared at Dănuț’s body.
He must have been in the cabin too when the wolf attacked.
I then looked over again at the wolf; Natalia’s coat was now on the floor beside the wolf and I could see the blood along its back.
Why was it so bloody?
There was a baseball bat close by, but no knives, machetes or their ilk.
I felt certain the bat might break bones but
certainly not cut or slice flesh or otherwise be the cause of the wolf’s injury?
I shook my head. I had no answer but felt it important.
Was it a mundane existence that caused me to create an alternative reality where I could once more find myself in a more appealing circumstance of danger?
Despite my breakdown, had I still needed and sought out that adrenaline rush? Had I missed that exposure to a threat?
I had clearly created an adventure.
I once again wondered and questioned who else in my adventure was real or non-real, when my erstwhile self-analytical reverie was disturbed by the cabin door opening suddenly.
The young woman Natalia ran in.
She knelt and with great tenderness stroked the wolf’s head. From a bag around her shoulder she procured a cloth and a small vial and proceeded to gently wipe the blood from its back.
There was a scream and I looked over quickly. Natalia appeared okay though I would have sworn the cry had been from a woman.
The wolf began to growl at Natalia.
“Lucia, se pot relaxa, am grijă de tine: vei fi bine… Lucia, relax, I take care of you: you be fine,” she said gently – her eyes watering and her mouth in a soft smile.
She clearly had feelings for the creature but was it so different to my own love of my wolf?
Then she looked up and moved over to me and began inspecting my bandage.
I winced.
“Your blood dry; you be okay,” she said.
“I am sorry… I did not mean to… hurt… her… it… the wolf,” I said.
Natalia stared at me.
“You did not do this to her… it was the vampir that caused this…” she said simply. “I take away its corpse and burn it,” she said.
I took a deep breath wondering if Natalia was in my imagination too. If not, then she must be … delusional.
My mind turned and twisted until once again, I returned to the gentle caress of subconsciousness.
“Mr Lowell!” I heard suddenly.
Chapter 5: Leaving LepȘa
Scene 1: Coincidences do Happen
I looked up and blinked.
The psychologist stared at me for some time.
That was it; that was my story.
“I want you to rest,” she said smiling and I thought rather unhelpfully.
Was she understanding or patronising me?
Clearly the latter, I thought, for though it is certainly reasonable that any story involving a ghoul and a werewolf would understandably be met with a reluctant and cautious approach, she had not been there.
“Just because you think you see something, it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s there,” she said smiling before looking down and scribbling with her pencil.
I nodded and lifted the side of my shirt.
She looked up at three ugly parallel gashes in my side.
She simply nodded but just then, I saw Lucia standing at the door and I smiled, so happy to see her again.
She had indeed been real.
She returned the smile.
Isabelle or Isabella looked up, rose and walked to the door where Lucia stood.
I so hoped she wouldn’t tell her that I thought her a werewolf or vârcolac.
No; probably not; Isabelle or Isabella resided in the world I used to inhabit; a comfortable and cosy world without monsters.
Lucia approached my bed.
She smiled. “How are you feeling?” she asked.
I was honest – as far as my understanding allowed. “If truth be told, it’s not my rather painful side, but some chagrin and not a little embarrassment from my… mental conduct and… regard for yourself.”
Although I had determined that I would not try to defend or – more accurately – explain myself on finding Lucia real – and not a wolf, I so wanted to be honest to her, but I couldn’t help but find myself defending and otherwise explaining myself.
“I understand now,” I started, “that Ryker, and much that I believed, was never real.”
I did not want to mention that I had thought her a wolf.
She smiled more so, “Do not always doubt yourself,” she said reaching forward her slim delicate hand which I immediately took.
“Don’t look to reasons and don’t always question coincidences. You told me you had a pet wolf; she had my name and – like me – was blind, but coincidences do happen.”
I was wondering what she meant when I felt a movement in my hand.
Distracted, I looked down to see a large clawed paw resting in my palm.
I looked up and into Lucia’s beautiful countenance again and though my mouth opened, I couldn’t verbalise my words.
“I’m real,” she said quietly and smiling.
I said nothing as I stared at the long claws – they were much longer than those of my old wolf.
But just then I heard;
“Jesus H Christ! … What the hell!”
I looked over to see my psychologist – her hands to her mouth.
I looked at her and smiled.
“Just because you think you see something, it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s there,” I said.
Scene 2: Epilogue
I sat on my favourite bench on the reserve and watched the wolves playing.
Some were only pups but I smiled as I watched them mock snarling and twisting their heads, their teeth on show.
My wife walked over to me – closely followed by several wolves.
She turned to them, “Go… go now… go and play…” she said smiling.
They stopped and sat on their haunches, their bright amber eyes fixed on her pale blue ones.
She sat down beside me and stared beyond me.
“It’s really not my fault,” she said trying not to smile.
I smiled nonetheless, “I wish they would include me in their pack; after all, I’m the one who feeds them…”
“You will never have the connection I have,” Lucia said.
“That’s for sure,” I replied.
The Twin
Chapter 1
Scene 1: Prologue
Cass tossed and turned in a restless sleep revisiting the first of the murders that he had been investigating.
Once again, he was driving along a familiar mountain road as fast as he could.
Passing the incident tape and pushing to one side a colleague that tried to stop him, he looked down staring unbelieving at the bodies of his mother and father and more so their faces – or rather their absence.
Scene 2: Castor
Cass woke suddenly and sat up breathing hard and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his trembling hand.
He wandered to the kitchen his mind still living out the dream and – once a strong coffee was procured – he entered his study and sat at his desk – covered by sporadic paperwork.
His mind lingered on his dream – his memory.
Once again, he was looking down at the bodies; he remembered Chief Adams had appeared next to him. “I’m sorry Cass…”
“What had they done to deserve this?” Cass had whispered trying to hold back the tears in his anger.
“Well, they… they didn’t feel anything…” the chief had said wincing.
“What? Their faces have been sliced off!”
Cass remembered staring at his boss. “A syringe was found beside the… your parents,” the chief had explained. “It has already been analysed. It contained a mixture of…” He had looked down at his notebook, “… Propofol, Etomidate, Methohexital, and Pentothal.”
“That would kill the pain but keep them conscious!” Cass had responded.
The chief had nodded. “They died of shock and blood loss…”
The chief had looked quickly at Cass and then had nodded. “I can give you a whil
e on this but…”
“I’m okay. I know the form. They had no one who might want to harm them. They were much liked. Got to be a random thing.”
“Do you know anyone with a chemistry background – other than yourself of course?”
Cass had looked up. “Chief?”
“Well, I know you studied chemistry. I wondered if there was anyone you remember that took a serious dislike to you or your parents?”
“No. I wouldn’t say I was liked or disliked. Pretty neutral really,” Cass had said.
Cass took a sip of coffee and looking over his desk picked up a report on another death.
The murders of his mother and father had been the first.
A few weeks later Cass had been called to the garden of a residence belonging to a retired doctor.
He read the report.
At 09.32 on 3rd August Dr Terrance Stapleton was found dead in his front garden with severe facial trauma. A syringe was found nearby. Analysis of the syringe indicated chemicals that might subdue and remove pain, but not kill. Death caused by massive shock and blood loss.
Cass returned the note to the table and looked over at another sheet.
He examined it closely.
Ms Valerie McKay. Librarian. Found by Mr Jobe Amberson – security guard – at West Springfield Metropolitan Library. Facial features removed by scalpel or sharp implement. Phial and syringe found beside body.
Cass sat back.
What connects them? he wondered – apart from the modus operandi; or was it indeed random? Maybe the victim wasn’t important or known to him – only his sadistic cravings.
Why was he removing the faces? All knew who the victims were so he wasn’t trying to cover their identities, and there was no evidence of any other depraved abuse to the bodies.
Often parts of the body including anything from fingernail clippings to heads were collected as trophies or reminders that allowed the perpetrator to revisit the deed; but in this case the ‘faces’ had been found only a few yards from the victims.