by Leslie Chase
“Sure,” he said, grinning wider. “And it’s got nothing to do with the fact that Jeremy got mauled by someone here last night, I bet?”
Allison felt her smile vanish, and Rick looked crestfallen at the sight. “Oh, hey, I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just that’s why everyone seems to be popping in today.”
She waved off his apologies. “Don’t worry about it, Rick. It’s just, you know, he may be a pain but I don’t think he deserved to get attacked.”
“Maybe,” Rick said, sounding unconvinced. “He’s given you enough hassle over the years, though. I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”
If she was honest, Allison would have to admit that maybe she did like the sound of it – Jeremy had been enough of a pain to her over the years that she wouldn’t cry any tears over him. But that wasn’t the kind of thing that she could say out loud.
“What happened?” she asked instead.
“Honestly, I didn’t see much,” Rick admitted. “Don’t tell the TV folks that, though. I’m looking forward to seeing myself on the screen.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll let you have your big moment,” she assured him. “I’m just glad no one was seriously hurt?”
She put a little question in that last sentence, hoping he’d rise to it. He did, nodding. “Yeah, Jeremy got shook up and he needed some stitches, but that’s all. And no one else got hurt at all. Just Jeremy, and all the mirrors in the ladies’ restroom.”
Allison was about to ask for more details, not that Rick seemed to know anything, when she heard cars pull up outside. Something warned her to be careful, to not attract too much attention. She couldn’t tell where the feeling came from, but it was there, and she trusted it somehow. There was a feeling of danger in the air, suddenly, and she looked around to see who was coming in.
The people entering were strangers who looked quite out of place in Mayfair. Partly it was the attitude, partly the coldness of their eyes, but the main thing that marked them as unusual was that one of them carried a video camera. Rick’s sharp intake of breath drew their attention as Allison sidled away nervously.
I just don’t want to be on film, she told herself. But there was something more to it. Something about the strangers marked them as dangerous to her, in a way she couldn’t quite understand. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise, and her heart speed up. A strong urge to run away came over her, an urge to put distance between her and the camera crew as quickly as possible.
One of the men looked around the room, taking a look at everyone in the bar. Allison dropped her gaze as he tried to catch her eyes, afraid of what she might see in him. Or perhaps what he might see in her.
Karl had spent most of his afternoon fruitlessly chasing leads. There were plenty of people in town who’d tell him something about the Mayfair Monster, but none of it added up to much of a lead. Some animals had been attacked, the man behind the counter in the general store told him. The man at the gas station told him all about the sightings of a furry creature, but they were fanciful enough that he was sure they were mostly fictional. And so it went on – everyone was sure there was something out there, but there was frustratingly little detail to go on.
It’s late enough that I can try the bar now, he told himself. There wouldn’t have been much point earlier when the place would probably have been empty, but now people might be gathering there. On the one hand, that meant stories which would grow in the retelling, but on the other, at least he’d have a lot of people in one place. Anyone might know something useful.
The sign proclaimed it the Blackrock Bar, and it looked like a dump. It did look busy, though, the parking lot full of cars including a few he recognized from the motel. At least he could get something cold to drink, as well as some answers. Karl needed that, he could feel the evening sun beating down on him as he walked to the door. I’m really not built for this weather.
The change in light as he stepped inside was enough to leave him almost blind as he adjusted. Leaving the sunlight and entering the shadows didn’t do much for the heat though. The room was still boiling, the hot air stirred listlessly by a ceiling fan that didn’t seem to make any difference.
Karl blinked, letting his eyes adjust, trying to take in the bar. It didn’t look much better inside – beaten up furniture, a smell of stale beer, and cracked flooring made it clear that no one had taken good care of the place.
“… it was right over here,” someone was saying, excitement in his voice. “I saw the creature, plain as day – it was fast, so damned fast. Huge thing, covered in black fur, with glowing red eyes like they were on fire!”
The camera crew was here, of course. They weren’t quite what he’d been expecting, though he hadn’t really known what to expect at all. The woman interviewing the barman was tall and thin, her blonde hair perfect and face so artfully made up that she looked more like a sculpture than a real person. Filming the bartender as he told her about his experience with the werewolf was a fit looking cameraman, tall and lean. The kind of build that Karl was familiar with from his time in the Army – lots of Rangers ended up looking like that. He had a deadly air about him, the calm cold focus of someone who could stay focused on a mission no matter what.
And standing back a little from them was another man, just as tall but broader shouldered, solidly muscled, and eerily still. He watched the room with cold eyes, measuring other people’s reactions to the story the barman was telling. Something about him made Karl wary, an undefinable air of menace which didn’t fit someone working in television.
The other thing that Karl’s trained eyes spotted was that they were all armed. Each of them had a pistol concealed under their clothing, even the interviewer.
He stepped around the camera man and settled at the bar, trying not to draw attention to himself. Usually that wasn’t easy for a man his size, especially when he was a stranger in town. Right now, though, all attention was on the barman and his story about a wolf-monster that walked like a man. Almost all, anyway: the largest of the three looked at him with cold eyes, measuring and assessing him.
Karl met the man’s gaze. For a moment they stared at each other, and Karl was impressed. Not many people could hold his eyes like that, most would back down quickly. His bear was awake, angry at the challenge in the other man’s gaze, but that didn’t seem to faze the stranger.
He walked up as Karl sat at the bar, keeping eye contact the whole time. “I saw you at the hotel, I think,” he said. His voice was as hard and unfriendly as his gaze, like steel. “What brings you to Mayfair?”
Karl smiled, trying to look friendly. Sometimes an awkward meeting could lead to making a good contact. He doubted this was one of those times, but it never hurt to try.
“I’m Karl Werner,” he said, extending a hand. “I’m here on business. You making a film or something?”
“Damian Hughes,” the other man replied, gripping his hand and squeezing. His grip was impressive, and as Karl squeezed back he saw a spark of surprise in Damian’s eyes. Doubt he’s used to someone being able to push back. “The cameraman is Thomas Peck and the lovely lady handling the interviews is Megan Cole. We’re doing a documentary on the local werewolf.”
“Marty mentioned something about that, back at the motel,” Karl said. “You think there’s anything to the stories?”
“Oh, yes. Definitely. And we’re going to find it, film it, and shoot it,” Damian said, a sadistic light in his gaze. “Not necessarily in that order.”
This is not good, Karl thought. The man and his crew – Karl had no doubt that Damian was in charge – weren’t just amateurs with a camera. He looked competent, capable, and determined to hunt his prey.
And the fact that he said he was hunting a werewolf meant he knew more than he should already.
5
Allison watched the men talking, too far to actually hear what was being said. It was frustrating – she wasn’t sure what was going on but seeing Karl and the boss of the TV crew talking, she felt s
ure that both knew more about what was going on than she did.
I have to do some investigation of my own, she thought. Whatever this monster is, whatever is happening to me, I need to know. But how?
She wished she could confide in someone, could get some help. But who could she possibly trust? Kirby was a trained investigator, but she worried that he’d take any kind of invitation personally rather than professionally. The thought made her shudder. Other than him, though, who did she know who might help?
The two big men facing off against each other in the middle of the bar were both looking into the Monster, but could she trust either of them? They were both strangers. Her instincts told her to trust Karl, there was something about the big man that spoke to her in a way she didn’t understand. Something that made her want to open up to him.
That just made her more suspicious of him. I can’t trust someone just because I have a good feeling about him, she told herself firmly. That’s ridiculous. Remember high school, and the boys you ‘had a good feeling about?’
The embarrassing memories of her teenage crushes gave her a firm reason not to blindly follow her feelings. The TV crew didn’t even have that going for them – they scared her on the same level that Karl attracted her, and she just wanted to be away from them.
Standing abruptly, she headed for the ladies’ room, wanting to at least have a look at the scene again. If I can’t trust anyone else to help, I’ll just have to investigate on my own. No one seemed to be paying her any attention as she left the bar. Everyone was watching Rick being interviewed by the blonde woman. He was making the most of it, his story growing in the telling, full of big, sweeping gestures as he described the fight between Jeremy and the Monster.
The restroom was still a mess, of course. It looked like Rick had done his best to clean it up, but he’d not had long and didn’t do a great job of it. The blood she remembered from the night before had been mopped up, at least, but the mirrors hadn’t been replaced yet. A single small mirror had been taped in place on the wall instead, and some of the larger shards of the old one still hanging were usable, but that was all.
Allison went to the window and looked at it, frowning. She had hoped, ridiculously, that the whole experience had been a dream – but now that she was back in the room, she couldn’t hold on to that. Everything matched her memory too perfectly.
Turning back to the mirrors she looked at the wreckage, wondering what she was doing there. How she could try to work out what had happened last night. Rick clearly hadn’t seen her come in, and there was no sign of any of her clothes here – but she couldn’t imagine that she’d made it through the bar naked without being spotted!
Did I come in through the window, too? It seemed implausible, but what other explanation was there? Her mind shied away from the only other idea that occurred to her, it was too unbelievable for words. It couldn’t have been me. Could it?
Something on the wall caught her eye, and she turned her mind away from the thought with relief. Leaning in, she could see that there was a tuft of hair caught on the remains of the mirror, just a few dark strands.
Maybe I should leave it, she thought, wondering if it was evidence. And if it was evidence, whether she wanted it to be found. Before she could think about that too much, she yanked it off the shard of glass that trapped it and took a closer look.
It was fine, and dark, and familiar. Holding it next to her own hair and looking in the remaining mirror section, she found that she couldn’t tell the difference. She stared at it, leaning in to look closely. The color was exactly the same, identical, and it somehow felt the same, too.
Allison’s heart pounded and her throat was dry. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been staring into the mirror when she heard someone enter the room.
Jumping guiltily, she spun to face the entrance, finding herself face to face with Megan, the blonde woman who’d been interviewing Rick. The woman’s face was cold, hard, and her blue eyes were icy. The smile on her face didn’t look friendly at all.
“What’s that you’ve found?” The woman asked, her heels clicking on the tiled floor as she stepped closer. Allison backed away, and the woman’s smile broadened a touch. She likes scaring me, Allison realized, a flare of anger shooting through her at the thought. She straightened, thrusting her hand into the pocket of her jeans to hide the tuft of hair.
“None of your business,” she told the other woman. The ice-blue eyes flicked over her, down then up, and Allison felt the blonde judging her.
“You found something, didn’t you? Give it to me,” Megan said in a tone that made it clear she expected to be deferred to. It made Allison determined to do anything but give in.
She shook her head, watching those blue eyes narrow.
“If you’ve found something useful, then you’ll get the credit for it when we track down the Mayfair Monster, ma’am.” The woman’s voice was as cool as her gaze, and despite the hot day Allison found herself shivering. She shook her head.
“No thanks,” she said, “I don’t think I’m cut out for TV.”
With that she walked out the door, hand still firmly in her pocket. Megan stepped out of her way, a frown marring her perfect face. Allison contained her satisfaction at the sight of it until she was past her – no need, she thought, to annoy the woman more than she had already.
Not wanting to risk staying in the bar any longer than she had to, Allison headed straight for the door. Behind her, she heard the precise click click click of Megan’s heels, but a glance back showed that she wasn’t being followed. The blonde was going straight back to the bar, her attention now on her cell phone.
The evening was still bright enough to make Allison wince as she stepped into the sunlight and headed for her car. The parking lot was fuller than usual, and not just with local cars. There was the big SUV that she recognized from Karl’s visit to the sheriff’s office, as well as a van and several other cars she didn’t recognize. Must be the TV crew’s, she thought, walking past them to her own car. She hadn’t paid much attention on the way in, but now she frowned a little. There were too many of them for the three members of the crew she’d seen inside.
No sooner had she finished the thought than a hand grabbed her by the elbow, making her gasp in shock. Spinning, she looked up at a wiry man wearing dark glasses, a smile on his face. It looked as though he was trying to be reassuring, but it really wasn’t working. The man was dressed for the outdoors, a hat keeping the sun off him, and he had the hard look of someone used to a tough life.
“Sorry to startle you, miss,” he said, sounding anything but sorry. “Megan told me you had something for me, is all. Evidence about the Mayfair Monster?”
She stepped backward, looking around. There was another stranger behind the first man, leaning on a car, and as she glanced towards the bar her heart sank. She’d hoped that she’d see someone local leaving the bar, someone who would help. But instead, she saw the man who’d arrived with the cameraman approaching. His smile looked more polished, more genuine, but it didn’t make her any more comfortable.
His long stride devoured the distance between them. She looked up at the man who’d grabbed her, and he grinned.
“Let go of me,” she said, trying to focus on her anger over her sudden fear. It would be insane for them to do anything to her here, with so many witnesses so close. But then, some people were insane, and the way the three men looked at her didn’t reassure her at all.
“Matt, why don’t you do as the woman asks,” the approaching man said, tone entirely reasonable and friendly. “We’re all friends here, after all. We all want to find the Monster.”
As the man at her side let go, she turned to face the newcomer. “I’m not your friend,” she told him. “And who the hell do you think you are?”
“My name’s Damian,” he told her, chuckling nastily, entirely unimpressed by her anger. “And I hunt monsters, so you can give up on trying to intimidate me. I’ve seen far worse than you, little lady.”
That stung. Allison glared at him, suddenly certain she’d made the right choice in walking away from Megan – confiding in someone who’d speak to her like that couldn’t have been a good idea. And the way he spoke about monster hunting, she didn’t think that the main aim was catching one on camera.
Forcing herself to relax, she spoke quietly but firmly. “I wouldn’t be so quick – you might not be scared of me, but I work for the sheriff.”
That was stretching it a little, but ‘working in the deputy’s office’ wouldn’t sound as intimidating. At her comments, the men exchanged glances, but they didn’t back off. In fact, Damian took a step closer, forcing her back against her car.
“Good for you,” he said. “But he doesn’t intimidate me either, I’m afraid. So why don’t you give me whatever it is you’re trying to hide in that pocket, and we’ll all go our separate ways, okay? We don’t need trouble with the sheriff, but you really don’t want any trouble with us.”
He held out his hand, palm up, and Allison bit her lip, trying to think of what to do. It didn’t look like they would take no for an answer, and they had her surrounded. Maybe I should shout for help? She glanced at the Blackrock Bar’s door, all too far away, and swallowed. Probably they’d just walk off if she called out. Probably. But if they wanted to do something worse, they’d have time before anyone reached them.
And they looked crazy enough that she didn’t want to take the risk. Looking up into Damian’s eyes again, she saw no fear at all, just the dark amusement of a man holding prey at bay. She certainly didn’t want to hand over the hair sample to these crazy hunters, not when it looked like it might link her to the scene. God alone knew what they’d make of that!
“What’s going on here?” The voice was hard, angry, and deep. Her eyes snapped back to the bar’s door, and there, striding towards the confrontation, was Karl.
Striding out of the bar, Karl felt his blood boil. The men surrounding Allison all looked up at the angry tone in his voice, and he didn’t blame them. The threat was very real, and he was having difficulty keeping his bear in check.