The Awakening: Part Two (The Lycan War Saga)

by Michael Timmins

  As the cop turned and walked away, Gordon struggled to keep a straight face. Watching the cop drive off, he seethed inside. As soon as the cop was out of sight, Gordon spun and slammed his fist in the brick wall next to him. Several chunks of brick flew away as he shattered the first couple of inches. Bringing his fist back, he examined the sliced-up skin on his fist. It throbbed for a moment, healed, and the pain went away.

  Gordon smiled. Seeing how much better a specimen he was than everyone else around him always made him smile. He was unstoppable. Four times he was shot this evening and now he was fine. He should stop worrying about what the cops and the stupid reporter saw. If they decide they have some sort of walking crocodile, they still aren’t going to know it is him. If they were to find out, he would kill them all!

  Gordon relaxed, straightened his clothes, crossed the street, and entered the club. After a quick visit to the bathroom to wash the blood off his fist he made his way to the bar. The club was full of hot, sweaty people dancing to the throbbing music. Bodies undulated in a chaotic, yet rhythmic dance matching the song being played.

  There were women everywhere in various stages of undress. Most had small halter-tops, leaving their bellies bare and some had tube tops, hardly more than a strip of cloth scarcely covering their breasts. Almost all of them had on short skirts or shorts, allowing a little bit of cheek to show at the bottom. It was a pleasing sight to Gordon. His appetite for women was insatiable. The only thing he had an appetite for more, was tearing the flesh from bone and tasting the sweet nectar of someone’s blood draining down the back of his throat.

  Watching the crowd, he sipped his rum and coke. Someone brushed against his arm. He turned. An attractive brunette leaned on the bar next to him. Soft curls framed her attractive face. Brown eyes, like a baby deer, peered out over a small but flat nose, complimenting her large, petulant mouth. She had darker skin, not the bronze skin most women in Sydney had from their time on the beach or in a tanning bed. Her darker skin implied aboriginal heritage, a grandparent or great grandparent most likely. She was tall, almost as tall as Gordon.

  Leaning against the bar next to him, her long legs stretched out behind her, one calf raised as her foot bobbed rhythmically to the music. She appeared unaware of his presence as she glanced around for a bartender. Conservatively dressed for the bar, she wore a long silky black skirt, cut below her knees but was split up the side to mid-thigh. Her top was a red buttoned down collared blouse, unbuttoned enough to see some cleavage and the edge of her black bra. Her mojito was nearly finished.

  Gordon turned and caught a bartender’s eye and nodded once. Most of the wait staff knew him and knew he was a terrific tipper, so he moved hurriedly to see what Gordon wanted.

  As the bartender approached the woman tried to get his attention, but Gordon brushed her arm. Turning to gaze at him, he smiled to her. She smiled back.

  “Don’t worry, I got it,” he told her.

  “What do you need, mate?” The bartender asked.

  “A Mojito for the lady, and another rum and coke for me.” Nodding in the direction of the woman.

  “Gotcha, coming right up.” The bartender turned and went over to the cooler to get out the mojito.

  Gordon stared at the woman for some time, giving a soft smile. She peered at him as intently, and then glanced down.

  “I’m Gordon,” offering his hand.

  “Sheila,” she responded, taking his hand.

  He almost lost it.

  “Seriously?” Staring at her, eyes wide as a smile played across his face. Sheila was the word most Australians used to call a woman.

  She quirked a smile, and rolled her eyes.

  “I know, I know. My parents thought they had a sense of humor. It gets kinda confusing out there in crowded areas when people are yelling out; ‘Hey, sheila and I always glance around.”

  “I can imagine. I suppose you hate your parents for the travesty of a name they gave you?”

  “You get used to it. And no, I still love my parents. I always give them shit for it, though.”

  Gordon smiled and she smiled back. This was going well and he was sure he knew how this would end up.

  It was four in the morning when Gordon snuck out of Sheila’s house. So no one would spot him, he always left early. The last thing he wanted was to be seen leaving a house where a half-eaten mangled up body of a woman lay on blood soaked sheets with bones and viscera strewn haphazardly around the room.

  He walked about ten blocks away before hailing a cab.

  Sheila had taken him to her home after he explained he planned on drinking and didn’t want the temptation of driving home so he had taken a cab to the bar. Initially she had offered to take him home, but when they got to the car and started making out heavily, she mentioned her home was closer if he wanted to stay the night, which was his intent the entire time. They drove to her house, went inside, had sex on her stairwell, and finished in her room. After, he went to the bathroom and transformed into the croc. Leaving the lights off, so she couldn’t see him, he entered the bedroom. He didn’t want her to scream, or someone would call the cops.

  Crossing the room to where she lay in the bed, he could hear her breathing came in a soft, steady rhythm, signifying she was sleeping. Lowering his towering form, his jaws lined up with her throat, he parted them, saliva dripped slowly from his gapping jaws like clear strings.

  SNAP!

  He tore into her throat, ripping free her esophagus and larynx in one quick bite, purposely missing the arteries in her neck. It wouldn’t do to have her bleed out to quickly. Pulling back so he could see, her eyes flew open. Opening her mouth to scream no sound came forth. Her hands reached up to the gaping hole below her chin.

  Gordon managed to turn the light on next to the bed so Sheila could see her attacker. When her eyes met his, they widened and her whole body began to shake, he felt himself become aroused, again. Grabbing her arms, he yanked them swiftly out of their sockets so they flopped uselessly beside her.

  She tried frantically to yell at him but could only gurgle. Maneuvering himself between her legs, she kicked at him. She wasn’t hurting him at all, but was succeeding in preventing him from getting between her legs. Grabbing one thigh, he slammed his hand, palm out against her calf, right below the knee. There was a sickening pop as the lower part of her leg snapped free of the knee socket, he repeated the process with the other leg.

  Sheila stared at him and cried, the tears fell without feeling, now knowing she was going to be raped as the blood quickly seeped out from her neck. Gordon was furious. He wanted fear! He could feel the arousal passing. Anger surged through him and he brought both his claws down, piercing her abdomen. Thrusting his arms out, he tore open her midsection. Blood and organs flew out to either side, spraying the walls to slowly slide down to pool upon the floor. Bringing what remained stuck to his claws up to his mouth, he dropped strips of flesh and muscle down his throat. When he glanced back down, Sheila’s sightless eyes stared up at him. He went to work on the rest of her body.

  After he finished eating, he changed back to his human form and took a shower. There was no way for him to utterly get rid of the evidence he had been there, he hoped he could tie his presence back to another day. Going to her purse, he put his phone number into her address book. He would call her later, and leave a voice mail about how much fun he had with her the other night and how he wanted to see her again. Hopefully, it would be enough to throw off any suspicion. They met, went back to her place, and he left. Whatever had happened to her, happened later.

  Gordon’s mind wandered as the cab drove him home with the driver going on about things which didn’t matter much to Gordon. He hardly listened. Sydney was beginning to wake up as the cab turned down his street. The driver either ran out of things to say or realized he was talking to himself, for he had fallen silent. Gordon paid the man without saying a word and walked up the short flight of stairs to his condo. Seeing what was lying on his doorstep made him
freeze. It was a picture of him, well, a picture of his other form to be exact. Right there on the front page of the Sydney Times with the headline Monster Terrorizing Sydney, REVEALED!

  The picture was clear, and they had cropped it to hide the ripped torso gripped in his claws, but it was unmistakable. It was him. Maybe, just maybe, he had thought, the picture wouldn’t have come out so high-quality, but it appears the woman had gotten a perfect shot. Picking up the paper, he flipped it open. There were several more shots of him in different poses.

  Immediately, he opened his door and went inside. Gordon sank down onto the kitchen table chair and read the article.

  As many of you know, Sydney has been gripped with terror

  over the recent attacks these past few months, made by what was believed to be a crocodile who had wandered into the city’s sewer system. It has happened before and so it seemed likely, this was the case. But unlike before, the police and animal experts had so far been unlucky in catching the beast. As it turns out, the police and everyone else was searching for the wrong thing. By luck, though I question the use of the word; I happened upon this creature you see in the photos above feasting on, as of yet, an unidentified victim. I managed to keep my wits, and my dinner, long enough to get off a few photos before I was attacked by the creature. If it wasn’t for the swift action of Officer James Downy and Officer Pete Glitch, I would have been its next victim. The officers fired several shots at it. I am positive the creature was hit at least four times, though I was more worried for my life than paying attention to see if any shots had hit, so I can’t be certain, though both officers believe it was how many hit it. The creature, after taking several shots, turned and ran away, as if it hadn’t been hit at all.

  I have spoken to several government officials and they have assured me all resources available are being brought to bear on finding this thing, whatever it is.

  As always, Sydney Times will bring you the most up to date information regarding the creature.

  Sylvia Tyrine, reporter.

  He should have killed her and taken the camera away or destroyed it. Witnesses could be dismissed as seeing crazy things at night, but photographic evidence is hard to dispute. At least coming from the Sydney Times, it would be. Some tabloid paper you could discredit, but the Sydney Times was a reputable newspaper and wouldn’t print stories which could be construed as fluff or bogus stories. What should he do about this? If anything? There was no way to connect him with the monster, at least, none he knew of. So why worry?

  The problem was, he would have to curb his appetite for quite a while. He couldn't afford to get caught. Of course, he was damn near invincible, but, still, he could be caught. Once that happened, it would only be a matter of time before they would figure out who he was.

  It was time to return to the normal life of the 9 to 5 doctor, as much as it grated on Gordon, it couldn't be helped. Let the city forget about the monster, let them assume it disappeared or went back to where it had come from. Tossing the paper in the trash, he went upstairs to sleep off the night’s exploits.

  The Sydney library was much like most longstanding libraries throughout the world; dark and dreary except for small pockets of light mounted above some work stations like fireflies in a field. Volumes of books lined hundreds of book cases ranging from the occult all the way to torrid romance novels. Sylvia would prefer to have been leafing through the latter, but instead, was flipping through one of the many books on the occult she had arranged before her on the work desk. With bags under her eyes, she could admit without any shame, she had appeared better.

  The last few weeks had been chaotic to say the least. As being one of the few who witnessed the monster, and took photos of it, she ran the gambit of talk shows, news interviews and everyday people on the street wondering what she saw, and how did she make it out alive?

  Pinching the bridge of her nose, she closed her eyes as the migraines she still got from hitting her head struck like some strong man squeezing her brain. She knew she was lucky — very lucky. If those officers hadn't been there, she would have been ripped apart and devoured.

  Along with the migraines, also came the nightmares. Most nights she awoke, screaming as she saw the monster barreling down upon her, mouth agape, ready to tear into her flesh.

  At last, the interviews had slowed to a trickle and she was only accosted by people on the street occasionally. It had been several weeks since the last attack and people began to forget. It was enough to make her scream. The attention span of most Australians was like a two-year-old. If the toy was in front of them it was the most important thing in the world. Take the toy away for a bit and it's like it never existed.

  Evidently, the general populous didn't realize what she realized after the last attack. A second attack had occurred the same night of her altercation with the beast. A poor woman was ripped apart in her bedroom, which had been different than the previous attacks, since all of those occurred outside somewhere. This one occurred inside. There was no sign of forced entry, no damage to the home at all, which amazed her, considering the size of the thing.

  For some reason, that didn't bother anyone, didn't set off alarms in anyone's head. Except for hers, she guessed. The creature had taken four bullets; she was sure of it. The thing had staggered from the impact of the bullets. It had taken four bullets, and yet, was perfectly capable of going somewhere, quite a distance away, without being seen, and commit another attack.

  It bothered her. But the thing making her suspicious was the sudden cessation of attacks the moment her story ran in the paper. With actual evidence of what they were hunting now, it was only a matter of time before they would capture the thing. Yet, if the creature didn't make any attacks, how would they?

  It was smart, she realized. It wasn't some dumb monster. It was intelligent. It was smart enough to know it needed to lie low and keep off the radar for a while and let the situation cool. Unfortunately, after only a couple of weeks, the situation was indeed cooling.

  Wondering again about what she was searching for, she sighed. Why was she knee-deep in occult books? What did she hope to find? Resting her head on the table, too tired to go through all these books. The whirlwind schedule she had maintained these last weeks, and the lack of sleep due to the reoccurring nightmares gave her little rest. The grains of the wood pressed into her forehead, a cold comfort, as she rested it on the top of the desk. Closing her eyes for a moment, she tried to let the stress flow out of her body. Once again though, the image of the monster manifested itself in her mind’s eyes and it attacked!

  BAM!

  Sylvia's head shot up at the sound of something slamming onto the table next to her head. Heart pounding, she peeked to see a large book, bound in a brown cover resting next to her. Standing behind the book was a wild haired gentleman, presumably the one who had slammed the book down on the table next to her. She took a moment to examine the bloke before ripping him a new one for waking her so rudely.

  A stunted fellow, he had a blocky build. Gray hair, wild, yet not uncombed, reminding her of the pictures she had seen of Albert Einstein. A short, gray trimmed beard, framed a set of thin lips, scarcely visible because of it. Gold wired rimmed glasses rested comfortably at the end of a sharp, beak like nose. He wore brown slacks and vest, and a gray button-down shirt. A gold chain peeked out of his right breast pocket, most likely attached to one of those old pocket watches. Gazing down upon her through those glasses, he watched her. Instantly, she felt intimidated by him, as if he was her college professor and she was his student who got caught asleep in his class.

  Opening her mouth to talk, he stopped her.

  "You are searching in the wrong place, Miss Tyrine."

  "What?"

  "What you are searching for, won't be found in those books you have there."

  "What?" Asking again, stupidly. She was a little off kilter by his apparent knowledge of her and what she might be searching for. Plus, she couldn't come up with a better response.


  He frowned down at her.

  "You must have taken a more significant blow to the head than had been reported."

  Gathering her wits about her, she responded. "No. Sorry.” Sylvia frowned at the man. “It's just… you startled me. You threw me off by implying you knew who I was and what I was searching for. I find it remarkable, because I don’t really know what I’m searching for."

  "You are looking for a creature who thinks like a man."

  Sylvia stared at him, eyebrows climbing slowly. He described it so plainly, it took her a moment to realize it was exactly what she was looking for.

  "Why do you say I'm searching in the wrong place, mister...?

  "Elliot, Jackson Elliot. Miss Tyrine, I can tell you are searching in the wrong place because I know where you should be searching." Tapping the large book he had set beside her.

  Sylvia glared up at the man before her then back down at the book. Sliding the volume over, she picked it up to examine the cover. The book's cover depicted a priestly seeming man in a brown robe carrying an odd-looking walking stick and wearing a crown made of antlers. The robed man faced an extremely huge bear, rearing up on its hind legs menacingly, though the priest seemed unafraid. In gold script was the title "Celtic Historical Mythology. A study at where truth ends and myth begins by Jackson Elliot.” Glancing back up at Jackson, she raised an eyebrow. Jackson nodded.

  "What you need to find is in here, miss."

  "Why don't you just tell me, since you wrote this and you know what it is I'm looking for?"

  "Because, I thought you, as a reporter, would understand."

  "Understand what?" Sylvia questioningly stared at him, honestly curious.

  "Knowledge is only appreciated if it's discovered, not given." Jackson gave a curt nod and walked away.

  Sylvia watched him go. He walked robustly for a man of obvious advancing years. Posture erect, not bent like many elderly, so perhaps he wasn't as old as she first thought. He disappeared around a shelf of books. She waited a short bit to see if he would reappear, since he seemed like the type to show up again when you thought he was long gone.