Despite all his actions and initiatives in drawing attention to his work, those above him weren't responding. In fact, the word he got Tuesday morning was that the merger would be officially taking place in six months. With the executive positions to be relieved first thing.
Nothing he did to help the company, to improve the future of the company and its employees, mattered.
What mattered was that the company was slightly better off fiscally and employee-wise, with a secure future in the form of the merger. All Bernard had done was help push it to that financially secure horizon.
Leaving him in the dust.
These were the thoughts that settled in Bernard's mind as he resumed dressing and gathered his paperwork in his briefcase to close the day.
Chapter Two
This is all mine. That was the central thought in Bernard's mind as he strolled the first floor of the building, briefcase in hand. Exiting the elevators on the ground floor, Bernard usually did a double circle through the maze of corridors and departments that made up the ground floor of the building. The darkened offices and cubicles were empty and silent. Without the droning sound of people mulling at their tasks behind desks, typewriters clacking and telephones ringing, Bernard was able to take in everything much more clearly. Walking the grounds of the building gave him a strong feeling of ownership and superiority. To know that he was in charge of all of this propelled him to new heights of positive energy. The walks helped fuel his work energy, thus propelling him to overtime hours. He had so much to give, had given so much, been in charge of everything, and now it was all being taken away.
Out of his grasp.
Bernard sighed, rounded the corner by Data Processing and down the hall to the Security Booth. Just beyond Security and outside the side door was the executive parking lot. Bernard approached the Security Booth as a wide figure emerged in the window of the booth.
"Still at these bonehead hours, Mr. Roberts?" Clyde Alans was a short, wide man with a crown of bushy hair and a thick mustache. He leaned on the sill of the window on his side of the security booth as Bernard scribbled his name in the exit log.
"These bonehead hours are what helps you in getting your raise, Clyde." Bernard smiled, regarding the man in the booth. Clyde shrugged, a wide grin cracking his face.
"It's been three years since my last raise. You've been working these hours for the past three months. That means my next one will be soon?"
Bernard laughed. "I have no power over that. Talk to your supervisor."
Clyde chuckled. It was an inside joke between them, which they routinely went through. Clyde ribbed Bernard for his presidency status, asking him for a raise, if he could have stock options, if he would allow everybody on the night shift to pass the hours by playing video games. Bernard always laughed and took it in good stride. For the most part, the two men liked to shoot the breeze for ten minutes or so every evening before Bernard left for the evening, usually about cars.
Clyde motioned for Bernard to come in through the side door. Bernard stepped around the corner and opened the door at the sound of the buzzer that unlocked the door. Clyde met him at the outer perimeter of the bank of security screens that flanked half the room in a U structure. "Ever see a Lamborghini LP400 Countach?" He picked up the latest issue of Exotic Car magazine and began flipping through it. Bernard stepped up beside him, peering over his shoulders. "It's truly a one-ofa-kind, beautiful machine. Five speed transmission, twelve cylinders-"
"Let me see." Bernard took the magazine, gazing at the photo spread of the automobile, verifying its vital statistics. Clyde read over his shoulder for a moment as Bernard drew in a sharp breath. Beautiful car, at a price that he could finance easily, but who knew what the future held?
"Listen, I got to take a piss," Clyde said. "I'll be right back."
"I'll be here."
Clyde exited the side door, leaving Bernard to flip through Exotic Car. He grew bored as he sifted through page after page of technical jumbo and photographs of the same automobiles shot from different angles. He sighed, put the magazine back on the counter and turned his attention to the rows of screens reflecting black-and-white images of strategic parts of the building where surveillance cameras were positioned. Another source of amusement, not to mention major ego boosting. Viewing the Corporate Headquarters from different angles gave an added kick to his nightly walk through the building.
The first-level screens focused on the building exterior; six different angles on the parking lot with one panoramic view; the remaining five focused on the main points of entry. The bottom row of screens was made up of cameras placed within secured areas within the company: the Computer Room, the Computer Tape Library, the Telecommunications Systems Room, the Computer Processing Systems Room, and the Office Machines room. The purpose of the camera in two of the five areas was purely for security. Not all employees were admitted to the areas, and while nobody could access them without a security-coded badge, the surveillance cameras were just an added measure. The other three areas were secured because twenty-four-hour shifts were implemented in those particular workstations; the camera's main role was that of the watchful eye. There would be lawsuits aplenty should the graveyard-shift computer operator keel over with a heart attack and nobody see it in order to call 911.
Bernard surveyed the bank of screens, noting the dark quality of the night from the exterior cameras, and the equally white contrast of the Computer Room and the tape library room. He leaned closer, squinting at the screens depicting the computer room and the tape library. Both rooms were occupied with swing-shift operators performing their nightly duties. Nothing out of the ordinary here. But it was the lone worker in the tape library that caught Bernard's attention. He blinked hard, clearing spots in his vision, and stared down into the screen. His mind refused to believe what his eyes were telling him.
The figure on the screen was hunched in on himself, his hands covering his face. He was sitting in a chair in front of a desk set in the center of the room, the vast tape machines whirring away against the wall. The camera was set at the halfway point of the room, up near the ceiling, focused down over threequarters of the center of the room. Directly below the camera was a desk, a filing cabinet, and a PC. Additional computer equipment flanked the left and right respectively. The man in the room lurched forward, still hunched over, then suddenly jerked upright. He was dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a cotton shirt. His brown hair was long, shoulder length, but clean looking. His hands flew away from his face as if to grasp at the air in front of him. Bernard flinched as if a 3-D image had exploded across the screen. The figure seemed to grimace, then lurched to the side of the screen. Bernard stepped back from the screen, mouth agape, still amazed at the spectacle of what he was seeing.
The man's face pulsated, the flesh elongated and hair sprouted from his cheeks. His face was tipped back with his mouth open in a snarl, showing rows of sharp teeth. The man's hands were turning into claws, hairy, with long fingers that ended in razorsharp looking nails. His shoulders were bunching up, as if the muscles were growing right before his eyes. Bernard watched the spectacle, his mouth agape. He couldn't believe what he was watching.
The swing-shift tape librarian was turning into a werewolf.
Chapter Three
The change hit unexpectedly.
Mark Wiseman had felt the signs since midafternoon when he was down at the Student Union at Orange Coast College, studying for Psych 101. He had felt feverish through the lectures and when class had been dismissed he'd wandered out for a breath of fresh air. The feeling hadn't dissipated and seemed to grow worse as he went to the Union. He tried to squelch the feeling during his studying. While it ebbed slightly, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was going to happen. No matter how weak the feeling was, it was present, which was all that was needed for the possibility of change.
It vanished entirely when he pulled in to work that evening. He clocked in, mumbled an amiable greeting to Bob Davis, the da
y-shift supervisor who was the person he reported to directly. Mark liked this setup. His hours were four-thirty p.m. to twelve a.m. and Bob left the office at five o'clock sharp, no later. Mark saw Bob for a maximum of thirty minutes a week, which suited him just fine. The minimal supervision fueled him to perform his job at a basic level and to complete his nightly tasks on time. Without the watchful eye of the boss looming over his shoulder, Mark found that he could work quickly, with less inhibition and stress, which resulted in a good performance review and a decent raise.
With the shaky feeling behind him, Mark had dived into the evening's work, not giving it a second thought until the change slammed into him at precisely eight-thirty. He had just loaded a tape onto the drive for copying when it hit him without warning. He screamed, clutching his face, trying to pull the change back. Sometimes he had control over the change, but he could tell immediately tonight that wasn't going to be the case.
He moaned, staggering slightly, trying to regain his equilibrium. Another wave of change slammed through him and this time Mark screamed. He threw his head back and closed his eyes to block out the pain. The muscles along the back of his neck rippled, grew taut, then tight as his whole body grew hot from the heat of the change coursing through him.
He was able to take a breath before the next wave hit. When it did, he was prepared for it. He fought it, forcing his entire will inward, pushing the change back. Sweat dotted his forehead, his face was strained as he tried to fight the change.
When it ebbed, he took advantage of it in a more combative stance. He gasped for air, lunged for the door, and made his way to the Men's Room.
Clyde returned to the security booth just as Bernard was exiting. "What, leaving already?"
Bernard nodded curtly. He tried to keep the excitement out of his voice, but couldn't seem to control the slight crack that emanated from his vocal cords. "I just remembered that I forgot something up in my office. I'll be right back."
"Hokay." Clyde plopped his girth into the chair in front of the screens as Bernard picked up his briefcase and exited the security booth. He didn't look back as he made his way down the hall to the elevators in the atrium that led to the fourth floor.
The only thing he could think of as he walked back to the elevators was that he couldn't believe what he had seen. He had to investigate. To simply dismiss it as a hallucination wouldn't cut it. He had to find out what was wrong with the man who worked the swing shift in the tape library. Most likely he was on drugs and having a bad trip. That was the most practical reasoning behind the sudden violent behavior depicted on the security screen. Still, there was that tiny voice that whispered in his mind that it could be something else. Just exactly what, was his responsibility to look into. Nobody worked a security-level job in this company under the influence of drugs as long as he was around. And if there was the slight chance that it could be something entirely different, something he could use to his advantage-
And even if it is something else, what are you gonna do? What the hell can you do?
He didn't know. But he had to find out, and that was what his mind and gut spoke to him. Catching an employee doing drugs during working hours might help him in some ways; at the very least it could illustrate to the board that he was loyal to the company. If it was something else ... well, his mother had told him never to pass up an opportunity, nor let a lead go uninvestigated. He was curious about what he had seen in the security booth and he had to satisfy his curiosity. If it was nothing, no harm done.
And if it was something?
He reached the elevators and pressed the UP button. The elevator doors opened silently and Bernard stepped inside, his heart racing wildly in anticipation of what he was going to find when he reached the tape library.
I will not change, I will not change, I will not, will not, I WILL NOT-
Mark muttered this under his breath as he leaned over the bathroom sink. His head was tilted back to the ceiling, eyes closed in concentration, as he willed the change back. He could already feel some of it taking place. His hands had grown longer, the fingers slimming into needle-sharp claws with hair sprouting along the backs of them. His feet, likewise, had undergone a similar metamorphosis, splitting the seams of his Nikes. His clothes were barely holding his bulging muscles within their confines as muscle and tissue contorted and grew, only to recede, then bulge outward again. His snout elongated slightly, bringing agony to his nose and jaw. It was all he could do to block the pain out of his consciousness. The changing, shifting bones of his face and skull were always the most excruciating, if not the most dreaded part of the metamorphosis.
He clutched the counter in concentration, centering all of his will and energy to a single thought that he forced through his mind. The more the change pulsed and tried to blast past his willpower, the more he gritted his teeth and pushed back with all the force he had. He wasn't even aware of the rhythm of his breathing. He barely paused to take a breath during the change's brief interludes.
After a moment, the blackness that had swooped over his mind began to retreat, which brought a voluntary gasp of breath from him as he mustered more of his willpower and strength and continued to push the change back. It receded a little more and he felt the familiar tickle of sensation in his brain as he felt his fingers and toes shorten themselves. The feathery sensations of their receding registered more firmly as the feeling retreated further and further, feeding his strength and mind power. Any minute now and he could push it back and overpower it, hopefully keeping it at bay until he left for home.
The pain in his face diminished as it changed back to normal. The feathery feelings in his hands and feet accelerated as they became normal again, all this occurring while the blackness in his mind retreated, giving him more foothold. When it finally reached the point where it stopped, Mark released a breath of air, took a deep breath, and pushed with every ounce of mental power he had.
There was a sudden mental explosion, as if a headache had suddenly detonated in his cranium, and then he was normal again. Normal, staring at himself in the mirror with a tingling numbness echoing over his body. His mirror image stared back at itself, tousled hair in a lightly bearded face, wideeyed and gasping for breath.
It was another moment before he regained his composure and caught his breath. He leaned forward, head bowed for a minute, letting his breathing return to normal as his body slowly recuperated from the minor attack. After a minute or two with no signs of the feeling arising for a second round, he looked at himself in the mirror and managed a slight smile. He had beaten it. For the first time in his life he had actually beaten it.
That thought set him back in motion. He grinned as he splashed the sweat from his face and washed his hands. He could feel his spirits soar as he toweled himself dry. This marked a turn. He had never been able to control the change. It had pretty much controlled him for the better part of a decade. Now that he knew that he could maintain some control over it, he felt more confident that the more he played with it, the more he learned to manipulate it, there would come a day when he would be free from it. Forever.
With this in mind, his spirits soared. He grinned at his reflection, tossed the damp paper towels in the wastebasket and exited the Men's Room.
Where he nearly walked right into Mr. Big himself.
Bernard nearly dropped his briefcase when the door to the Men's Room opened, spilling out the unknown tape librarian. The librarian nearly jumped out of his shoes, retreating slightly toward the already-closed door to the lavatory. Bernard managed a smile despite his flush of surprise. The young man stood before him, his face also reddened.
"Excuse me," Bernard said, switching his briefcase to his left hand. He extended his right hand in a friendly gesture. "I didn't mean to sneak up on you like that."
"Yeah, don't worry about it." The young man was wild-eyed, still panting. Exertion? Or the sudden shock of being startled? Bernard tried to divert his attention to this miniscule detail and concentrated on the superfi
cial.
"Um, look, I'm sorry I startled you." Concern melted into his voice as easily as when he assumed his nice-guy persona. His charming mode. "I didn't realize I had scared you so badly."
The younger man blinked, then shrugged. "Don't worry about it." He looked into Bernard's face with a flushed and slightly guilty-looking countenance. "You just surprised me. Guess I should have been paying attention to what I was doing."
Bernard chuckled. "I guess I should have been doing the same thing. Sometimes it's hard to take my mind off of my work."
The kid nodded, heading forward, making to dart around Bernard. "I know exactly what you mean. Um, if you'll excuse me-"
"Oh, by all means," Bernard said, stepping aside, allowing the kid to pass. He managed a smile and nod. Just as the kid breasted him Bernard called out, "Excuse me. Sir?"
The kid stopped, features frozen in that telltale look of what now? Bernard smiled and stepped forward. "I know it doesn't seem right for the president of the company to do this, but I'd like to introduce myself." He held out his hand again, finding the ability to push away the curiosity and concentrate on the outer image. The corporate image. "Bernard Roberts."
The kid shook his hand, looking at Bernard as if he had lost his mind. His hand felt limp in Bernard's grasp. "Uh, Mark. Mark Wiseman." He looked jumpy, as if he expected Bernard to bite.
"Nice to meet you, Mark. You're in Computer Operations, right?"
Mark nodded. "Yeah." He wiped the hand that had shaken Bernard's against his jeans. "Tape library."
"Great department. I started there myself when I was in college. You a student?"
"Yeah, I am."
"Where are you going?"
"Orange Coast College."
"I went to USC myself. Worked swing shift at headquarters downtown and was a student by day." Eight years before, in 1982, Free State outgrew the building in downtown Los Angeles it had been housed in since 1898 and moved to a newer, more spacious building in Costa Mesa. "What are you majoring in?"
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