And then he'd found it. Buried halfway down a paragraph on page 345, he'd found a reference to a term called "theriomorph": a shapeshifter. A theriomorph was a being who could assume an animal as well as a human form. A spiritual theriomorph was someone who saw aspects of animals in his or her personality and actions, and those aspects shaped who he or she was.
Mark had been stunned by this revelation. For as far back as he could remember, wolves had always interested him. In childhood he had had a fascination with wolves, so much so that he'd had books that contained hundreds of pictures of them. Whenever there was a National Geographic special on wolves he always watched it. Wolves fascinated him the way eagles or snakes fascinated other people. He had never expressed the desire to own a wolf, or a wolf-hybrid, but the fascination was there. After reading about theriomorphs, he supposed that the spiritual side of himself, the part that felt the wolf fascination, had tapped into that part of himself. It had been building and building in him over a long period years, perhaps. And then it had exploded when Buddy Vance had begun his last assault on him. It had tapped into his wolf-side and allowed it to take control, changing him physically.
Somehow he'd managed to gain some control of the curse-which is what he had come to call it. As the months passed he'd become more attuned to it. He would find himself growing restless a few nights before the full moon, and he knew now that this was the curse, struggling to burst to the surface. His entire being was integrated, both human and wolf working together, until the wolf side took over, blending in to assume control. At first it had been hard to harness it, but after a few months he'd managed to gain a bit of mastery over it. He had kept it under wraps for the next year.
Six months after he graduated from high school it had come again, full-blown. He had been with his parents in a rented cabin in Big Bear, hoping to salvage something of their strained relationship. The volatile relationship had triggered the change immediately; Mark hadn't been able to control it. After it had sprung up that cold winter night it had taken him the better part of two years to get it back under control.
And now this, the first time in six years that it had burst out of him uncontrollably.
Of course he couldn't keep it bottled up. To do so would be to invite trouble. He'd eventually learned to trigger the shifting by pure will. He had it under control to a degree, but he still had to let the beast out. To not let it out would be to allow it to get the upper hand, to let it get wild. The urge followed the lunar cycles. When the moon was full, he allowed the change to take place and he roamed the night to hunt.
Because he had some sort of control over the curse, he was able to control himself when he was in the change. Most of the time he headed into the Saddleback mountain region of Orange County, where he would roam the woods. There, he would satiate himself on some animal-a dog, a deer, anything but a human. Sometimes he wasn't so lucky, though, and a human had to suffice. When that happened he at least tried to avoid witnesses. If at all possible, he tried to drive far away from the city to avoid detection. As far as he could tell, it had worked. The few times he had read of the attacks in newspapers they were always attributed to a wild animal, usually a coyote or a mountain lion. After all, the victims had been in a natural park where wild animals lived. After such incidents, the Department of Fish and Game had gone into the woods to try to flush out the beast, and sometimes they'd managed to bag a big cat or two. But they never did get the real culprit.
Mark worked mindlessly, his mind spinning through the years. There had been some close calls, especially earlier when the curse was still very much out of control and he had had to live for a time in Northern California, in the cabin of a survivalist he had killed. It was there that he had first learned to harness the curse, where he had learned to cultivate it for his own use. And it was there where he had made peace with himself and come home, back to the city.
Only now the city was Orange County; Fountain Valley, California to be exact. He hadn't lived in Gardena since that fateful night six months or so after graduating high school when-
But no. Now was not the time to dwell on that. There were more pressing matters at hand.
He only wished he knew where it had come from. Despite his own theory of the spiritual theriomorphs, he had no plausible explanation for his condition. He had gone over everything a million times: he had never been bitten by a werewolf, never touched wolfsbane, never-
Enough. Let's get through this. I'll feel sorry for myself later.
Mark Wiseman spent the rest of the evening working, his CD player churning out tunes by INXS, Guns N' Roses, Motley Crtie, and Tesla. He dwelt on his predicament, wondering for the rest of the evening what Bernard Roberts might have seen.
Chapter Five
Luckily, Carol Emrich was a rarity, even if she did fit the physical description of an airheaded blonde bimbo. Despite her physical attributes-her bleachedblonde hair, her perfect figure, and her mile-long legs-Carol actually possessed a sharp mind. Bernard was glad he could hand Carol some work that needed to be done so he could run some errands.
His main errand the following day after his run-in with Mark Wiseman was the Huntington Beach Public Library.
Bernard pulled his coal black Mercedes into a parking spot at the library and killed the engine. The library was the farthest one from the office, but it was the better of the half dozen or so in the area. When Bernard had been married to Olivia Farrell four years ago they had lived in Huntington Beach, and this library had been within walking distance. In addition to being on a lovely piece of land, the library itself was large: four stories of books, maga zines, and microfilm of newspapers and periodicals from all over the world.
Bernard wasn't sure how to approach this particular research project, so he explained it as best as he could to the librarian when he approached the counter. "I'm doing research for a paper I'm writing for a journalism class I'm taking," he explained, putting on all the charm. "It's a rather strange one. I'd like to know how I can find out if there have been deaths in the Southern California area involving wild animals-bears, mountain lions, dogs, that sort of thing."
"Our research department can help you with that," the librarian said. She was young, blonde, her body slightly chunky, her face pretty. She was chewing gum and wearing wire-rimmed glasses. She motioned upstairs. "They're located on the second floor. It usually takes them a day or two, depending on the scope of the project, and they'll explain the fees and everything to you."
"Thank you."
It was easier than Bernard thought it would be. Fifteen minutes later he was heading back to the office, a smug smile on his face, hoping that the information he'd paid the research people to come up with would be useful.
He didn't hear anything back until the following Monday morning. Carol Emrich delivered the first of the reports he would need for the morning board meeting. She looked beat. "I worked on these all weekend. Hope it turns out."
"I'm sure it will," Bernard said, tucking the reports in his briefcase. "Thank you."
There was a message on his voice mail when he returned from the meeting. The research project was finished. He drove to the library with nervous anticipation. The meeting hadn't gone over well. The board was moving quicker than anticipated with the merger. His job, his position, was hanging by a thread.
And if it was eliminated ... if he was found out ...
He waited until he got back to the car to open up the plain manila envelope. He flipped through the papers, heart beating wildly, and then a grin appeared on his face.
Twenty-four people over a period of five years, from San Diego to Oak Run, California. Killed by wild animals that were later attributed to one of the state's natural predators-the black bear, the mountain lion. One death was even attributed to coyotes. In every case the victims had been partially devoured.
In one instance the victim had been clutching a piece of clothing, not his own. Despite the strange circumstances-which led them to believe it was a homicide-f
orensic evidence clearly pointed to the killer being a large animal, probably a mountain lion or a wolf.
Many of the cases were too scattered to be connected: two in the Saddleback mountain region, one in the Angeles National Crest Forest, one in the Big Bear region, two in the Sierras, and three in Ventura County. Five cases, however, were within city limits; two in Gardena, California in 1981, and two in an unincorporated area of Los Angeles County bordering Gardena and Torrance in 1982. Two other cases were reported in Santa Ana in 1985, and Westminster in 1986, but both of those were in relatively remote areas of the city, in sections still being developed. In the urban areas it was assumed that the culprits were dogs, probably pit bull terriers due to their unsavory reputation with the public. As a result, Animal Control officers went out each time and wound up catching stray dogs in the areas of the killings almost immediately. In only one case was the dog in question a pit bull. In all cases, the animal caught was presumed guilty and exterminated.
The two most interesting cases were those that involved Jim and Mary Ann Wiseman, of Gardena, California. They had been found mauled in a Big Bear cabin on December 17, 1982.
Bernard smiled as he shuffled through the papers. His next step was a simple one. He had a good relationship with the director of Security at Free State Insurance Corporation and he had set up an appointment to see him this afternoon for some legitimate business. On the sly he was going to ask Clark if he could view a tape for review of the security budget-maybe he could spot ways in which the budget could be trimmed. Clark would be more than happy to provide him with a tape. Bernard would "randomly select" the evening of June 7, picking the footage of the tape library. He would quickly duplicate the tape in his office and have it back to Clark by the end of the day. This evening he would view the tape at his leisure and map out his plan.
Bernard started the car and drove out of the library parking lot. His nerves were tingling with an ticipation. If what he thought he had seen was the real thing, he just might be able to get his way out of the mess he would surely face if the corporate takeover came.
Chapter Six
The message was on Mark's voice mail a week later when he arrived at work at his customary time of four-thirty p.m. It was from Bernard Roberts, CEO of Free State Insurance Corporation. He wanted to see him today before he started work. In his office.
He knows something, Mark thought as he took off his black leather jacket and draped it across his favorite chair. His rational side said how can he know something? Maybe somebody nominated you for some performance award or something, and Bernard is doing the honors of congratulating you personally. That could be the reason why he had that funny look on his face last week. The notion wasn't unbelievable; Free State currently had an employee recognition program, which recently included having the CEO of the company present the award and a gift certificate to the recipient at a surprise meeting in his office. It could explain why Mark hadn't seen Bob Davis, his supervisor, in his cu bide office when he'd arrived this afternoon. Bob was probably already upstairs.
Feeling a little better, but still apprehensive, Mark exited the tape library, went through the Computer Room, and made his way toward the executive suite, trying to calm himself down.
Mark had never been to the executive suite before and he opened the heavy glass door with trepidation. An attractive blonde woman with a nicely pressed, tailored suit was seated behind a large oak executive desk. She was typing in the computer and she looked up as Mark entered the lobby of the suite. "Can I help you?"
Mark glanced at the nameplate on her desk: Carol Emrich. "Yeah, I just got a message from Mr. Roberts. He said he wants to see me."
Carol ran her finger down an appointment book that was open on her desk and glanced at the identification badge pinned to his shirt pocket. "Yes, you're his four-thirty appointment. Go right in." She motioned toward a set of large, double oak doors behind her and flashed him a smile. Mark smiled back. Carol's friendliness put him at ease, but the palm of his hand slipped on the doorknob as he grasped it and opened the door.
Bernard Roberts was seated behind a large mahogany desk, working at a desktop computer. He glanced up briefly as Mark opened the door and smiled. "Mr. Wiseman, come right in and make yourself comfortable."
Mark stepped inside the plush office, noting the rich, wine-colored carpet, the dark oak bookcases that decorated the wall behind Mr. Roberts, the various plaques and framed photographs resting on them. To his far right was a large, plush sofa and a coffee table. There was also what appeared to be a wet bar in the far right corner. Also to his right, opposite the wet bar, was the doorway that led to the restroom (which most likely had a shower as well). It was an impressive office; the view from Mr. Bernard's windows gave him a stunning view of south Orange County. On a clear day he could probably see the Pacific Ocean.
"You wanted to see me?" Mark asked, hating himself the minute the question blurted out. He was nervous and it showed in his shaky voice.
"I did." Bernard motioned for him to have a seat in one of the two, large leather upholstered chairs in front of his desk. "Please."
Mark sat down in one of the chairs and crossed his arms in front of his chest.
Bernard rose from his chair and approached the door to his office, then closed it. For the first time Mark noticed how tall the executive was; he was over six feet tall. Bernard returned to his chair and picked up a remote control device from his desk. He smiled at Mark as he opened a drawer and turned on a large screen television that flanked the left wall. "I asked you up here because I thought you would be interested in seeing something." He pushed another button, activating a VCR and the tape already inserted inside it. The picture came through suddenly and for a moment Mark was puzzled at the black-and-white graininess of it. Then recognition set in.
It was a shot of the tape library from the upper corner security cam. The angle picked out his main work area, with the date and time in the lower lefthand corner. Mark stared at the scene, transfixed.
He watched himself on the screen as he doubled over. He watched as his celluloid version wrenched back from the workstation and struggled to keep the scream from unleashing from his jaws. His hands were quivering and he could see that they had elongated with thick, bristly hairs sprouting from them, the nails long and hooked. Even though the footage was grainy, he could see his facial muscles straining and expanding as the change fought to take control.
Mark watched dumbfounded as Bernard sat smugly in his executive chair. "Pretty impressive piece of footage, don't you think? I especially like the part when you howl in pain." He turned back to the camera, as if waiting to point out the moment. It came: Mark's video-self opened his jaws and appeared to scream; the lower portion of his face was pushing out, forming into a wolflike snout with long, razor-sharp teeth. "There!" Bernard exclaimed. "And then the part that comes up next, where it looks like you're actually beginning to lose it-"
Mark thought he would be too stunned to speak, but he did. "What is this?"
Bernard turned to him. "Why, it's you Mark. You in the flesh, caught by our surveillance cameras last week. Now I've combed through the policy and procedure manuals but I couldn't find any rule specifically making it against company policy to change into a werewolf on company hours." He shrugged. "And for now, I don't plan to make it a policy either. In fact, I think I have a better solution."
Mark was stunned. His heart was hammering hard in his chest; he felt light-headed, as if he was going to faint. When he spoke, his voice sounded distant. "And what's that?"
Bernard Roberts turned the tape off, set the remote control down on the desk and leaned forward. He folded his hands in front of him, looking very corporate-like and official in his plush office. "An understanding. That's all."
Mark didn't know how to react. He felt suddenly warm. "An understanding?"
"Correct." Bernard smiled. "Understand this: After today, you will not speak of this conversation to anybody. If you do, I take this," He held a
manila file folder and handed it over to Mark, who opened it and began leafing through it. "And that," he motioned to the videotape. "And I go to the authorities. They may scoff at what's on the tape, but I'm sure they will be very interested in the trail of bodies you've left behind the last ten years. Especially those of your parents."
Mark's stomach turned queasily in his stomach at the mention of his parents. His hands were shaking as he leafed through the papers. He had been cleared of any wrongdoing in his parents' death. There was no evidence that he had even been at the cabin that weekend and all evidence pointed to a wolf that had been the culprit. In fact, a gray wolf had been killed a few days after his parents' bodies were discovered. There would be no way charges could be filed against him for his parents' death.
"If you're thinking that you couldn't be charged in the death of your parents," Bernard began, "you are mistaken. Take a look at these." He slid a manila file folder across the desk. Mark opened it. Some were newspaper clippings, others were police reports covering his human victims over the last ten years of the curse. Bernard had them all, from Buddy Vance in January of 1981, to the last one, a homeless man in Santiago Canyon nine months ago, a man Mark had surprised as he had tried to huddle in from the cold. Mark remembered how the man's eyes had grown wide as he loomed in front of him and ripped his throat open. Mark dropped the papers on the desk, his hands shaking so badly it was hard to control them. His mind was running with a thousand thoughts. His throat was dry. "I don't understand ..."
"We have an understanding, is that correct?" Bernard looked at him seriously.
"... what's going on, why are you ... why are you doing this?"
Bernard reached across the desk and grabbed Mark's arm, snapping him to attention. Mark gazed into Bernard's sharp eyes. "Your secret is safe with me," he murmured. "I won't tell anybody as long as you stay with me. Do you understand?"
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