Mark nodded, stammering and confused. His heart was beating so hard that it felt like it was going to burst out of his chest. "Y-yes, but-"
"No buts. I'll explain." Bernard released Mark and leaned back in his chair, appraising Mark for a minute. "I know everything about you," he said finally, speaking low and smooth. "I did a lot of checking up on you, Mark, and you weren't very truthful to us on your employment application. You never indicated you were a werewolf."
Mark felt terrified, but he was also beginning to feel a sense of anger rise in him. This was the first time he had ever been found out, the first time he had ever been challenged, and it scared the hell out of him. He sat quietly across the big desk from Bernard and regarded him as the older man smiled and continued: "But your secret is safe with me, Mark. I will not go to the authorities. I wouldn't dream of it. I don't want to hurt you. I want to help you."
"Why?" It was the only thing Mark could think of to ask.
"Very simple. I need your help. You have what I need that will help me immensely."
"And what's that?"
Bernard smiled. "This is where it gets fun." He opened his desk drawer and pulled out another manila file folder. He handed it to Mark, who opened it. Mark blinked; it was a single sheet of paper with a list of names and addresses. "The list you are holding consists of the Board of Directors of Free State. The names with the asterisks beside them are the ones that I would like you to dispose of for me."
"What?" Mark almost dropped the piece of paper.
Bernard continued as if he hadn't heard Mark's outburst. "Of course, I don't think you should get rid of all of them immediately. That would rouse too much suspicion. Because the list is rather smallonly five people, really-we can spread it out. But two of them need to be killed rather soon, I'd say within the next few months. Then-"
"You're asking me to kill innocent people?" Mark was flabbergasted. He didn't understand why this was happening. His mind was still reeling from the suddenness of it all.
"Not at all," Bernard said, leaning forward. "These people aren't innocent at all, Mark. They're traitors to the company. They want to sell our firm to a larger multiconglomerate. They want to cut it up and butcher it, eviscerate our history. Do you realize what that will mean? Half the staff will suffer job losses, and our clients will suffer a decline in service. And when that happens, the industry will take a turn for the worse. Free State has always set the standards for insurance in California. If Free State gets taken over by a large conglomerate, quality of service will go down, which in turn will set the stage across the state. Before you know it, every insurance company in the state will follow a similar path until pretty soon it will be normal for all insurance companies to be run at the same shoddy standards. It will be disastrous."
Mark was listening to Bernard's half-assed explanation, but he didn't believe him. He found it hard to believe that Bernard was asking him to do this out of altruism for the common worker and the consumer. There had to be some hidden agenda. "Jobs will be lost?" he asked.
Bernard nodded. "Your job, my job, lots of jobs, Mark."
Mark was just about to ask what do you care if your jobgets lost? You can always go to some headhunter agency and get another high-level corporate job that will bring in $200K a year. What do you care? But he didn't.
Bernard jumped back in. "In return, I will keep your secret. I will provide you with any, and all, the security you need. I will pay you handsomely. You will benefit greatly from this, Mark."
"What if I decide not to?" Mark asked, looking up at Bernard and dreading the answer.
Bernard frowned. He reached back into the desk drawer again and pulled out a pistol. He held it up in front of Mark, his features impassive. "I don't know if all the Hollywood bullshit on you guys is real, but just to be on the safe side, I had my jeweler melt down some silver of mine. He made 9mm bullets for me. I figure that even if the bullshit is wrong, being shot should do the trick anyway. Don't you think?"
Mark tried not to let Bernard know that he was terrified beyond imagination. It took all his control to keep his hands from shaking.
"So ... do we have an understanding?" Bernard leveled a serious gaze at Mark, holding the gun casually.
Mark felt warm. He nodded. "Yeah."
"Let's have another understanding, just between us, okay?"
"Sure." Mark licked his lips. He was very thirsty.
"If you tell one person about what happened between us today ... if you tell anybody about this conversation, I will kill you." Bernard looked vastly different from the corporate suit he was used to seeing. Now he simply looked evil and cunning. "Let me tell you what will happen if you say anything. First, the authorities will come and question me, which is the natural thing to do. I will deny it. I will have your personnel file pulled and once the authorities see it, they will notice that your file is full of reprimands, that you are on the verge of being terminated due to your inability to get along with your co-workers and to perform the functions of your job. It will be noted that you have threatened your coworkers recently, that it was suggested by your supervisor that you receive counseling." He leaned forward. "Do you understand me?"
Mark nodded. His mouth was so dry now he could barely stand it.
"Once they see that, they will dismiss your call to them," Bernard continued. "They will not make any further attempt to contact you. I will assure them that I will have our guidance counselors talk to you, try to get you some professional help. That will be a ploy just to get them out of the picture. Then, I visit you at your apartment on Bushard with this." He held up the pistol. "I have a silencer for it. I will kill you and then I will carefully wrap your body in a trash bag and place it in the trunk of my car. I will drive your body to my house, after which I will make a few phone calls." A faint smile played along his lips. "Don't think that I don't know people who will know how to dispose of a human body so that it leaves no trace. Men like me, with my kind of money, can buy almost anything."
Mark's heart was beating hard in his chest. He felt his fists clench. His body trembled with anger.
Bernard smiled pensively. "So ... do we understand each other?"
Mark nodded. "Yes."
"Then you agree?"
Mark answered without thinking. "Yes."
"Good." Bernard hefted the gun. "I'm glad I made my point." He replaced the pistol in his desk drawer, closed it, and leaned forward over the desk. "Of course, the consequences apply if you reveal to anybody what we discussed."
"Of course." Mark was simply answering to be saying something; inside he was trembling with rage and fear.
"Take the list. I made you a copy. If possible, commit the names and addresses to memory and then burn the list. I will call you tomorrow with more information, but before I do I just have one question for you."
Mark waited for Bernard to pop the question. Bernard folded his hands in front of him. "When you ... change ... is it like the movies where you change on the night of the full moon?"
Mark nodded, his stomach an icy pit of fear and dread. He felt the way a small child would feel if they had been caught doing something they weren't supposed to by a teacher or a parent. "Yes."
"But you are able to control it," Bernard said. His index finger tapped the manila folder of newspaper articles. "Otherwise the stories contained in these articles I copied would be much more sensational."
"Yes, I can control it."
Bernard seemed to think about this. He sat across from Mark, appraising him, his hand stroking his chin. "When you are under the power of your ... curse, you are able to control your urges in the sense that you can pick and choose your victims, correct?"
Mark nodded. For the first time he felt shame over what he was. "Yes."
Bernard smiled. "Just like I thought." His finger continued tapping the mahogany desk. "I may be just another corporate drone to you, Mark, but I do have a rather active imagination. I suppose you can chalk that up to all the books I read as a kid. I r
ead everything-science fiction, fantasy, adventure, horror-whatever I could get my hands on. I know many variations of the werewolf myth and had only thought of it as simply that-a myth. Therefore I recognized you for what you are the minute I saw this tape. Naturally, I couldn't believe what I was seeing, so I went upstairs. And sure enough, we bumped into each other in the hall. What happened? Lose control of yourself that time?"
"No." He looked away from Bernard, unable to meet the other man's eyes.
"Are you sure? Looked like it to me. In fact, from subsequent viewings of the tape it appears that the curse, or whatever you call it, took hold of you very suddenly and without warning that night."
Mark didn't say anything. He felt a warm flush creep through his skin.
"Thanks to my inquisitive nature, I not only viewed the tape numerous times, I also did some research." Bernard regarded him from across the desk. "I went to the library and asked the research department if they could find newspaper articles about people who had been killed by wild animals in the state of California. Not surprisingly, I found several hundred. However, I was able to focus on a dozen that particularly intrigued me. These all involved victims who had been partially devoured by what Animal Control experts believed to be wild dogs or coyotes of some sort. Once I learned this, I hired a private detective to do some further investigating. He did some background checking on you; he found out about your troubled childhood, the brutal murders that occurred in Gardena and Torrance where you lived ... the murder of your parents."
At the mention of his parents Mark started. Bernard noted the reaction and smiled. "Your parents, Mark? Please, tell me you didn't."
"I didn't," Mark said, shaking.
"Are you sure? They were both found pretty horribly mangled. More so than the other victims-"
"I'm sure!" A hint of anger sprang to Mark's voice and he instantly regretted it.
"You know, the authorities may not believe the werewolf angle, but they will believe hard evidence. If my investigator turns the information he has found over to the police, they will find that you were in the areas where the murders occurred. They will also find physical evidence in your apartment to tie you to at least one of the murders. That's all they'll need to cast you as a suspect in all of themespecially the murders of your parents."
Mark said nothing, trying to cope with the suddenness of it all. He didn't know what to say.
Bernard regarded him for a moment, a wistful smile on his face. "Further research indicated the other murders. Of course, my private investigator was unable to place you in some areas where partially devoured humans were discovered, but those found in the Orange County limits in the last few years ... well, you've been living in Fountain Valley for how long now, Mark?"
"Four years."
Bernard chuckled. "Four years. And tell me, Mark, in those four years have you ever come to terms with what you are?"
Mark didn't know how to answer that. He sat in his chair, staring at the desk in front of him.
"I did a lot of research," Bernard continued. "So much that I became convinced that most of the socalled experts who wrote books on lycanthropy were blowing smoke out of their asses. I decided to play the cards that I had been dealt by calling this meeting, and here you are. It's obvious from my investigation and from the evidence I have on this tape that you are a werewolf, or something very much like one. It's also obvious from what my private investigator has found, that you are able to control your ... curse, to some degree. You yourself admitted this to me just a few minutes ago. Is that correct?"
Mark nodded. "Yes," he whispered.
"So what is it Mark? Did you lose control the night the security cams caught you?"
"No." Mark's voice came out sounding weak and raspy.
Bernard leaned closer, scrutinizing him. "Are you sure?"
"Yes." Mark nodded, nervously.
Bernard regarded him silently for a moment. "If I find out you are lying and you have lost control of your curse, the same consequences apply. Is that clear?"
Mark nodded slowly. His stomach was doing back flips.
"Good." Bernard nodded. He appraised Mark silently for a moment. "You can go. I'll call you tomorrow night at your extension."
Mark felt himself rise, felt his body move across the deep plush carpet to the lobby of the executive suite, saw himself walk past the now empty desk where the secretary had been sitting, and out the double glass doors to the elevators. His body felt light, as if he were floating on clouds. He made his way back to the tape library where he pulled up a chair and sat down. He stared at the black screen of a computer terminal, his gaze directed somewhere beyond the room. His mind was a confused, jumbled mass. He was literally reeling from the suddenness of Bernard Roberts's revelation and blackmail attempt, hearing about his parents' mangled bodies found in the rented Big Bear cabin-
What am I gonna do? he thought. What the fuck am I gonna do? He's got me. Jesus Christ, he's got me, what am I-
Suddenly it hit him. He had some money saved, although he didn't make very much of it. It would be in his best interest to invest whatever it would cost a private detective to ferret out Bernard Roberts's address and then he could pay the CEO a visit himself on the waxing of the next full moon.
But what about the gun? What if all that crap about the silver bullets shit is right?
In Mark's experience, much of the mythology he had heard about werewolves was false. He didn't have a pentagram branded into the palm of his hand, crosses had no effect on him (which he found out a few years ago when a transient he had killed and devoured had been wearing one; he had even come into contact with it and nothing had happened), and there had even been a few occasions when he had been able to will the change on nights when the moon wasn't quite full. That surely went against the mythology popularized in countless werewolf movies and horror novels. So why would silver bullets have an effect?
Because even if they don't, being shot will affect you the way it affects every living thing. You'll die.
Bernard Roberts had most likely planned this out very methodically. He had very likely prepared some sort of backup plan in the event Mark tried to turn on him. Being armed was just one of them, but what if there were others? Surely being fired from his job wasn't that much of a deterrent, but Mark understood the subtle message that thinly veiled threat seemed to imply. Fuck with me and I can frame you for anything. Even things that go on outside the company.
Maybe even one of the murders in the newspaper clippings.
That decided it for him. The authorities might not believe Bernard's story of Mark being a lycanthrope, but they would believe hard evidence that Mark might be involved in murder, especially if evidence was planted. And especially if his parents' double murder was reopened. There was only one thing he could do: he would go along with Bernard Roberts's plan, whatever it was. He would wait for Bernard's call tomorrow and do what he was told. He would take this one step at a time, and he would watch his step and his back. And as soon as he found a way out, he would take it. He would work at finding whatever weak spot Bernard had, and as soon as he had it the man would be finished. Simple as that.
Mark sighed and buried his face in his hands. His stomach growled. He was nervous and tired and he still had the whole night ahead of him to brood over what had happened. It was going to be a long night.
Chapter Seven
The week following his meeting with Bernard Roberts was the longest of Mark Wiseman's life.
He got no work done the night Bernard confronted him with his revelation and subsequent blackmail attempt, and he had tossed and turned in bed for the rest of the night. He skipped his classes for a number of days after resolving to go along with Bernard's schemes. He thought of a dozen ways to thwart Bernard's plans: going to the authorities, or simply packing up and leaving town. But each time he thought of a solution, he would find a way for it not to work. At first going to the police seemed like the logical option. But as his mind ran down the possible scen
arios he realized it wouldn't work. First, Bernard would most likely do what he said he was going to, and because of his prestige he would not spend a night in jail. Instead, he would come after Mark. Then there was the possibility that if Mark went to the police with the story, they wouldn't be lieve him. After all, Bernard Roberts was a pillar of the community. He donated regularly to charities; he sponsored job drives in the inner city. In short, he was a respected member of the community. Nobody would believe the claim that Bernard Roberts was plotting murder.
If the police did take Mark seriously, they would still have to investigate and that would take weeks, possibly months. They would have to tail Bernard undercover, and Mark knew that Bernard would prove to be crafty. Meanwhile, he would still be obligated to carry out his end of the bargain, which led to another scenario, one in which he informed the authorities and they secretly tape recorded Bernard's murderous plans during a phone conversation. He thought about this the following day and was almost convinced that it would work when he received his first phone call from Bernard. He instructed Mark to a public phone booth in Tustin. Once there, Bernard gave him details on the first hit he was to make. He also told Mark that he would be communicating to him through this method, which squashed all further thoughts of entrapping him.
Mark spent the next several days lying low, thinking about the hit and what Bernard had told him. He had the address, culled from the list Bernard had given him; he had read it so many times, had looked at his victim's photograph so much that he had both committed to memory. But he didn't throw away the paper containing the names, pictures and photographs. He wanted to dwell on them one at a time.
He went to work, did his job and tried not to think too much of Bernard Roberts and the threat of blackmail. By the end of the week he began going to the library and reading the business section of the local newspaper, as well as the Wall Street Journal. No matter how much he delved into his research, he still couldn't figure out the real reason Bernard had set him up to kill off the board members.
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