Shapeshifter: 1

by J. F. Gonzalez

  "You stayed with him because you were enamored with his other qualities," Mark replied. They had been talking at her place. They were sitting in the living room, the stereo turned to an Enya CD. "After all, he's a good-looking man."

  "Yes, he is," Carol said. "But sometimes I think he can be dangerous."

  "Why is that?"

  Carol wouldn't elaborate. Mark didn't press the issue. In the end, they decided it was imperative that they keep their relationship a secret. "After all, he's been calling me a lot lately," Carol said. "He just called me two nights ago. He wanted to take me to Vail for a skiing trip over the holidays. I told him I was going back to Nebraska to visit my parents."

  "Have you thought about just ... well, breaking it off with him?"

  "More than once."

  "Why don't you?"

  "It isn't as easy as you might think. After all, he is my boss."

  It was that notion that decided it for her: After the holidays she was going to look for another job.

  But first, there were the holidays ...

  They spent them together. They flew up to San Francisco on December 22 and spent Christmas Eve in a charming cottage along the California coast, just an hour south of the city. A colleague of her father's owned it, and Carol was able to rent it for the week. They spent seven days at the cottage and had a wonderful Christmas morning together. They even bought a little tree, draping it with tinsel and decorations. They placed their carefully wrapped gifts to each other under the tree on Christmas Eve and opened them the next morning with the eagerness of young children. Mark smiled as Carol peeled the paper back on a box of perfume from Macy's; he was swept up in a hug when she opened the box containing a diamond necklace. "It's beautiful, Mark, but you shouldn't have. How could you afford-"

  "It's okay," Mark said, smiling. The necklace had cost him five thousand dollars. It had been the first thing he had bought with the blood money he had earned from Bernard.

  "Thank you."

  But her favorite gift was one he'd found in a secondhand bookstore. She unwrapped it slowly, her mouth opening in surprise as she uncovered the book and held it up. "Oh my God! I can't believe it! Where did you find this?"

  "Book Baron in Anaheim," Mark said, grinning.

  Carol turned the book over in her hands. "Do have any idea how long I've been trying to find this?"

  "I don't know, but when you said it had been your favorite book as a child ..." Mark shrugged, letting it trail off. He smiled as she flipped open the book, paging through it. The book in question was a first edition of John Steinbeck's Of Mice and Men. Carol had a paperback copy of the book, but she had told Mark during one of their conversations that she had once had a first edition of the book, given to her by her grandfather. "It got lost somehow," she had said. "I was devastated. That book meant so much to me."

  Carol was gushing with excitement. "I just don't believe this ... this must have cost you a fortune!"

  "It wasn't that expensive," Mark grinned, the lie slipping through effortlessly. He had paid almost two grand for the book.

  "I just can't believe it," she said, sweeping Mark up in a hug. "Thank you."

  Mark was equally surprised with his gifts. A brandnew sweater, a bottle of cologne, and some CD's that he had been wanting. But it was the last gift he opened that had been his favorite. He held it up, his heart swelling as he held it in his hands. It was a har monica. Carol smiled at him. "You said you used to play a mean harmonica when you were a kid, so..."

  "I did," Mark said, cupping the instrument in his hands. He looked across at Carol. "Thank you."

  They spent the next few days at the cottage, traveling into the city for sightseeing, eating in quaint little restaurants. They spent their evenings at the cottage making love in front of a warm fire. They flew back to Irvine on December 29, and spent the rest of their holiday at Carol's condo. There were three messages on Carol's answering machine from Bernard; on the last one he said he had just called to wish her a Merry Christmas, and was spending the holidays with his brother and sister-in-law in Iowa, but would call January 3 when he came back. Maybe they could go out. "Not on your life," Carol said, pressing the rewind button.

  They returned to their jobs and maintaining the illusion that they weren't a romantic item on January 4. Carol called him that night, her voice tinged with annoyance. "First thing Bernard did when he came in was ask to meet with me in his office," she said. "I go in there, he closes the door and starts trying to kiss me. I pushed away from him and told him, 'Look, I don't think we should be doing this anymore."'

  "What did he say?"

  "He was confused. He just kept trying to, you know, paw at me. I finally told him that I was sending my resume out and was looking for another job. And that I wasn't interested in him romantically anymore. He wouldn't accept it until I told him I had met somebody else. Then he got the message."

  "Naturally, you didn't tell him who you were seeing."

  "Of course not."

  "Were you ever ... interested in him romantically?" The last few times Bernard had come up in conversation, Mark had felt a flare of jealousy.

  "The truth?"

  "Yeah."

  "Not at all," she said. "I used him sexually as much as he used me. He meant nothing to me."

  "And me?"

  "You mean the world to me."

  Hearing her say that warmed his heart. "You mean the world to me, too."

  As good as Carol's words made him feel, Mark's heart felt heavy with dread. A rendezvous of his own with Bernard was coming up, one he couldn't back out of. For a moment, Mark thought that he should just dump it all: take Carol and flee California, retreating into the wilds with her. But part of him knew that Bernard would be close on his trail, hunting him down. And he knew that as long as he was in his human form, he would be vulnerable to law enforcement; after all, Bernard had him by the short end of the stick. Even if he did get away, Bernard would tip the police to his involvement in the murders. Then he'd be the subject of a nationwide manhunt.

  It was this thought that almost made him tell Carol everything, but he held back. He would wait and see what became of this upcoming meeting. If the plans to merge Free State were scrapped, then he had nothing to worry about; Bernard would leave him alone, and that would be the end of it. But if the plans were still on the drawing board ...

  ... if Bernard still wanted him to hunt and kill ... God help him.

  They met the following week, on a Tuesday night, at the usual location: the Huntington Beach Pier.

  Mark was waiting for Bernard at the end of the pier. He approached, dressed in a long trenchcoat, a black shirt and slacks. "Hello, Mark," Bernard said.

  "So what's the scoop?"

  "No formalities?" Bernard asked, moving to the rail to peer out into the ocean. "What happened to, 'Hi Bernard. How are things? How were your Christmas holidays?"'

  Mark sidestepped the question. "I just want to hear the latest news. Are we going through with the next one, or not?"

  Bernard smiled. "Can't wait to get on with the hunt, can you?"

  "You could say that." In reality he wanted to cut through the bullshit and find out what was going on.

  "Good! I love it when I hear enthusiasm over a job." Bernard stepped back, hands in his trenchcoat pockets. "There is a man named George Fielding on the list. He lives in Las Vegas. He has successfully convinced those few fence sitters on the board to vote for the merger this spring. He needs to be taken out."

  "Why not just take out the fence sitters?" Mark asked.

  Bernard looked at him curiously. "Are you questioning me on this?"

  "No. Not at all."

  "It sure sounded like it."

  Mark shrugged. "I just thought that if we took out the fence sitters, that would cut out the opposition. You know, strike at the marrow of this thing."

  Bernard regarded Mark for a moment, as if he were some new species of insect. Then he burst out laughing. "Oh, Mark. I love it! You're really in
volved in this, aren't you?"

  Mark shrugged. "I just want to get this over with. That's all."

  "And we will, Mark. Don't worry, we will." Bernard stepped closer to him, his features menacing. "But I don't need you to question my plan. I have my reasons for wanting George taken out, not the least of which is his influence on the board. Once he's gone, I'll worry about the others."

  Mark nodded. The way Bernard had said that made him think that Bernard was into this for reasons other than simply saving his hide. It had been a few months since he thought about why Bernard was using him to kill the board members, and now as he stood on the pier with Bernard it suddenly hit him: It's not just his hide he wants to save. He's enacting some other deep, hidden vendetta. Because if he really wanted to save his hide, he'd have me go after one of the board members that were fence sitters. He wouldn't go after this George Fielding guy. "When?" Mark asked, resigning himself to the fact that this mad game had to continue.

  Bernard turned toward the ocean. "This weekend. You have the address and the dossier on George. Make it look like the last one."

  Mark was silent for a moment. From what he remembered, George Fielding lived on the outskirts of Las Vegas, in a big custom-built house with a topnotch security system. Breaching the system would be difficult, but he should be able to get past it. He'd been studying security systems with the vague hope of bypassing Bernard's some day. "Any changes to his security system since last summer?"

  "None," Bernard said. "In fact, he was recently divorced. He's been spending his evenings alone." Bernard reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an envelope. He handed it to Mark. "You leave Friday evening, out of John Wayne Airport at eightfifteen. Your return flight is midnight, Sunday. I expect to talk to you Sunday at noon, at the phone booth on the corner of Ellis and Beach Boulevard at the Jack-in-the-Box. Got it?"

  "Got it." Mark took the envelope, turned, and started heading back down the pier.

  "Oh, and Mark?"

  Mark turned around. "Yeah?"

  "It won't be long now." Bernard grinned.

  Mark mustered a weak smile, then turned and headed toward the parking lot where his car was. He wished he could believe Bernard.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mark replayed the conversation in his mind as he reclined in his seat on Flight 798, from Irvine to Las Vegas.

  "Remember the buddies from high school I told you about a few weeks ago? Doug and Paul Lewison? Well, they invited me on a trip to their cabin this weekend. They wanted it to be just us guys, give us a chance to catch up on what we've been doing the past year." This was the lie he had given Carol during idle conversation a few nights ago. He'd mentioned that sometimes he took off for a few days at a time to hang out with Doug and Paul, a ruse to provide cover on those nights when the moon affected him.

  "When can I meet them? They sound like great guys "

  "You will. I promise."

  He sat back in his seat, a glass of bourbon in hand, his eyes set on the vast black night stretching out past his window. He hated lying to Carol, but he didn't know how else to break the news that he was going to be gone this weekend. It was the first time he'd had to deal with his lycanthropic state since they had been together. He didn't know what he was going to tell her if they were still together a month from now; or a year.

  Mark smiled to himself at the thought of still being with Carol in a year. He was thinking about that a lot now. It was romantic, wishful thinking, but part of him knew that it would never be. He couldn't keep this secret from her much longer. And when she found out would she still want him?

  Mark sipped his drink. Somehow, he felt that she would. Because in the last few days he had the feeling that Carol was struggling with something herself. He supposed it might have been his imagination, but he got the feeling that she sensed something was going on. She definitely knew something was up with Bernard, but to what extent, Mark wasn't sure. She told him this morning as they were getting ready for work, both of them dressing with phones in hand, that she had overheard Bernard in his office the other day trying to talk one of the board members out of something. "I think he's been pulling some shit behind their backs," Carol had said. "He kept saying, 'No it wasn't me,' and 'Look, I can prove I didn't have anything to do with it.' It kept going on and on, and I could tell it was bothering him. He was jumpy and nervous all day yesterday"

  Mark had given her his opinion. "You think he might be up to something illegal? Fraud, or something?"

  "I wouldn't put it past him," Carol had said. "It might explain why he's so against this merger."

  "So you know about that, then?"

  "Oh yeah. I've been in on that since the beginning. Bernard has always been adamantly against it."

  "Why do you think that is?"

  There had been a short, pregnant pause. Then Carol had said, "Between you and me? Bernard has been in charge of some of the funds at Free State. I think he's been abusing his power. I think he's been passing information on to our competitors and pocketing the profits."

  "So he's committing fraud?"

  "That and more than I'd even care to think about."

  He had let the issue hang at that, told her he'd talk to her in a few days when he returned from his trip to Big Bear with his friends. And now he sat in his seat, turning the issue over in his mind. Carol knew something. She might even suspect that Bernard was behind the foul play regarding the murders of his colleagues. But she would never suspect Mark's involvement in it. Not unless he told her.

  As the plane prepared for landing at McCarran International Airport, a white-hot feeling of hatred enveloped Mark. He clenched his fists as the plane's wheels hit the concrete, his teeth gritted as the brakes were applied to slow the big jet down. He had never felt as much hatred for another human being as he felt for Bernard Roberts. He hated Bernard more than he had hated his father. Dad had been a drunk, an abuser of his wife and only son, and he had been the type of man who picked fights with other men when he was intoxicated. But he hadn't been as downright evil as Bernard was; he never relished control over other people the way Bernard did. He hadn't been a lying, self-righteous hypocrite the way Bernard was. When Mark thought about how Bernard had used both he and Carol-especially Carol-the urge to kill him surged stronger than ever.

  As the plane cruised into the terminal Mark's mind raced. He felt like a pawn in Bernard's little game. He felt a brief flurry of anger for letting himself get caught up in it, but he dashed it aside. He was as much a victim as the three executives he had killed for Bernard. There was no way he could go through with the execution of George Fielding.

  The plane finally stopped at the terminal. People began rising from their seats and extracting luggage from overhead compartments. Mark stood up and reached for his carry-on luggage, not looking at his fellow passengers as he grabbed his bag and made his way out of the plane. Tomorrow was the first night of the full moon. Already he could feel the power of the moon pulling at the curse inside him. He couldn't go through with the murder of George Fielding. But he knew that if he didn't he would be facing the consequences.

  Mark Wiseman sat in his rental car-a white Ford Escort-in a housing tract in North Las Vegas, which was an upper-class area of the city where the rich retreated from the world.

  It was six p.m., the evening following his arrival in Las Vegas. The curse was running strong through his veins, begging for release. Mark gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles growing white. He was feeling quite stoned from last evening and this morning; he had spent much of that time at the hotel casino drinking and playing blackjack, losing money without caring. It was money that Bernard had given him. "For pursuing whatever vice you want," he had said two nights ago when the two had met again. "In fact, if I were you, I'd buy myself one of those nice, high-priced whores. You need to let loose, my friend."

  Mark had let loose all right. The minute he arrived at the Golden Nugget, a cheesy hotel at the eastern edge of the strip, he had headed straight for th
e casino. He had spent the rest of the evening playing slot machines, craps, and blackjack and getting completely shit-faced drunk.

  Finally, at two a.m., he had retired to his room and opened the liquor cabinet. He had opened a bottle of Scotch and drank half of it before passing out in his bed.

  He had awakened at ten-thirty with a splitting headache and a dry mouth. He'd drunk some water, then showered, his head pounding the entire time. When he was finished with the shower he had taken a few shots of the Scotch to calm his shaky nerves and ease his head. It had seemed to help. By the time he was dressed, he'd felt better and the Scotch was gone. He'd headed downstairs for breakfast, and had not only gotten some food into himself, but he'd gotten drunk again at the hotel bar. By three p.m. he was wasted again.

  It had been years since he had used liquor to escape from his problems, and that's what he was doing now. He did not want to go through with this hit tonight. He couldn't kill another innocent person for Bernard, but he didn't know what else to do. If he didn't go through with it, Bernard would kill him. He was sure of it. And if he were to take off from Vegas, just get in the rental car and drive to points east, Bernard would find him. He would alert the authorities with the information that Mark was the culprit in the murders of the three board members. He would produce the evidence needed. They would be able to get access to Mark's information at work, and within the space of a day his mug shot-courtesy of his employee ID badge-would be plastered all over every law enforcement agency in the country.

  Mark had no choice. He had to go through with it.

  Mark sat in the car quietly, his mind woozy from alcohol. He had slept for a few hours before showering, changing, getting a small baggie to stow his clothes in, and some toiletries he would need to clean himself with after the job was done. He had performed these tasks in a semi-drunken state, pausing every now and then to sip from a bottle of vodka. By the time he headed out toward North Las Vegas, he was well on the way to being shit-faced again.