Bayou Loup

by Lynn Lorenz

  “When?” Bobby leaned down. “When did this happen?”

  “When I was fifteen. We were here, in this exact spot, camping. He got out of the tent, and a wolf attacked him. Bit him. But he had a heart attack and died. That’s the reason I have the white streak.” He pointed to his hair.

  Bobby’s face fell. “Son of a bitch.” He looked away, blinked, and then looked back down at Mark. “My brother. John.” He sighed and loosened his grip on Mark. “My brother did that.”

  “What?” Mark screeched. “Your brother killed my father? Where is he?” Mark struggled to get free. At last he could find the wolf and…and…

  “He’s dead.” Bobby looked away. “He went rogue. It happens sometimes. A wolf turns away from the pack, from its laws, from its structure. He did. He took the dark path, staying more wolf than man. He changed, went into the swamp, and began attacking people.”

  “He’s dead?” Mark went limp, all the fight draining out of him like the air in his chest. He couldn’t breathe and gasped for air, pushing at Bobby to get off.

  Bobby shifted to the side. “The pack…punished him.” He looked into the distance. “Rogue wolves must be destroyed. They threaten the pack.” He recited it as if he’d heard it as a child.

  “How old were you? Was he?”

  “He was my older brother. I worshipped him.” Bobby closed his eyes. “He went rogue when he hit thirty. I was about twenty-five. He attacked our father in wolf form and nearly killed him.”

  “Do wolves go crazy?” Mark had never heard of a crazy wolf. Rabid of course, but not insane.

  “We’re not wolves. We’re werewolves. Men go crazy. My brother? I don’t know what was wrong with him. I’ve asked myself why thousands of times, but there’s no answer.”

  “Your pack killed him?”

  Bobby sat on the ground next to Mark. “He refused to change back. After a time, you forget, I suppose. You just let the wolf take over. He’d gone completely wild. My father said he wasn’t John anymore. The older men of the pack hunted him. When they found him…” Bobby shook his head. “Our alpha shot him. Put him down like a rabid dog.”

  “Oh, my God.” Mark reached out and put his hand on Bobby’s knee. “I’m so sorry.” And he was. He hurt when Bobby hurt, but this conflict overshadowed what he felt.

  “It’s the pack law. Survival of the pack is the first law. And an alpha’s responsibility.” Bobby looked up into Mark’s eyes. He cupped Mark’s face with his hand. “I’ve been looking for you for a long time, Mark. I sure as hell didn’t want to find you like this.”

  “My evidence?”

  “I have to destroy it.” Bobby got to his feet.

  Mark thought of trying to go for it again, but he knew Bobby would take it from him, either as a man or as a wolf. His shoulders slumped as he picked up the flashlight.

  “This is my career, Bobby.” He tried one last time. “I thought you said you cared for me.”

  “I have to do this. My pack is everything to me.” Bobby opened the camera and took out the SD card and then shoved it into the pocket of his jeans.

  “And I mean nothing to you?” Mark closed his eyes, waiting to hear something that would heal his heart, because right now, it felt as if it were breaking into a hundred pieces.

  Bobby turned to him. “You mean more to me than you’ll ever know.” He went to the audio equipment and took the card from it.

  “Really?” Mark put his hands on his hips. “I’m finding that hard to believe right now.”

  Bobby ran his hand through his hair. “I know you’re mad as hell at me. I get it. I would be too. I’m sorry. I know it’s not much, but I’m truly sorry it has to be this way.”

  “Me too.” Mark watched as Bobby walked away. Not as a wolf, but as a man. He still wasn’t sure he believed a word of the wolf stuff.

  Mark stumbled over to his camp chair and fell into it. He put his face in his hands and rubbed them up and down. Maybe this was a dream? Maybe when he looked up, none of this would have happened.

  He raised his head and gazed around the campsite.

  His equipment. He got up and went to it.

  No SD cards. No proof.

  He could take pictures of any of the paw prints, but how could he show they were from there?

  His quest to prove the wolves existed was over. He’d have to finally give up. No one would believe that not only were there wolves in the swamp, but they were werewolves. And they lived in St. Jerome. Worked and raised families. Looked perfectly normal. Model citizens.

  Holy hell.

  If he breathed a word of this, he’d only look insane. His professional reputation would be shredded. He’d lose his position at the university. All the research money. The grants. All gone.

  Mark went back to his tent, crawled in, and flopped down onto the sleeping bag.

  He’d lost everything, including the man he loved.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Bobby pushed his way through the bushes and headed back toward the cruiser. He’d gone about ten yards when he spotted Scott.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “Just making sure you didn’t need any help.” Scott shrugged.

  Bobby pulled the SD cards out of his pocket. “Nope. Got the evidence.” Then he stuffed them back in.

  “Did you tell him?” Scott fell into step with Bobby as they continued walking.

  “About us being werewolves? Yeah.” Fatigue washed over him, and his feet dragged along the ground.

  “And?”

  “And what? I explained I had to take the evidence, destroy his career and his life. So sorry. See you around.” Bobby saluted and made a rude noise.

  “Did you tell him about being his mate?” Scott never could let anything go. It was what made him such a good cop and alpha. Bobby never regretted stepping down from either of his jobs and handing them to Scott.

  “No. He pretty much either hates me or thinks I’m outta my fucking mind.”

  “But you need him.” Scott stepped up to the cruiser, pulling his keys out.

  Bobby trudged to the passenger-side door and opened it. “I think I’ve done enough damage to the man. Needing him? It’s best if I just let this go, Scott.” Bobby ducked down and slid into the seat.

  “He’ll probably leave today. You should try to—”

  “Now hold it right there. I’m not going back there. I’m not going to see Mark ever again. It’s over. Hell, it never even started.” He slammed the door shut. “Let’s get. I could use a whiskey.” He peered out the window at the still-dark sky. Way too early in the morning for a drink, but in this instance, he’d make an exception.

  Scott firmed his lips into a straight line. “Sure. I’ll take you back to your car. It’s been a long night, and I still have some talking to do to a few of our pack members.”

  “Right. Be firm but understanding. They should be punished. If they’d killed him, it would have brought the authorities out here asking more questions than we have answers for.” Bobby shook his head. “And tell them I would have personally taken it out of their hides.”

  Scott nodded. No need to talk. They had that ease between them that came from knowing someone almost his entire life, from respecting that person, from loving him too.

  Scott pulled up to the social club and let Bobby out. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

  “Will do.” Bobby gave him a nod and watched as he drove off. He went to his truck and got in. Man, he was beat. Tired. More tired than he’d been in a long while. He could barely put the keys into the ignition, barely get his head off the back of the seat, but somehow he started it up and drove home.

  That was it. No Mark. No mate.

  It was all over now.

  It was just a matter of time.

  »»•««

  Darlene stood on the sidewalk with Father Peder, afraid to look him in the eye. He was having none of that. Around them, most of the signs of the fair were gone. It had rained all day on Sunday,
but the workers had come out that evening and taken it all down. Only a few pieces of trash caught in the bushes and against the curbs remained.

  “Darlene, why?” Usually his soft voice comforted, but now it only sounded like an accusation.

  “I needed to fix it. What I’d messed up. Father, you know me. I believe. When I saw that Jesus, he was real to me. I never even thought about the festival or that there would be pilgrims.”

  “There were pilgrims last time.” His tone said peddle it down the other side of the street because he wasn’t buying.

  She sighed. “I know. I just didn’t… I got excited.” She shrugged. “What do you want me to say?”

  “To the pilgrims? I think apologizing would be a great place to start.” At this, he gave her a smile.

  “Sure. Right.”

  “And if you knew where the image was now, that might help. If they could go there. Wherever it is?” He glanced at her sideways.

  “It’s destroyed, just like I told you.” She put her hand behind her back and crossed her fingers. She’d say ten Hail Marys to make up for it. Maybe even confess to lying next Sunday.

  “Uh-huh.” His mouth twisted. He looked up as a large bus pulled into the parking lot. “Well, here they are.”

  Darlene swallowed. Despite everything, she’d meant no harm. She just hoped they’d believe her.

  The bus stopped, and the doors hissed open. Out spilled the pilgrims, all forty or so of them. They trooped up to Father Peder and her, gathering in front of the tree.

  “Well. Start talking.” The organizer crossed her arms and gave them both a hard stare.

  “This is Darlene Dupree. She was the one who spotted Jesus in the tree rings. She’d like to explain what happened.” Father Peder pushed Darlene to the front and then turned and walked back to the rectory.

  Coward.

  “Hi.” Darlene gave a little wave. Man, what she’d give for a cigarette right now.

  No one answered. Or moved.

  “Well.” She cleared her throat. “It’s like this. I saw the Jesus. I did. But since the festival was going to be interrupted, and the town needed the money, and I’d made such a mess of things, I thought I’d fix it.”

  “Fix it?” someone asked.

  “Yeah. I sneaked back here at night and cut back the limb closer to the tree. The rings there didn’t look nothing like Jesus.”

  Everyone groaned and shifted, and the air turned electric.

  Darlene figured that was a bad thing, so she started talking fast.

  “Look. I didn’t know Bobby had made the deal with you. I swear I didn’t. I don’t have a problem with you worshipping the tree. Uh, Jesus. But it was all I could think of to fix the problem I’d gotten the festival and the church into. I panicked. I’m so sorry.”

  Most of the people muttered and talked to each other.

  “So, what are we supposed to do now?” The woman asked.

  “Well, there’s nothing much to do here.” Darlene shrugged. “I guess it’s time to go back home.”

  Now the crowd really started talking, and she didn’t like the way that sounded either.

  “Look! I know you’ve come a long way and I know it’s not going to make it all better, but I brought some of my special holy candles, and I’d like each of you to take one.” Darlene turned around, bent down, and picked up a couple of shopping bags. Dozens of glass candles with the holy family painted on them, wrapped in plastic wrap, were inside. She thrust them toward the woman.

  It was her entire stock.

  The lady took a bag and looked inside. “Oooh. These are nice.” She pulled one out, took off the wrapper, and held it up. “This is a pretty one. I’ve never seen one like this before.”

  “They’re special order. We get them from a place in Mexico. They’re twice blessed, each of them, by a Mexican priest and by our priest, Father Peder.”

  The crowd surrounded her, passing the bags around, picking out candles, making cooing sounds. Darlene figured she’d finally done right. If there’s one thing pilgrims love, it’s souvenirs.

  “This is nice of you,” the lady said. “You didn’t have to do this.”

  “Well, I wanted to. I’m a true believer too.” Darlene smiled.

  They hugged each other, and the crowd shuffled back onto the bus. Darlene stood at the entrance to the bus and gave each of them a hug and a whispered “Go in peace” as they boarded. This must be what the priest feels like after service on Sunday. Not bad.

  The doors closed. The bus turned around in the parking lot and then left in a plume of diesel exhaust.

  Darlene went to her car and got in. She dug a pack of cigarettes out of her purse, lit one up, and sucked a lungful down.

  With a deep sigh, she exhaled the smoke.

  “What a morning!”

  That had cost her, well, nearly a hundred dollars, give or take a twenty. But it was worth it if it got Father Peder and Scott off her back.

  She put the car into gear, backed out, and drove home, humming one of her favorite hymns.

  When she pulled up to the house, the cat sat on the railing of the porch. It watched her as she got out and came up the steps. Damn cat.

  “What are you looking at, cat?” She waved her hand at it, but it didn’t even blink. She opened the screen door, and it stood, stretched, and by the time she’d unlocked and opened the door, it was at her feet, slipping through the space to get inside.

  She kicked at it, but as usual, she missed. The cat hopped onto the back of her couch, stretched, and then settled.

  “I had to give them all my candles.” She dropped her purse onto a chair and then headed to the kitchen, what was left of the cigarette dangling from her lips. She put it out in the ashtray on the kitchen table and then picked up her pack there and lit the next one.

  Meowrrrr.

  “Yeah, small price to pay. At least Scott can’t bitch at me anymore. And Father Peder? If I hadn’t done something, he was going to excommunicate me, cher.” She shook her head and then laughed.

  She got up, went to her bedroom, pulled off her wig, and placed it on one of the forms. Then she tied a pink do-rag over her hair and undressed. Man, nothing felt better than taking off that damn girdle.

  Darlene stretched, then put on a housedress. The bright pink and yellow daisies on the green background was one of her favorites. It made her happy. She stepped into her pink slippers and then shuffled back to the kitchen.

  After making a cup of coffee, she sat to drink it. The cat wandered in and wove around her legs and chair.

  “Hold your horses, cat!”

  Meowrrr.

  She finished, exhaled, and stubbed the butt out in the ashtray on the kitchen table, shoved the lighter in the pocket of the dress, then pushed to her feet. “Good thing I kept the prettiest one for myself.” She winked at the cat and then went to the fireplace mantel.

  A candle with Mary and the baby Jesus stood in the center. She picked it up and headed for the door, with the cat hot on her heels. She opened it, and the cat darted out, nearly tripping her.

  “Hey, cat! Watch it!” She kicked at it, but it sat on the edge of the steps, waiting for her.

  Darlene, candle in hand, went down the steps and then turned toward the side of the house. She made a beeline across the yard for the worn path leading into the woods. The cat followed, sometimes ahead of her, sometimes behind, and sometimes weaving between her feet.

  They came to the edge of the clearing, and the cat sat, refusing to go on.

  “Wait for me.” Darlene waved at the animal as she continued on.

  At the edge of the swamp was a small cleared space with a long cypress log lying near the bank. Along the length of it were old dried puddles of wax. Darlene placed her candle on the trunk, pulled out her lighter, bent over, and lit the wick. The flame caught, and the candle glowed.

  She moved to the side, reached over the log, and pulled out her prize possession. It was heavy, but she managed it. She was stronger than she
looked, in many ways.

  She placed the round disk down and leaned it against the log next to the lit candle.

  Darlene kneeled, pulled her dress out from under her knees, and arranged it around her on the ground so it didn’t get dirty.

  Then she made the sign of the cross, clasped her hands, and prayed that Jesus in the tree rings listened.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Bobby leaned back in his chair and scrubbed his hands over his eyes. Man, he felt as if he’d been staring at the computer screen, reconciling all the invoices and files for the festival, forever, but it’d only been a week since the festival. It had to be done, and it usually fell to the chairperson to take care of it.

  Next year he’d ask one of the younger pack members, maybe a college student, to do the figures to hand over to their accountant. With nonprofit status, to file for taxes was confusing to say the least, but if the accountant did this part, it’d cost them a fortune in fees. So they did the legwork, and he did the tax forms.

  Fair deal.

  This year they wouldn’t have to worry about making too much money from the festival. From what Bobby could tell, they’d made just enough to cover expenses and a few thousand extra.

  Nothing compared to the previous years, for sure. The festival usually fully funded all the Rougaroux Club programs and gave money to the church and the library.

  He picked up the phone to call Scott. There were some hard decisions to make about those funds, and the pack leader had to make the call on them.

  “Scott?”

  “Hey, Bobby. What can I do you for?” Scott sounded in a good mood. Happy. A tug of envy hit Bobby in the chest.

  “I need to go over the finances from the festival. It’s not as bad as it could be, but it’s not good. Got some time for me?”

  “Sure. How’s about in a few hours? We can chat and go to the diner and grab something to eat.”

  “Fine. See you then.” Bobby hung up, feeling more tired than he should.

  This had been a long week—hours and hours of doing paperwork under bad lighting, sitting in this uncomfortable chair, and many skipped meals. Even sleep hadn’t been the comfort it had once been; now he fought to keep Mark out of his dreams, waking and sleeping.