Moon River

by Nicholas Knight

  “You two are registered Americans, I assume?” he asked, boldly.

  “Yeah,” Cheri answered unenthusiastically, while Dawn hung her head and stayed out of it, keeping to herself.

  “Well, I feel led to warn you. When you get up there, they’re going to ask you why you’re here in their country. Regardless of what your real reason is, it’s always best to tell them you are here for pleasure and to see the sights. Otherwise, they’ll give you the third degree, put you in a holding room, confiscate your passports, and threaten to detain you indefinitely. I’ve seen it too many times.”

  “Wow, thank you for the heads up,” Cheri said in gratitude, while secretly not worried about it. She knew, if anyone gave them any trouble, she could use her powers of mind control to remedy the problem.

  It felt like a millennium to get through the line, but as soon as they did, they moved smoothly through the gate with no dispute or harassment. Many of the visitors and tourists go straight to the restaurants and boutiques, while Cheri feels pressed to answer a call from nature. While the raspberry hybrid is using the Parisian restroom, the waiting Dawn is approached by a cluster of vampire enthusiasts who are obsessed over the conspiracy that they exist. They try to sell her one of their vampire kits, which is a coffin-shaped wooden briefcase that holds a wooden stake, 2 silver bullets, a small vial of holy water, and a single garlic clove. This makes Dawn think about Reuben, and how unbearably miserable she had continued to be without him, not to mention the wrenching agony that came with losing their only son.

  “I’m not interested,” she told the vampire worshippers, putting her hand up to further show them that she wouldn’t take their bait.

  As the gothic zombies wandered off to sell their vampire pitch to the next gullible chump, Dawn quickly brushed her eyes with her hands, trying to wipe her tears away and keep them from coming out. Cheri came walking out of the ladies’ room looking just as vulnerable as the vampire posers had hoped Dawn would be.

  “What’s wrong?” Dawn asked. “Did something happen in there?”

  “It’s not a ladies’ room,” Cheri educated.

  “You walked into the wrong one?” Dawn inquired, assuming her friend hadn’t been paying attention and mistakenly entered the men’s room instead.

  “No,” Cheri said, with a facial expression that looked as uncomfortable as Dawn now was around her, or anyone for that matter. “The restroom is co-ed. Something tells me that all of the toilettes are going to be co-ed here.”

  As they moved through the Parisian airport, they both noticed that all the eateries were only open at certain hours of the day. The French only ate at designated times, unlike so many fat Americans who nibbled and munched 24/7. Though this difference came as another eye-opener for them, it wouldn’t be the last surprise. Dawn didn’t have an appetite anyway, other than for blood and moonshine. Cheri didn’t feel like dining either, since she could feel Dawn slipping away again. As the two estranged lovebirds walked out and exited the airport, little did they know that they were being watched. As luck would have it, a taxi just happened to be pulling in front of the doors as they came out.

  “Vous dames besoin d'un ascenseur?” he asked them, through the rolled down, front passenger window. The side of the taxi had a logo on the doors, of a spear laying underneath a shield with a snake design.

  “We don’t speak French,” Cheri told him.

  “You dames need a lift?” he repeated semi-rudely, this time so they could understand.

  Cheri looked over at Dawn, who stood beside her but was still somewhere else in her head. “That’d be great,” Cheri answered, now looking back at the cabbie.

  “So, what brings you to France? Where you ladies headed?” he inquired, as Cheri helped Dawn into the back seat and then climbed in herself. “Is your young friend okay?” he asked, observing that the silent Dawn looked dead inside.

  “She’s fine,” Cheri answered, in denial. “Do you know of any decent apartments around here, preferably ones that aren’t insanely overpriced?” she asked him, while Dawn quietly stared out her window.

  “I actually might know a good place,” he replied.

  Cheri peeked at his dashboard and saw his ID badge, reading the name, Cerneus Herne. Dawn stared at the motos that were parked on the sidewalk and the scooters that were delivering food.

  “You dames got lucky.”

  “How so?” Cheri questioned.

  “Most of the taxi drivers here are malhonnete, meaning they’re dishonest. If they detect you’re a tourist, they’ll take you for a much longer ride than necessary or flat out mug you.”

  “I see,” Cheri said, in a pessimistic tone. “You’re different, I take it?”

  “I have no interest in taking advantage of you and your friend,” he reassured. “Like I said, you dames got lucky.”

  They finally pulled up in front of what appeared to be a reasonable-looking apartment complex.

  “How much do I owe you?” Cheri asked.

  “Do you have any euros?” he asked her.

  Cheri suddenly realized that they hadn’t thought to check to see where to exchange their currency, while they were still at the CDG airport. The whole concept had never even crossed their mind. Cheri felt really stupid and embarrassed, not sure how to get them out of this predicament.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he told her. “It’s my treat.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Cheri apologized. “Are you sure? Thank you, sir,” she expressed her gratitude again, while Dawn lifted their luggage out of the small trunk.

  “No worries, mam. Just remember to trade your currency for euros. Not everyone here will be as forgiving as me.”

  “I understand,” Cheri said.

  Cheri thanked him once more for being so unexpectedly kind, returning his friendly wave as he watched them both go inside the building. Dawn carried their bags, which she didn’t mind doing, especially since her superhuman strength had returned. At that moment, Cerneus’s ears dropped off the sides of his head and were replaced with deer ears. Antlers sprouted just above where the human ears had shed. His hair was still long and curly. He wore a Celtic torc around his neck, which was basically a heavy ring of jewelry that resembled a coiled snake.

  NOVEMBER 6, 1980

  MAD MOON

  Dawn and Cheri had already moved, now shacking up in an extravagant apartment, where they had flocked to after inconspicuously disposing of the former residents. Dawn still struggled to deal with the post-traumatic stress from losing Wolf. Cheri could see the intense pain in her trophy girlfriend’s eyes. They were in the most romantic destination on the planet and currently had free room and board in the upgraded space, but it apparently wasn’t enough.

  The only pleasure that Dawn found was in an Ocarina whistle, which Cheri had gotten for her when Dawn got her vest. Dawn played the flute beautifully, enjoying the indigenous sound it made, which reminded her of her Native heritage.

  “What if someone comes knocking for the two women we just killed?” Dawn asked, referring to the two sisters who had just recently bought the apartment they had been renting for years.

  “Don’t worry, baby,” Cheri told her. “If I need to, I can mess with people’s minds, so that they think they see someone else when they look at us.”

  As the dormant lovers chatted, Dawn sat on the toilet, which had been installed in this tiny closet that had zero walking space. There was no mirror and no sink, just a toilet and a bidet beside it. Cheri stood outside the narrow stall, talking to her while she did her business. Cheri reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a flyer that someone had handed her at the airport, which she had folded up and forgotten about. Paris was hosting their first ever Furry Convention. The more Cheri stared at this promotion, the more excited she became. This advertisement looked to be beyond the call of the wild, as it was clearly a taboo event where inhibitions would be left at the door. She knew how much Dawn loved animals, and foolishly thought that something like a fetish event migh
t help bandage her scars. Though Cheri wasn’t fond of the idea of sharing Dawn with others, she was desperately willing, at this point, to do whatever it took to bring Dawn back to life.

  This anticipated Con was within walking distance from their new home, so Cheri thought it’d be nice to take a relaxing stroll. As they did this, it didn’t take long for Dawn and Cheri to notice another difference between the US and France. There was dog shit all over the sidewalks. Not only was it obvious that dogs were widely beloved, but it became clear that there were no laws to enforce French citizens to pick up after their pets. They also quickly found out that France had a lot of dirt and cobblestones, and the people did a ton of walking.

  There were cars, but they appeared to be all the same. The cars were much smaller, more compact, and seemed to be of the same make. This was due to the French preferring to support French-made brands. It was also evident that cars were permitted to park wherever they pleased. Not only were the cars parked on sidewalks, but the motorbikes seemed to have free reign as well.

  All the men whistled at Dawn and Cheri both, checking out their butts as they passed by. They were used to this attention, so it didn’t shock them. The only difference was that all of their French admirers appeared to be heavy smokers. Before getting to the Convention, they came upon an outdoor staircase that was monumental in its number of steps.

  “What the fuck!” Cheri complained, as they both glanced up at what appeared to be an endless amount of steps. “There must be at least three hundred steps here,” she guessed.

  “Come on,” Dawn invited. “Get on my back.”

  “You have to be kidding,” Cheri said. “You can’t carry me up this ridiculous mountain.”

  “Yes, I can. Trust me.”

  “I can’t ask you to do that, honey. This stairway is enormous. I’d be too afraid that you’d hurt your back. I’ll be fine. It’s okay,” Cheri politely declined, not willing to risk her health, even though she wasn’t exactly happy about Dawn’s cold shoulder.

  Dawn appreciated Cheri’s genuine concern for her, but was also confident in what she was capable of. Before Cheri could put up a fight, Dawn had turned her back, knelt down, grabbed Cheri’s legs, and lifted her friend up onto her back. Then, with the helpful combination of adrenaline and determination, she effortlessly scaled those steps while overwhelmingly impressing the older, and somewhat heavier, Cheri. Dawn may have turned frigid in certain ways, but she still had a fringe benefit or two to offer.

  This was an invitation-only weekend where attendees came dressed as their favorite animals. The adult Convention was being held at a lavish four-star hotel, which had basically been rented out for the erotic occasion. The costumes were obnoxiously cartoony, as if they had been snatched from the theme park storage room. The difference was that these costumes were modified to be equipped with a buttoned flap that covered both the backside and the crotch region. This was no nerd celebration, but rather a social gathering for disguised perverts to meet, mingle, and mate. Dawn and Cheri had come unprepared, only having their regular clothes on their backs.

  “It’s okay, sweetheart,” Cheri said, unwilling to stand by and watch her girlfriend become comatose again. “I can fix this.”

  Cheri took her precious Dawn into the restroom, where it was once again co-ed, and waited until it was empty. Cheri squinted her eyes, focusing on herself and Dawn. Within a matter of seconds, they were both endowed with appropriate costumes. Dawn was now dressed as a brown wolf and Cheri as a red fox, even though they were basically at a cathouse. Their costumes, of course, weren’t real, but to the rest of the patrons, they were. Cheri had been able to create the illusion that they were dressed as animals, when in reality, nothing had changed.

  Dawn and Cheri didn’t have sex with anyone, but did let the interested parties sniff and lick their butts. They used their innate charm to seductively trick men and women into buying them drinks, under the luring guise of false promises. They were even able to discreetly coerce one gentleman, who had boasted about how wealthy he was, to sign over everything he had to them. Dawn wasn’t proud of this decision, but knew they didn’t have a choice. Neither one of them were hirable or fluent, so they weren’t really in any position to turn down money.

  Watching the others get it on in the open, got them hot and bothered, and made for spectacularly euphoric sex for when they returned to their flat. Cheri’s plan had worked and Dawn had opened up to her again, at least temporarily. This time, being with Cheri didn’t drain her life energy like before. Either Dawn had grown immune to Cheri’s vampiric power, or Cheri had somehow turned it off.

  Meanwhile, Agent Shelling is trying to deal with the aftermath of what he has become. The fact that he had evolved to be the very thing he hated most, had finally hit him and was now making him sick. Not only had he failed William, by not finding and no longer caring to catch his killer, but he had become a killer himself. Shelling had noticed that the 70s were over too, as well as his career with the federal government. He knew how important God was to his late nephew and had tried to honor that. This, however, progressively became more difficult, the longer that Dawn got away with everything. He just didn’t give a shit anymore, no matter how much he had loved his family or how hard he had tried to avenge them.

  As he drives his car through the blackness of night, he remembers a sermon that he had heard years back…a story about Cain. After God had banished him, casting him out of Eden for murdering his brother, the Gospel says that Cain was not only struck with an identifying mark, but was stricken with paralyzing fear of being hunted and killed by a mysterious enemy that the Scriptures never clarify, specify, or elaborate on. Some Christians (those few who are more open-minded and less know-it-all) speculate that this may have been Biblical evidence to support the existence of extraterrestrial life. Shelling would have shrugged this thought off when he was younger, when he was more of a skeptic, but Dawn had changed all that. He knew that Dawn was a werewolf, and if werewolves existed, then why not aliens?

  Agent Shelling had been in Texas for months and had gotten nowhere with his tireless search for Dawn. It was incomprehensible, inconceivable, and unacceptable that this unusual suspect had eluded him for what seemed to be indefinite in her impressive and infinite evasion. His once-flourishing career had earned him the stellar reputation of being a champion in his field. He was accustomed to triumph, not defeat, and his pathetic failure at tracking and hunting Dawn was not sitting well with his inflated ego. This inability to catch her had caused him to question if he had lost his aptitude, or if he had simply never had it to begin with.

  The Bureau had informed him that they had become indifferent and were even considering granting Dawn clemency. They had lost faith that she would ever be captured and had decided that they didn’t care either way anymore. Agent Shelling had refused to forfeit or compromise his quest for justice, and had long remained undaunted, though he found himself alone in his ideals. He was willing to sacrifice, even if it jeopardized his own safety or occupational security. The corroborating evidence on Dawn Moon was too substantial, and even if it hadn’t been, he needed someone…anyone…to blame and punish. This was a personal war for him, and he was in it for the sweet taste of victory. However, that was then, and this was now. He just didn’t care anymore, and had become hard-bitten like everyone else.

  Based on the hair samples and DNA evidence that he had analyzed and collected since his search for her first launched, he had a blacksmith make him customized ammunition that was made of mercury. Though his apathetic superiors thought him to be damaged goods, he was convinced that Dawn Moon was a werewolf. As if this wasn’t enough to make him appear to be batshit crazy, Dawn had crept into his head and gotten under more than just his skin. The deteriorating federal agent was, in a sense, falling for her. His murderous obsession had bled, and blended, into a deranged passion. This warped mindfuck made him question his morality and doubt his conscience. His lustful desire for her made him hate himself, which only
drove him further over the edge and motivated his death wish for her.

  Aside from these quicksilver bullets, he had gone through the trouble of finding the poisonous plant, Wolfsbane, and liquefying it into a syringe. Now that he was no longer searching for her or working for the Bureau, he pondered the idea of using this weaponry on random, innocent animals or school age children.

  As he battled these conflicting inner demons of pride and self-loathing, he found his inconsistent thoughts drifting off to another painful subject that he had never fully recovered from or moved passed. His last ex-wife, whom he hadn’t seen in years, had burned him in a way that was unforgivable and inhumane. The ungrateful bitch had taken everything from him, including his very soul, after all he did to happily give her his unending devotion and unconditional love. Not only had she used their sham marriage as a ploy for embezzling tactics and sadistic schemes, but she turned out to be a blissful prostitute and deadly sociopath. His nephew had not been the only one who had been brutally murdered by an unhinged serial killer.

  His sinister ex-wife had butchered him, just not physically. What was most insulting and embarrassing about what Susan proved to be, was that she was a baptized Christian, or at least allegedly and superficially. She had been no more committed to God than she had been to him. She was a pseudo-Christian, and merely one of the infinite number he had regretfully encountered and trusted in his lifetime. He wasn’t perfect either, nor had he ever professed to be, but he knew the difference between flawed and fraud.

  Shelling's eyes burned with his own tears, as his hands began to violently shake again, feeling another panic attack coming on. His vision blurred and his chest felt like an elephant was sitting on it. He couldn't breathe or concentrate. Susan had taken something from him that he could never get back, and the dull knife she had left in his back only twisted and deepened as the days passed. Time was not on his side, and apparently neither was God. He had learned the hard way, once too many, that God doesn't answer prayers, but instead was the original Indian giver. He had also learned that people don't come back or give second chances. God never protected him from being hurt, or punished the wicked who rejoiced in damaging others.