Life With A Werewolf

Voice From The Dead Part 4

          It was about fifteen minutes into the conversation with Roam when the strays arrived. Their arrival was a welcome addition. It was tiring dancing around the half-hearted apologies and forced small talk. Roam was judging my state of mind mostly by scent, and not being terribly subtle about it. I didn’t mind, Crash does that too, but he’s a lot more discreet. Perhaps there’s werewolf manners where you’re not supposed to let the other person know they’re sniffing you or something?
          Manners or no, it was a welcome reprieve when Donte arrived. His tall presence was a welcome reprieve from the apologetic tone of Roam. He shook my hand hand long and hard before bringing me into a one-armed hug. “I don’t think Roam was thinking when he grabbed this,” Donte said as he grabbed the half-drunk beer from my hand. I’d been mostly sipping on it out of politeness.
          Roam smiled and shrugged. “It was on short notice, eh? Donte’ could you please grab something more appropriate?”
          Donte smiled and pointed at me. “Way ahead of you. Odul’s okay?”
          “Soda is better,” I said. “Anything with bubbles and caffeine.”
          He disappeared for a moment and was right back, passing Roam who worked his way back into the building. He gave me an apologetic smile. “Look, Cecily and Killian they’ve been around werewolves too long, I think.”
          What could I do at that moment? Tell Donte that I knew why they were doing what they were doing, and perhaps they shouldn’t have pulled the thread they pulled to get what they wanted? Or that their temper tantrum, although entirely staged felt as if it paled in comparison to my very real tantrum that was still bubbling just under the surface?
          If Crash hadn’t needed me there, I would have said more than a couple things which would lead us all to things we’d later regret. It’s a talent. But that wouldn’t settle what Crash needed to get settled. There was something very real there that was at the root cause of everything. My friend wasn’t there for the grave at all. A grave which we all were increasingly suspecting to be fake. There was something else at play. An unsettled business that can only be as tangled and messy as any business with family.
          So, when Donte gave his excuses and jokes, I just nodded like an idiot as I gave a smile and said “Yeah, I guess so,” in the right places.
          “They don’t know it yet,” Donte said. “They really haven’t seen you work the way I have, but they need you. We really need you right now.”
          “What could possibly be happening that a group of werewolves can’t handle?”
          The smile fled from Donte’s face for a second. “Something big,” he said. “We think that...I mean we have information that leads us to believe...”
          “Jason, could you come in here for a second,” Roam asked, peaking his head out from the door of the house. He gave Donte a look for a second, and Donte looked down at his beer, which suddenly interested him a whole lot more than what he was going to say.
          I followed Roam and found Crash sitting in a room with the guys, and his family. Zack, Kris, and Sean wouldn’t look me in the eye, which meant one thing: Crash told. There’s a certain betrayal in that which stung. The events of my military career I’ve never went into on here and won’t go into. But the events of others, what other individuals had suffered through, whether I was there to witness it, or heard about it over beers on long painful nights filled with talking, tears and regret, I didn’t and will not divulge. It is not my place to say.
          I grew tight lipped as I gritted my teeth. “I had to explain a few things,” Crash said.
          I nodded, but didn’t say anything.
          “I’m sorry,” Cecily said. “I had no idea.”
          I looked at her, but didn’t say anything. I turned to Crash and asked, “everything?”
          He only shook his head. “Jesus,” Kris said, “there’s more?!”
          With a pained smirk I replied, “probably lots. Crash hasn’t heard everything, either.”
          “Well, I know everything.” I glared at Eleanor, who looked up from her laptop in the corner. Her fiery red hair was pulled back into a pony tail behind her. “What, I’m a hacker. You can’t tell me something like ‘he served and won’t talk about it’ and don’t expect me to not go snooping.”
          Yeah, understandable given her personality. Still wanted to kill her, but understandable I guess. “You got the grave site?”
          Crash looked at me and nodded, “yeah, we should be ready to go.”
          Of all the people I expected to give me words of wisdom in that moment, it wasn’t Sean. We piled into our vehicles, and I was getting ready to climb in with Elouise. I didn’t want to ride with them, to bear the weight of the stares, the whispers. But Sean patted me on the shoulder, and said, “Look dude, I know if you like, don’t want to talk about it or whatever. But if you do, we’re all here for you, man. Even if you just want to talk bullshit so you don’t have to think about bullshit.”
          With as much sincerity as I could muster, I looked at him and said “thank you.” But I still rode with Elouise.
          In Crash’s car, you get long periods of silence and classic rock. A side of classic rock you don’t normally get from rock stations. Not a lot of Elton John and Pink Floyd. But a bunch more of Dr. Hook. Punk bands you only know for one song but some how have fifteen amazing albums. And the occasional group that makes you wonder if they’re actual werewolves or if Crash is messing with you. In Elouise’s car, I got nineties country, and chatter.
          “So, yeah, that girl thinks she’s so slick with her super secret James bond room and whatnot,” Elouise said, following behind Crash’s tail lights. “But she ain’t as smart as she thinks she is. I mean, come on. Did you see the plan they were tryin ta get us to do? What have they been watchin too much bad cop shows or somethin? Gonna try to just jump’em on the street put them in a panel van and then what? Watch the werewolf tear through it at a red light?” She shook her head. “I can tell you why they’re in so much damn trouble.”
          She’s not normally that chatty. Perhaps she could see that I didn’t want to or need to talk at that moment? Sometimes its not the contents of words that matter so much, as it is the respect and courtesy given. Elouise must have understood that I didn’t want to talk or think about other things. Respected it, and gave me exactly what I needed. So, Elouise, thank you for that. It helped a lot.
          We pulled through one town in the evening, and cross the county to another. On the edge of a sleepy Midwestern town sat a missionary style Christian church with a quiet cemetery behind it. The church sat on a silent street lit with streetlights hung from power poles that draped lines down the side of the street. It was the kind of church where you’d expect Sunday luncheons and pancake breakfasts or fundraisers to buy books for the local school. It sat in the perfect neighborhood for a zombie apocalypse movie.
          Crash got out of his car, and walked a few feet, looking at the ground. I got out and followed him, with Elouise watching from her car.
          “I wasn’t trying to betray you,” Crash said, “I was trying to show them how much they hurt you.”
          “I understand. Next time make who knows my decision please,” I said through gritted teeth.
          He nodded, slowly pushing himself into a shift. As his arms grew hairier and his muzzle began to sprout, I drew my pistol. Twin golden eyes looked at me from the woods. Werewolf eyes. “Get back to the car, please.”
          “Trouble,” I asked.
          “No,” Crash said. “Not yet.”
          From the woods came a voice. A female voice. “So, you knew?”
          “Yes,” Crash said. “It wasn’t hard to figure out.”
          Emerging from the woods in full werewolf form was none other than Sophia Rodriguez. Crash walked towards her and they gave each other a respectful distance. Former lovers trying to respect boundaries and dodging the land mines of emotions they’ve laid between each other. I grabbed Crash’s discarded clothing from his shift and brought them to his car.
          “What’s going on,” Zack asked.
          “Looks like they’re talking,” I said.
          “Hope that’s a good thing,” Sean said.
          “It’s not,” Kris growled. “That’s the opposite of a good thing.”
          The two werewolves disappeared into the woods. I picked up Crash’s discarded clothing from his shift and brought them back to his car. Almost an hour later they emerged. As Crash came close to the vehicles, I could see the viscous dripping of blood from his claws and teeth as he approached. It was black in the fluorescent light of the street light, as if pure evil dripped from his teeth and claws. I’ve seen him torn up, covered in all kinds of filth and crud. I’d never seen Crash appear like a horror movie monster before that moment. It chilled my blood to the bone.
          He looked at me, his ears folding back, his lip curling. “You’re going to need your pistol.”
          “Shit,” I growled as I drew it from my holster. I looked around. I didn’t see any of them yet. But I could feel them. They were there, somewhere. Waiting. A moment passed. Then two. A pair of golden eyes appeared. Another behind it. A black silhouette emerged from a house down the street. Another behind us. We were trapped. And they were closing in.