The Dark Side of the Moon

Written by CJ Bacon; Edited by Rob Smith and Mellie Mann

Chapter 17: One Two Three Little Indians

Salina narrowed her eyes in contempt and returned her attention to her task, but her gaze never left the intruder. "I'll repeat," she said. Her voice had taken on a calm droll. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing." Detective Keaton stepped from the shadows and approached her. He still had his gun levered directly at Salina's chest and replied coldly. "Don't make me shoot you."

"What for? I haven't done anything. And what about the whole 'arresting' and 'reading me my rights' bit?"

"I can still arrest you with a hole in your chest. I've got you so far on three counts: Breaking and entering onto a police scene, the murder of a witness, and illegally interrogating said witness." Keaton asserted. For a moment, in Salina's mind, he almost looked like a Caucasian version of Cassius Clay with that world-class sneer. "I know you were there. We've got your hair all over the place."

Salina laughed.

"What's so goddamn funny?"

"Do you officers still use that line on everyone?" Salina responded. The irony of her own comment was not lost on her as she realized that she still held the tuffs of hair in her fingers, which she promptly placed into her pocket.

"What's that?"

"Evidence." Then she added, "Nothing you should be worried about. Now if you'll excuse me."

Keaton blocked Salina's path. "You're not going anywhere, until I get some straight answers--now."

"Detective, I'm very tired. It's almost dawn. I have a lot of work to do, some paperwork that needs to be filed."

"I'll repeat my query from before: why does Jessica Chaney suddenly have a hole the size of a peach in her skull? What were you doing at the hospital? And how did you get in here?"

Salina grinned. "That only leaves 'why' and 'when'." She looked into the young detective's eyes. She could see, for a moment, the flash of rage creep into his pupils. "Detective, why do you honestly think I would kill Jessica Chaney? Who is-excuse me, was-your only lead on this case."

"I don't know," Keaton answered. He'd long lowered his gun away from Salina, but it remained clutched in his hand. "That's where things sort of get funny. The old man puts a lot of faith into you guys."

"Thanks."

"But personally, I think you're fuck-ups who don't know how to handle your own shit and let it spill over into our business."

"That's what you think." She said it as a comment, not as a question.

"I don't like you one bit, Duran. That attitude you copped with me earlier...I could have hauled your ass to jail. But I didn't for the old man's sake."

"So, I should be grateful for that act of kindness you so humbly bestowed upon me?"

Salina looked down as the young detective had wrapped his right hand tightly around her right bicep.

"And a little bit more cooperative. More than you are right now," He replied.

She could feel the pressure closing down on the muscle, but would not give him the satisfaction of knowing how uncomfortable the situation was escalating.

"Fine, what do you want to know?"

"Chaney. Why?"

"Did you see the body?"

"It's been sent to the morgue."

"I didn't ask that."

"Yes, I saw the body."

"Anything out of the ordinary?"

"Nothing other than that she's a deceased teenage girl with a sunroof now caved into her head."

"Right. Well, just so you'll be able to rest better at night, you're right. I was visiting Miss Chaney for some information."

"We already talked to her."

"I know. I have that report and I've gone over it. Just wanted to know some things for my own sake."

"And then what happened?"

Salina pointed at her head with her hand as though it were a pistol. "Pow."

"Cute," Keaton said, disgusted. "You're a real bitch, you know that?"

"You asked me for what happened next, detective. Just clarifying that I didn't pull the trigger."

"So what are you doing back here?"

"Hmmm?"

"I said, what are you doing back here? That door was locked..."

"Poorly I might say."

Keaton gritted his teeth. "Cut the crap. This is still a police scene under investigation. You have no right to be here."

"Did Detective Madison not come to us for help?"

"He did."

"And he entrusted us with the utmost confidence to help bring this case to a close?"

The detective sneered. "What's your point?"

Salina stepped foward, facing him nose-to-nose. "My point is there is no point. I'm here to do a job and you're just in my way. Go be a private dick somewhere else."

They both stared at each other for a moment, allowing several seconds of uncomfortable silence to pass. Detective Keaton loosened his grip. Salina walked away, but then stopped short of the exit with not so much a change of heart, but the realization that her stubborness could very well compress both the investigation and her profession with Doom Patrol. Standing by the steps that lead to the upper level of the house and with her back facing the detective, she threw him a bone to appease his bruised ego.

"I did find something new here. Did your CSI guys see the floor?" Salina asked.

Keaton kneeled down. "Of course. Madison showed you that formation earlier."

"Did you touch it?"

"What? Of course I didn't. Why the hell would I?"

"Touch it."

"Are you shitting me?"

"I shit you not. Touch it."

Licking his lips, Keaton bent forward, his hand outstretched as he reached for the symbol. Then he pulled back. "I don't think so. Just tell me what this symbol means."

"Oh, it's still everything I said. And more."

"More?"

"You see, I thought earlier that these were runes of Celtic druids. You know, the ones from fairy tales that would kidnap virgin princesses and offer up their loins as a sacrifice. Sometimes gutting one of their own just to make their god happy."

"What a delightful person you are."

"My late co-worker said that once on a plane. But anyway, that's what I had thought. These bloodstains show that this was Chaney's ritual pit."

"A ritual pit? You mean he actually murdered people? Down here?"

"Not necessarily."

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is that this isn't a sacrificial marking. There is blood here, but who's blood? You couldn't test and see if it was human could you?"

"It'd be too contaminated at this point. We'd never know for sure."

"I thought so. What I am hitting at detective is that Chaney's a regular guy. He had thoughts and feelings like all of us. If you cut him, he bled. If you hurt him, he cried. And then one day he just decided that there was more to it than this. Much more. And when he found it, he wanted to hold on to it for dear life."

Salina stopped and looked at Keaton now. "You say you found his wife in the kitchen?"

"Yep. All slashed to hell."

"It didn't bother you at the time that he didn't kill her down here?"

"We...thought about it."

"And wrote it down as such." Salina nodded her head as she turned away from Keaton. "I thought so, which is why I didn't have much faith in the report Madison gave me."

"Look, what the hell does all this have to do with anything!"

"A lot, detective. A lot. Trust me, I don't know it all yet, but I'm slowly getting a few ideas." She walked past him, but Keaton again grabbed her arm.

"I'm not done with you."

"You grab my arm again and you'll wish you'd have been done with me."

He promptly let go.

"We've finished our conversation," she asserted.

"I still have more questions."

"And I have to go."

"What does all this mean? Sacrificial pits? Druids? Bloodstains? How the hell does all this add up? What the fuck is going on here?"

Salina looked at him, her eyes in a cold stare. "Something was brought here because of that symbol, detective. Something bad." She shrugged him off and ascended up the stairs. Once outside, as she entered the car, her head was swimming.

Maybe it's the lack of sleep or that I haven't had anything to eat yet, she thought as her tired mind reviewed the entire evening's events. God this was so much easier when CJ was around to play Sherlock. She looked out the window. Keaton stood on the stoop of the Chaney house, his hands resting at his hips. For a moment, Salina thought about making another crack against him, but decided against it.

He's as much under the gun as we are. She then reached into her pocket and pulled the hairs out. She held them in front of her face, turning each one over, examining them.

The computer back at the office wouldn't be able to tell me a bloody thing. So my best bet is to hope that Kat's working this weekend. That should be a fun conversation.

The engine kicked once before she drove off in a puff of white smoke.

Chapter 18: What Do You Say To A Brawling Sailor

He tried the doorknob once. Finding it locked, he smashed it and pushed the door open. Almost from the instance he had entered, the smell was identifiable. It was not as strong as it had been before, but still offensive to his nostrils

The evening began to tremble as the dawn sun streaked across the Philadelphia skylines. Larry Chaney snorted, the dark mustiness of Tim's apartment flaring in his nostrils. The Southerner was nowhere to be found. The room was hot. In the distance, Chaney heard the sound of water running in the bathroom. Crouching, he slunk towards the room.

A light escaped from a crack in the door. His back arched like a bow and his jaws wide like a trap, exposing his sharp canines, Chaney burst through the door.

Empty.

He cursed his senses for betraying him at that moment; but then he saw a shadow move out the corner of his eye, but before he had a chance to react, he felt something smash into his face, breaking his nose and shattering his right canine.

Tim remembered falling asleep; feeling his head roll to one side, Bandit in his lap, and he in his chair. Not an unusual sight, given that this was how it usually was whenever Tim found a place to crash for the night. But then he suddenly shot straight up, the feeling of drowsiness rolling off him as though it were a blanket and his senses keenly alert.

He'd often heard stories like this, primarily from vets of the old wars. Sure, Tim had his fair share of sleepless nights while serving in the Gulf during the Nineties, but it hadn't caused any dents in his nocturnal patterns after he'd left. What he always carried with him was the always far away, yet seemingly close sound of a fleet of AH-64 Apaches streaking across the sky. And unlike many of his fellow veterans (oddly enough, Tim had not found himself particularly drawn to visiting VFW's since leaving) he hadn't been diagnosed with any kind of post-traumatic stress disorder, which gave Tim some level of stability in his adult life. Some, but not much. At least he was glad he wasn't daffy.

In his bones, he reasoned it could have been anything: a bump in the night caused by the room settling into those uncomfortable silences that often pass in the middle of the night; neighbors going in and out of their rooms for their early morning jobs; cars, vendors, taxis, anything could have been the reason. But in his mind, he looked at the door to his apartment.

"So watcha think Bandit? Burglars? Maybe a Northside Strangler looking to pull a Tony Curtis?" Bandit looked at Tim and panted as his tongue hung out of his head.

"Yeah, I think so too." He put Bandit on the floor, the pooch scuttling towards the den of the apartment. Tim walked slowly towards the couch and reached underneath it. He pulled out a Remington 870 shotgun. He didn't intend to kill the little bastard should he actually get his way inside. He also wasn't going to take the off-chance that the kid ("Who the hell else would try to rob a rent-controlled apartment?" he said to himself) had a gun.

What was it that Connery once said? Never bring a knife to a gunfight?

He grabbed a box of bullets and loaded it, all without making a sound.

This was what they trained you for, in the Air Force, in case you got your ass captured by the enemy.

To create a distraction, he turned on the shower. Tim then slipped behind the couch, keeping the gun at his waist but his finger on the trigger and watched as the door shuddered and swung open. He saw a hunched figure prowl the floor, stopping for a moment. Tim recognized the signs: his burglar was surveying his surroundings, trying to find out where Tim was hiding. The shower had done its job as the burglar moved gracefully over towards the bathroom and opened the door.

He knew this was his only chance to act. Moving quickly, he turned the Remington upside down so that its butt was in the air and swung at the intruder. A growl emitted from the figure as it reeled away from Tim, but was still on their feet. He raised the gun to hit him again. Instantly, and with surprising quickness, he felt something grab his neck. It did not feel like a hand; it was much more coarse and hard, almost like that of a dog. It belonged to his intruder. The hand gripped tightly around his throat and he could feel his windpipe slowly being crushed. The gun had fallen to the ground.

Chaney grinned. "And here you are!" he boomed, rising to his feet. As he did so, he lifted the struggling Tim off the ground and into the air. The more he tightened his grip, the more Tim thrashed against him, trying to free himself. "You'll scream. They always do." He then laughed as he tossed Tim to one side of the room, his body slamming against the wall and then hitting the floor.

"God-damn!" Tim whistled as he shook his head, letting the cool air fill and leave his lungs. He heard Chaney's heavy steps move towards him. Rolling away, Tim kicked a chair in the way of Chaney, he pushed it aside, where it hit a wall and collapsed. It was then that Tim saw Chaney's face, illuminated in the light coming from the bathroom.

"You're that asshole from the club!"

Chaney grinned. "How perceptive of you."

"I'm a quick study. You'll see that after I put the smackdown on your ass!" This elicited a long laugh from Chaney. "And what the hell's so funny?"

"You don't know, do you?"

"Know what?"

"That you're going to die. In fact, you're already dead. You're just too dense to know that you are."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"This. Oh you're just going to die over this one." Chaney's entire body seemed to morph before Tim's eyes: his chest and limbs began to expand and enlarge, as his fingernails also began to grow. Hair sprouted all over his face. The shape of his face also began to change, melting and then exploding as the skeletal structure re-formed itself, the nose becoming elongated. Chaney hit the ground on all fours and Tim heard the sounds of bones breaking, as legs became hind legs, the spine snapping and arching as though it were a twig. Chaney then raised his head and looked Tim directly in the face. The man's eyes had taken on a radiant crimson glow as his mouth suddenly became ridged with teeth. His clothes ripped from his body, revealing that dark brown fur had completely covered every inch of skin.

"WHAT THE SHIT?" Tim said backing away. That was the last phrase he uttered before Chaney took a powerful swipe with his forearm and sent Tim flying across the table and onto the kitchen floor. Bandit trotted over towards his fallen master and gently licked his face. Tim came around. "Get out of here," he croaked. "Go on, git!"

He saw Chaney's shadow creeping upon him, obscuring everything around Tim. Nowhere left to go.

Suddenly, Bandit stood over Tim, protecting his master as he growled at the monstrous Chaney, baring his teeth and barking. "Get out of here Bandit. Leave!" Tim shouted, attempting to push the mutt out of the way.

But Bandit ignored his master's order. His back arched, he jumped at Chaney, sending both he and the monster backwards. Tim lifted himself off the ground. He heard the howling beasts as they tussled on the floor. It broke his heart when heard Bandit yelp several times, Chaney clawing and biting him. He knew Bandit had given him a small fraction of a second. Scrambling to his feet he slid over towards the bathroom and, in a move befitting John McClane, grabbed the Remington and hopped to his feet. He cocked it back and took immediate aim, hoping that Bandit would give him a clear shot.

But then, Chaney grabbed Bandit by his collar. The dog gnashed at the monster when Chaney threw Bandit against the wall and through it.

Though he uttered no sound, Tim's brain screamed for him. He'd allow himself to grieve once this was all over. He waited until Chaney turned to face him. The monster got back to his feet. Tim assumed that he was about eight or nine feet tall. No matter. He'll just have to guess.

He fired once; the shell exploded from the Remington with intense fury that Tim felt the heat on his face. Chaney reeled back as the shell ripped through his right hip, taking away with it muscle and ricocheting off of bone. He howled. Tim fired again, this time square in Chaney's chest, which knocked the monster back. The third and fourth shots tore away half of the flesh on Chaney's arm.

He raised the gun a final time and took aim.

Click.

It was jammed.

Fuck!

As blood poured from his wound, Chaney plodded painfully over towards Tim. He grabbed Tim with his good arm. He bore his fangs, glistening in front of the Southerner as though it were a mirror.

Tim looked over to his chair. There was a bottle of Corona on the mantle, from several days earlier. A plan forged in his mind. In his pocket, he remembered, there was a lighter. Raising his gun, he jabbed the muzzle into Chaney's eye, forcing the monster to let go of Tim. Once on the ground, he quickly grabbed the bottle with it's contents half filled with alcohol and pitched it at Chaney, where it broke on impact.

He threw the lighter, and nailed his mark square in the chest. Chaney sparked once and then lit up like a Christmas tree, then screamed in panic. The monster stood for a few seconds, attempting to put himself out, then leaped out the window. Tim didn't bother getting up to look and see if he was dead. This wasn't a horror movie. He reached in a dresser drawer and pulled out the case of shotgun shells and left the room. Outside his door, he surveyed the landscape, until his eyes fell upon a rumpled figure several feet from where he stood.

"Bandit!" he shouted. He saw his dog lying on his side. Above him, there was a crack in the wall from when he'd connected. He knelt down beside him and felt for a pulse. It was thin, but it was strong enough to confirm that Bandit was still alive. Picking him up, Tim made for the elevator and almost smashed the panel.

He needed a place to stay--to be safe. Somewhere and someone he could trust.

Unfortunately, there was only one person who had both that he could trust right about now.

And he knew he was about to get his ass kicked for it too.

Chapter 19: Break Away

"We're friends, Sally, but this is pushing it."

Salina nodded as she looked to the side. "That's too bad Kat. I kinda liked you too."

Yawning as she forced her white lab coat on her body, Dr. Catherine Moreau was obviously not happy as she stood in the doorway of Huntington Labs . "What do you want anyway?" Salina grinned.

"A favor."

"You don't ask for too many of those. At least not in your line of work."

"That's because we don't have too much in common a lot of the time. Kinda weird since we're both on never-ending missions to save the world. And we're both failing miserably."

"Yeah," Moreau said sarcastically. She opened the door wider. "Well, come on in then."

Huntington was well known on the East Coast for its odd existence: it was an animal testing facility, but instead of doing tests on animals for humans, the scientists who worked there were working for the betterment of all creatures great and small. They studied all manner of apes, gorillas, lions, tigers, bears, mice, rats, ferrets. Everything. If there was a rabid outbreak of cancer-ridden monkeys, Huntington was on top of it within hours and would work tirelessly to synthesize a cure.

Catherine Moreau was Senior Lead Specialist, a role she'd had since the late Nineties. Although only four years older than Salina, she had risen to the top because of her devotion to animal life and fought hard for the preservation of many wild life preserves not just in North America but in Africa as well. That was how she had come to meet Salina, and for the most part, a meeting both regretted and often acknowledged.

Her long red hair trailing behind her, Moreau asked, "So what do you want exactly?"

"Tell me all you know about werewolves," Salina said. Moreau turned around, a hard look on her face.

"You're kidding. Right?"

Salina said nothing.

Crossing her arms, Moreau continued. "Okay. Just to humor you, what do you want to know?"

"Fact and fiction mostly. I want to know species. I want to know the differences between them. That kind of stuff."

"You're out of your mind." Moreau sat down at her desk. "I think you've finally lost it, lady. Ghosts and demons I can believe. But werewolves? Ha! If I were to even answer those questions, I'd be making a mockery out of everything I studied in school." She turned to Salina. "If you've got any proof of 'werewolves', I'll eat my hat."

Salina nodded and without saying a word reached into her pocket, pulled out a handkerchief, and placed it on Moreau's desk.

"Would you like white wine with that?

Moreau reached for the cloth and opened it up, finding several tufts of hair wedged inside.

She looked up at Salina, who only grinned.

"Unless I suddenly decided to go visit the wolf exhibit at the zoo, how else could I have gotten that?"

Moreau sighed, "So what do you want me to do with this?"

"Analyze it. Tell me anything you can find from it."

Moreau examined the hairs in her palm and placed them under a microscope. "Right now," she explained, not looking away from the scope, "I can tell you that your Big Bad Wolf's hair color is charcoal gray. It's also a pretty old thing. Here, look at this." She slid it over towards Salina. "See. The follicles are elongated. I'd say that's a pretty good indication that your wolf is older than my Uncle Walt."

"The vet from the First World War?"

Moreau nodded.

"I can't tell you what type of wolf it is. Could be a Timberwolf. A Gray Wolf. Heck, could even a coyote."

"It's not a coyote," Salina said.

"How do you know that?"

"Instincts."

Moreau rolled her eyes. "If that's a joke, it was so funny that I forgot to laugh."

"You know you love my sense of humor," Salina retorted.

"Not even if it was horridly tattooed under my arm."

Dr. Moreau placed a hand on her cheek and shook her head.

About to leave, Salina put on her blue and black tinted shades. "Call me when you come up with something," she said and tossed her business card on the table. "Have a nice day."

She did not see Moreau flip her the bird.

Chapter 20: Being There

It was still early morning when Franklin and Alicia Pettibone awoke to do their usual jogging ritual. Both were in their mid-forties, but kept in shape thanks to a consistent workout they'd adhered to for the last twenty or so years. They usually took a drive to their destination, before embarking on their job. They drove east along Sideling Hill Travel Plaza and arrived at Laurel Hill. Darkness was beginning to peel back as a layer of sunlight began to escape into the sky. About ten miles down the road was the gated community of Crescent Place. Though they never talked before a job, Alicia acknowledged what a terrible tragedy that befell the Chaney family, whom she'd never actually known, but still felt some sympathy for the family and friends.

Franklin kicked an empty can out of the way as he laced up his Converse All-Stars. He looked beyond a little bit and into the tunnel, knowing that nearby was a gravel pit that he warned Alicia to avoid when they came up on it.

"So you won't fall in, you know, love?"

"I know."

They ran for a little bit through the tunnel, abandoned since 1964. Nobody hardly used these tunnels anymore, save for drag racers, which, as Alicia Pettibone pointed out, was probably the reason for the roughness of the pavement, crazied up by all sorts of bumps and potholes over the years. There was an assortment of Philadelphia's refuge within the tunnel as well, but it hardly a problem. Compared to the city, this assortment of throwaway's was mild. But they actually didn't mind too much. In their own community, they were considered odd for being among the top tier couples around. While their neighbors enjoyed the bourgeois lifestyles they had wrapped themselves in, the Pettibone's prided themselves on being as active as they possibly could. Alicia was responsible for running various Girl Scout troupes every weekend, and Franklin was well-known for his charities. If you saw them down the street, you would automatically recognize them and the image would hang with you forever.

They passed through Deep Cut and was almost on the Allegheny Mountain Tunnel when Alicia stopped suddenly in the middle of the road.

"What's the matter?" Franklin asked.

"I thought I heard something." She walked to the side of the road, near the pit that Franklin had joked about only fifteen minutes earlier. The pit itself was no pit, just a bunch of rocks that formed along the Allegheny Hill. She peered down into it, carefully trying to keep her balance.

"Come on Alicia, we're losing darkness."

"Frank, I think there's someone down there!"

Annoyed, Franklin ran back towards his wife and looked along the side of the hill but saw nothing.

"See. Empty. Now let's go."

"No wait Frank! Look!"

Alicia pointed towards a small clearing about a half-mile away from them. Squinting his eyes, Franklin could just about make out the dark outline of something that stirred a little bit before collapsing on the ground.

Bear, he thought. Gotta be a bear. Or a possum-wait, it's too big for a possum. Probably a coyote or something. "Alicia, what are you doing?" He saw his wife climb over the trail and down the rockslide in order to get to the clearing. She kept her balance pretty well, digging into the rocks that jutted out from the side so that she wouldn't slip and fall.

As she approached the figure, Alicia felt a chill run up her back. Which was odd, considering that she felt no danger apparent. But it was still there, the fear. Why was she suddenly afraid to walk deep into a clearing she had run across for almost thirty years? It made no sense.

"Alicia! Are you all right! Answer me!"

"I'm fine Frank!" Alicia called back. She approached the figure carefully. It was lying on its side. Breathing heavily, she reached out to touch the figure, but it suddenly stirred again, this time facing her. She held back a scream, then composed herself as she saw what it was.

It was a boy, probably no older than fifteen or sixteen. His dark hair and face were both matted down with muck, mud, dirt, and water...and blood. Alicia saw that the boy was lying in a pool of blood. Again, she almost let a scream escape from her lips, but she didn't. She turned the boy so that he could face her. He was wearing a dark M-65 field jacket, the type the military issued.

Suddenly, his eyes shot open and he looked at Alicia. He attempted to get away from her but fell back down into the pool.

"B...be careful," she said, choosing her words. "You've been injured. Try not to move around too much."

"Are you them?" the boy shouted. "ARE YOU THEM?"

Alicia did not know what to say as she tried to put a hand on the boy's shoulder to comfort him, but he limped away.

"It's not safe here! You gotta get outta here! It's not safe! IT'S NOT SAFE!!"

"What's going on down there?" Franklin shouted from the road.

Alicia shouted back. "Get down here now Frank! And call a doctor! Hurry!"

Chapter 21: Like Die Hard on Crack...Only Better

The morning sun was already beginning to bear down on Erin as she pulled up in front of Orla's apartment, who stood out on the front stoop waiting for her. Both were wearing their standard GBI uniforms.

"Morning."

"Hey. Thanks for coming in today."

"Hey, it's no problem. Even though I had a few words with my babysitter, I managed to get everything straightened out. Can you believe she left Joanie and Mykel alone last night?"

"No way. Really?"

"Really. She found out her boyfriend was cheating on her so she went down to his house and pulled a Carrie Underwood."

"Heh, that's the way to do it. Reminds me of what I should have done to a couple of exes. Will your kids be alright though? I'd hate for them to be alone while we're working."

"They'll be fine. Rob's watching them."

"Rob? Really?

Orla laughed. "Yep. He volunteered when I called over there and told him I'd fired Maureen and he said, 'I'll do it'. Isn't that sweet of him?"

"Yeah. Rob's got a great way with kids. I remember Salina telling me once how this one kid tried to hustle them in Jersey, but Rob out-hustled that hustler. But really, he's sweet on kids. Not in the Michael Jackson way, I mean, but...oh hell, I should just shut up now, shouldn't I?"

They arrived at Tim and Hide's apartment, and were surprised to see three patrol cars parked along the side of the building. An ambulance was parked on the other side of the street. Two uniformed police officers were standing in front of the apartment, while two more mulled outside along the street. "Wonder what's up over here?" Erin asked. Although Hide had called her to come over, she had not expected this.

"I don't know. Hide didn't mention police did he?"

Erin shook her head. She passed the building and turned into an empty alley across the street to park her car. They stepped out and bolted towards the apartment, where they were met by a portly officer. Orla judged by the lemon sour look on his face that his mood was not pretty. "Police investigation. Off-limits," he said simply, blocking their way.

Craning her neck slightly over the officer's shoulder, Erin was able to see two EMT's load a body onto the bed and haul it away. "I'm sorry," Erin said, grabbing Orla by the shoulder and turning around. "Wrong address."

"Uh, Erin?"

"Yeah?"

"Why are we leaving?"

"Just so I can make sure we're out of the officer's eyesight." She turned her head carefully, then grinned. "Great. Follow me." They ducked between the building, arriving at a back stairwell. The door was unlocked, much to their surprise. "Come on."

Careful not to disturb anyone or any other policemen possibly combing the area, they made a dash for the second floor elevator. Within seconds, they'd arrived on the sixth floor, which is where Hide's room was located. At his door, Erin tapped gently, just to get his attention should he be inside. They heard the tumblers in the doorknob turn and the door open, revealing Hide, who was wearing a plain t-shirt and jeans, his hair (usually standing straight up) falling in front of his eyes.

"What are you guys doing here?" Hide asked.

"Uh, you called me here," Erin replied. "You said you had something to say. That ring a bell?"

"I did? Oh yeah, I did. Listen, that early-morning phone call might have been a mistake. You see..."

"What the hell, Tanaka! I've got the fucking munchies and all you've got is dog food! I'm starvin' man!" Both Erin and Orla's eyes widened as they looked back at Hide, who rolled his eyes as he shot a nasty glance behind his back.

"Oh brother..."

"Okay. Hide," Orla began, "if this is a bad time, maybe we should..."

"What? No! No! Listen. Just come inside." Within Hide's apartment, laughing deeply at Spongebob SquarePants, was Tim. In one hand, he had a bowl of Fruity Pebbles, but tucked nicely between his right arm was a shotgun. He looked up and waved at his two co-workers. "Hey guys. What's up?"

"Is that legal?" Orla asked pointing to Tim's gun.

"What? This?" Tim shrugged. "Hell if I know." He laid it on Hide's side-table. Beside him lay Bandit, with bandages covering his hind-legs, ribcage, and skull. Tim rubbed him gently as he sat down. "Yeah, I got the bastard that did this to you boy. You won't have to worry about him again."

"Who?" Erin asked.

"Apparently a bear broke into the building last night and attacked them both," Hide explained as he folded his arms.

"It wasn't a bear!" Tim shouted. "How many times do I have to keep telling you! It was that same asshole we met at the club."

"So how'd he beat the shit outta you then?" Hide asked with sneer.

"Okay. Girls, what I'm about to say is weird. I don't even believe half of it myself if it didn't happen."

"Tim," Orla said, "you know you can tell us anything."

"Yeah," Erin replied. "It's not like I haven't seen weird before. Like there was this one time at band camp..."

"Heard it. Anyway, this dude he gets down on the ground and he starts changing right in front of me!"

"Changing clothes?"

"More like his whole fucking body! It's like he went from a man into some kind of animal."

"See what I mean? A bear," Hide said.

"That's enough out of you." Tim replied, pointing his finger annoyed.

Hide continued. "Look, Tim, did it ever occur to you that the guy had a bear and you just assumed you saw him turn into one?"

"I know what I saw!" Tim yelled. "I know I'm not crazy. A bear would've killed Bandit instead of tossing him through a wall."

"It's happened before! Don't you watch Fox? When Animals Attack III ?"

"I gotta admit, it does sound a little far-fetched," Erin said.

"Not really," Orla said. All three turned to look at her.

"Um, come again?" Hide said.

"Last night, I was with Salina answering a call by the police. It was about that murder up in the posh part of town that happened earlier in the week."

"Oh yeah," Tim said. "I heard about that."

"What's that got to do with anything?" Hide asked indignantly. Orla shrugged.

"Dunno. When we went down there, we found a basement, the kind that would've probably come out of an old Universal flick or something. It was weird and it radiated weird and it didn't feel right being down in there. But then, Salina began to say some funny things about that guy. Chaney, I think his name was. How it wasn't just a hobby in the occult that he had, but he wanted to do something with what he'd learned."

"Sounds creepy," Erin said.

"Gets even creepier. Detective Madison told me and Salina that the Monday that they found Chaney dead, six SWAT members were torn apart by some kind of animal, but didn't find any trace of it in the house at all."

"Damn," Tim said. "Then wait a minute, are you saying that maybe..."

"It's a possibility."

"What?" Erin asked.

"That maybe what attacked those cops and Tim was really Chaney."

"Hold on," Hide interrupted. "You just said Chaney died. Now it's redundant to even ask this question, but how does a dead man walk around for a week without nobody noticing him?"

"I dunno," Orla replied. "How did we bust a ghost Friday night?"

"Touche!" Tim said pointing at Hide.

"Okay, okay. Let's think this out logically."

"There's no logic to it Spock!" Tim shouted. "We're up against some hardcore horror movie shit here and all you can pound out is logic!"

"I'm just saying, we need to look at facts here!"

"Like," Erin interrupted, "why is Tim here if his apartment is on a whole 'nother floor?"

"Oh. About that, I needed a place to stay after What's-his-face..."

"Chaney."

"Yeah. Chaney. After he broke in and busted up me and Bandit, I needed a place to stay."

"So he wakes me up and hops up on my couch and eats my cereal," Hide said yawning.

"Aw, and you've been such a wonderful host, Felix!" Tim bellowed.

"Did you talk to the police yet?" Orla asked.

"Police? What police? I don't know nothing about police."

"There's a dead body downstairs. I think it's the manager."

"No shit?"

"Yeah," Erin said. "I think you'd better get back to your place Tim before they start getting funny ideas. They usually start by knocking on all tenets doors looking for answers."

"Shit, you're right. Here." Erin looked down at the shotgun as Tim handed it to her.

"What the heck am I supposed to do with this?" she asked.

"You don't mind holding it while I change up do you?"

"But you didn't bring any clothes," Hide said behind Tim's back as he left the room.

"A quick shave and a shower and I'm fresh as a flower!"

"Dear god, he's a poet too." Hide moaned as he slumped down onto his couch. He looked at Erin and Orla. "Look what you've left me with!"

"Could be worse," Orla said.

"Yeah," Erin said.

"How?"

Erin shrugged then grinned widely at Orla. "I dunno.We just wanted to say something to make you feel better."

True to Erin's words, there were two police officers standing several doors away from Tim's apartment. One of them, a redhead in his mid-thirties with a worn face looked over as he saw the four Ghostbusters slip out of the elevator.

"Excuse me," he said, putting a hand on Tim, who was leading the pack from the front. "But who are you?"

Tim snapped to attention, as though he were back in boot camp. "Timothy Bondo, sir!" he replied in his best Gomer Pyle accent. He received a jab in the ribs by Erin.

"Bondo, eh? You live here?"

Before he opened his mouth, Tim got another jab. "Yes, sir," he said between gritted teeth as he held back his sarcasm. "Room 316, right there."

"Were you here last night, say between three and four?"

"Uh..."

"He was at a prior engagement," Erin said.

"And who are you?"

"Erin Cummins," Erin replied as she fished out her wallet, revealing her I.D.

"You're not a lawyer," the red-haired officer said.

"Well, technically no, but I am responsible for Mr. Bondo here, by order of the High Judge Cyrus P. Black of Philadelphia County."

"Okay, okay, that's good enough for me. So what was he doing at this prior engagement?"

"He was in jail," Erin replied simply

Tim slapped his forehead. "I'm dead now," he whispered to Orla.

"Jail? What was he doing there?"

"He was involved in a slight altercation that resulted in his brief incarceration by the sheriff's department. I have the information on hand if you want me to get it."

"Yeah, yeah. What I want to know is whether or not he was down there when Norbert Rosier was killed."

"He was still alive when I got back," Tim explained.

"And when was that?"

Both Tim and Hide looked at each other. "Probably about close to four-thirty," was the answer.

"Uh-huh." The officer eyed Tim suspiciously for a moment. Tim noticed that the officer's nostrils were flared, and realized that he was sniffing the air around him.

"Mind if I take a look inside?" he asked.

Tim shrugged. "I don't got anything to hide."

The officer nodded then tapped his partner on the shoulder. "Hey Chris. I'll be back. I'm just going to look in on this thing real quick."

Chris stood there with a pen and paper in his hand, wearing a clean uniform, and appearing clean-shaven for the first time in days. He nodded respectfully to his partner.

"Be there in a minute."

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Tim and Hide, and for a moment felt a chill run down his body. "On second thought, I gotta go outside and process this real quick," he said and disappeared down the stairs.

Chapter 22: A Fire Inside

Although there had been no evidence to conclusively link Tim to the murder of the apartment manager, he was still given a warning, which also lead to a written citation from the officer for being a public nuisance. Erin had tried explaining that it had less to do with his room and more with his general attitude. Tim sneered as wadded the paper up and tossed it out the window of Erin's car.

"And now you're littering," said Hide sarcastically. "Aren't you done with going to jail?"

Tim ignored the comment as he settled back into his seat arms folded.

South Street/Pier 19--PHILADELPHIA, PA

Back at the Highrise, Erin was surprised to notice that the Ecto-1M was back in the garage. "Salina's back," she muttered. True enough, seated comfortably at her desk with several texts sprawled in front of her, was Salina. Perched upon the bridge of her nose were her glasses. She glanced up once as the group walked in, and returned to her text.

"Man, I hope Rob's here," Tim said as he made his way to the basement. "I could use a Cliff Clavin right about now..."

"Rob's out," Salina uttered without looking up, turning a page.

"Oh." He then turned on Hide, who backed slowly away from Tim.

"No way Hoss!"

"Aw come on, Masato!"

"You're a bad influence on me!"

"What, for makin' you live a little?"

"Which reminds me, your ass is coming downtown with me later on to pay the fucking impounder."

"What makes you think I got that much dough?"

"How much is your bike worth to you?"

"Now hold on a sec. I was just kiddin' earlier, but now you've crossed the line..."

Orla shook her head and smiled as she took a seat across from Salina, watching as Tim and Hide argued all the way down the hall. "All we need now is the theme from the Odd Couple."

Salina grunted and kept her nose buried in her text.

"Whatcha reading?" Erin asked, joining them. Her appearance was on purpose; she could feel the bristling tensions arising between Salina and Orla.

"After I dropped Orla off last night, I went to ask Jessica Chaney a couple questions."

"Wait," Orla interjected. "You left me behind to talk to a client?" Salina ignored her as she continued.

"She didn't explain much to me. Aside from her stepfather registering a perfect ten on the creep scale, there wasn't anything earth shattering about what she said before she killed herself."

"What?" said Orla and Erin in unison. It was the nonchalant tone that Salina had taken that surprised them. "Why'd she kill herself?" Erin asked.

Salina shrugged. "Maybe she didn't want to end up like this." She handed Erin a faded textbook. The pages were yellowing and decrepit, a bygone glimpse into a dead era. Her eyes skimmed the page, until they fell upon a rough woodcut sketch of a beast standing on it's hind-legs, it's head pointed upwards towards a full moon.

"Read," said Salina.

"In Latvian mythology, the Vilkacis was a person changed into a wolf-like monster, though the Vilkacis was occasionally beneficial. A closely related set of myths are the skin-walkers. These myths probably have a common base in Proto-Indo-European society, where the class of young, unwed warriors were apparently associated with wolves.

Shape-shifters similar to werewolves are common in myths from all over the world, though most of them involve animal forms other than wolves."

Erin looked up into the stoic countenance of Salina, who only nodded, beckoning her to continue.

"In Greek mythology the story of Lycaon supplies one of the earliest examples of a werewolf legend. According to one form of it Lycaon was transformed into a wolf as a result of eating human flesh; one of those who were present at periodical sacrifice on Mount Lycaon was said to suffer a similar fate.

The Roman Pliny the Elder, quoting Euanthes, says that a man of Anthus' family was selected by lot and brought to a lake in Arcadia, where he hung his clothing on an ash tree and swam across. This resulted in his being transformed into a wolf, and he wandered in this shape nine years. Then, if he had attacked no human being, he was at liberty to swim back and resume his former shape. Probably the two stories are identical, though we hear nothing of participation in the Lycaean sacrifice by the descendant of Antaeus.

Herodotus in his Histories tells us that the Neuri, a tribe he places to the north-east of Scythia were annually transformed for a few days, and Virgil is familiar with transformation of human beings into wolves. In the novel Satyricon, written about year 60 by Gaius Petronius, one of the characters recites a story about a man who turns into a wolf during a full moon."

"The Werewolf-A History by Professor Henry Hull of London, England. Written around 1889 I would figure. But since this is the only copy in the entire state, it's difficult to tell whether or not its", Salina explained. "What I found most interesting was the description of the women..."

Erin and Orla both found themselves drawn to the page in question.

"There are women, so the Armenian belief runs, who in consequence of deadly sins are condemned to pass seven years in the form of a wolf. A spirit comes to such a woman and brings her a wolf's skin. He orders her to put it on, and no sooner has she done this than the most frightful wolfish cravings make their appearance and soon get the upper hand. Her better nature conquered, she makes a meal of her own children, one by one, then of her relatives' children according to the degree of relationship, and finally the children of strangers begin to fall as prey to her. She wanders forth only at night, and doors and locks spring open at her approach. When morning draws near she returns to human form and removes her wolf skin. In these cases the transformation was involuntary or virtually so. But side by side with this belief in involuntary metamorphosis, we find the belief that human beings can change themselves into animals at will and then resume their own form..."

"I've spent the entire morning and most of the afternoon compiling different sources for werewolves," Salina said, "There's still some info that I'm expecting from Dr. Stantz regarding a case that involved the Cortez woman. As far as I know, infection is very rare within the legend. Like getting bit by a zombie," she said as she noticed Tim and Hide joining them, sending a noticeable shiver up Tim's spine, "it's difficult to ascertain the effects of such an infection."

"What'd you find when you talked to Chaney?" Erin asked.

"That that symbol was a resurrection icon. I'm positive that Chaney Senior was luring something here. He wanted to appease a god by turning both his wife and stepchild into werewolves..."

"But I thought you said that disease is just a lie?"

"No, I said that it's difficult to note what its effects are. What little I saw of Jessica indicated that she bore none of the usual signs of having been infected. Her hand, for example, was decidedly therianthrophic. I could see that she had no control over her own transformation at the time she died. If the autopsy report on Jessica Chaney and her mother is as consistent as I think they are, there will be no indications of any kind upon their bodies of a curse of Lycanthropy being passed to them through a bite mark or a scratch."

"Then if you're saying Jessica Chaney was going to turn into a werewolf..."

"Then Larry Chaney was placing his wife and daughter in the hands of a really steep curse. I'm fairly certain that it's not accidental that Chaney's wife was savaged as she was but it was not by Chaney's hand that she died. Jessica did it."

"Huh?" Tim said. "Did I miss something?"

"Always. What've you guys got?" Hide asked.

"Werewolves," said Erin simply.

Before Hide could answer, Salina turned towards him. "Tanaka, I need you and Tim to get in touch with Detective Madison. There was a kid who was found near Sideling Hill. I want you two to look in on it."

"Aw man, Sal, I've caught enough shit with the police," Tim moaned. "Can't I just..."

"You've seen that HBO show, Oz, right?"

Tim nodded. "I gotcha. Come on, Masato."

"Quit calling me that..." Hide bemoaned as the two of them exited from the office.

"What do you need us to do Salina?" Orla asked.

"Nothing from you," was Salina's answer. "I need Erin to..."

"I'm sure Orla can handle it too, whatever it is," said Erin as she folded her arms. For a few moments, her eyes met Salina's as they stared at each other.

Salina shrugged. "Okay then. Orla, I need you and Erin to go to Huntington Labs for me." She scrawled the address upon a slip of paper and handed it to Orla. "Ask for Kathy Moreau. She has some information for me that I can't pick up myself right now."

As Orla left, Erin turned towards Salina. "What the heck was that about?"

"It's no problem," Salina said as she returned to her computer screen.

"I think it is. You almost bit Orla's head clean off there!"

"Sorry if I'm trying to get things done, Erin. But, you gotta kick people's asses if you want to make progress."

"This isn't making progress, Sal," Erin explained. "This is pushing people away when you don't have to. And why'd you go to that girl's room last night without telling any of us?"

"A hunch."

"A hunch that could have gotten you arrested."

"It's not a problem anymore."

"Salina!" Erin was surprised to notice that her own voice was starting to raise. "This isn't like you. At all. I know..."

"You know what?" Salina asked. Her attention was now on Erin, who seemed to shrink away. "What do you know, Erin?"

"I know...I know that you miss him bad."

"Oh. That. Truth is...I don't."

Erin didn't believe it. "Come on Sal, you know me. You can tell me things."

"I am telling you, Erin. I don't miss Andrew. At all."

"Listen, I don't know what happened here between you two..."

"He beat the shit outta me, pure and simple."

"...but he didn't mean it."

"Then why didn't he say so?"

"He probably couldn't bring himself to face you after..."

"I'm over it Erin. Really. I told you that once before and I'm telling it to you again. I'm fine, now will you leave me alone about it?"

"But..."

"Drop it!"

Erin had more to say, but shut her mouth. Knowing better, she turned away and followed Orla outside, where she found her compatriot leaning against the building. "Good stuff, huh?"

"You have no idea."

"I don't hold any grudges against Salina you know. Life's too short to always carry that weight on your heart."

Erin shrugged. "I guess. It's just...I wish she wasn't trying to push everyone away. If she'd only open up..."

"Must've been pretty bad to break her heart, huh?"

"You have no idea really. It's like she's shut herself completely away from everybody. She doesn't want to speak about anything anymore."

"She will in time," said Orla, with a glint of positivity in her eyes. "Trust me, I know. Me and John separated on Valentine's Day of '99, but he stayed around long enough for Myke to be born. We were finalized by Judge Curtis around Christmas 2002."

"Did it ever bother you or does it ever bother you?"

Orla nodded. "I won't lie. I drifted for a little while because I had to ask myself: was I still in love with him? I kept getting answers from everywhere within my psyche. Carl Jung would have loved to evaluate me back then. It was as though my identity was wrapped up entirely in John that I'd forgotten who I even was."

"What brought you back?"

Reaching into her pocket, Orla pulled out her wallet and flipped it open, showing a picture, taken last year, of her, Mykel, and Joanie.

"If it weren't for them, I have no idea where I would even be right now."

"Do you still talk to your ex?" asked Erin.

"The last I heard, he was working for his father in Lexington and working on his third marriage."

* * *

Huntington Labs

"I have to say, that this is some real weird stuff happening," said Dr. Moreau. She, Orla, and Erin found themselves locked in a small 8x8 office, huddled around a desk that was adorned only by a microscope. Nearby lay a stack of photographs that Moreau had taken. Wheeling to face the two, she handed the photos to Orla. "Where do you want me to begin?"

"Probably from the start," said Erin.

"Fine then. Salina came in this morning asking me to run any and all tests I could think of for those follicles. The end result I get is that I don't know what the hell I am looking at. Look here." She pointed at a blown-up photo of one of the follicles with her pencil. "As I told her, I can generally tell by the length of the species, and from there the species itself. But what I found was that the genetic material was all over the place."

She handed Erin a printout that revealed genetic codeines arranged neatly across the paper. "I'm starting to call most of these 'W' and 'Z' chromosomes. That's two more the average animal, or even wolf, would ever have. And then, you'll love this." She pulled the strands of hair from under the microscope and shoved them under Erin's nose. A scent, reminiscent of rotting garbage immediately, filled her nostrils, causing her to gag once and then push them away.

"Should've handed you these," Moreau said as she pulled two wads of paper from her own nostrils and laid them on the table. "Tell me, what kind of hair gives off scents long after it's been removed from the coat of it's owner?"

"You got me," Orla said examining the photographs. "Is that all you wanted to tell us?"

"I don't know what else I can do. I referenced and cross-referenced every known species of canus since this morning. Zero. Zip. Nada. I even did cross-breeding by looking into any of the genetic laboratories on the east coast. Nothing there either."

"Mind if I try something?" Erin asked.

"Go right ahead."

Taking the small glass that contained the hairs, Erin took several deep breaths, expelling the rotten smell that was wrapping itself around her nose. She then unlatched her PKE meter and held it in front of the glass.

It began to emit a signal almost at once.

That was a good guess, Erin thought as she put her meter away. Moreau was not phased at all. "Salina asked me earlier to tell her all I knew about werewolves. After she left, I did end up looking into some stuff. I bet she's already done the same, right?"

"You'd win that bet," said Orla. At that moment, her cell phone began to ring. "Excuse me."

Moreau nodded. "No problem. I thought so anyway, about there being more to this than just simple wolf hairs. Well, I guess there isn't much else I can do from here. Except that I know she's probably not looking as hard as she thinks she is, so I want you to give her this." From the top shelf above her head, she pulled down a thick volume that bore no title on its cover, handing it to Erin. Opening it, she was surprised to find it in another language.

"It's ancient Anglo-Saxon, more specifically ancient Nowell Codex."

"It's a poem," said Erin in astonishment.

"Beowulf to be exact. Generic high school literature. I don't know why but I have that copy with me. I figure she might get a few ideas from it."

"Well, thanks," Erin said.

"Don't mention it."

When she caught up with Orla outside, Erin asked, "Everything alright?"

Orla nodded and was grinning. "It was just Joanie. She absolutely loves having Rob babysit her and Myke. She's even asked him to chaperone her group to the zoo Tuesday, since I'll be working."

"You know you can have the day off," Erin reminded her. "I can fill in on your shift..."

"You're already backed up on paperwork, girl. She was very adamant about having Rob though. And I just talked to him too. He's cool with it, so I've got no problems."

"Rob is a good guy isn't he?"

"The best."

TO BE CONTINUED...

Top
Discuss this Story on the Forum

Website design by MellieMedia
Best viewed in Firefox v.3