Chapter 5

      Collette felt the metallic lock give way, and her wrist shackle fell open. The last of them. She was free. She tossed her long blond hair out of her face, and suffled across the matted dirt floor, trying to avoid moving so much as a single strand of hay, for fear of waking a guard. She made it to the bars, looked up at the open sky above. In a flash a wave of relief passed through her knotted stomach as she realized the full moon was still days away. She had time.
     Theoretically, anyway.
     Right now she had to move. Soon would be feeding time and the guard would appear, tossing a steak into her cage. A raw steak. At the thought her insides grumbled in anticipation. But she had to put that on hold.
     The back of the cage was the rock formation that the cage was built into. Easy enough to climb, but on the opposite side of the rocks the earth fell away a hundred foot into the sea. She recalled her last attempt at escape – she almost fell, and ended up in the shackles. This time it would be different. This time she would go out the front door.
     The guard was approaching for feeding, laughing down the row of cages, speaking a language Collette had no hope of understanding. She hid in the back under her blanket, now covered in dirt and dust, and meticulously positioned to blend into the rock wall. From the front of the cage, she simply disappeared.
     The guard approached her cage and tossed in the steak without even looking. Under the blanket Collette cursed his stupidity and apathy. She closed her eyes, mustering up her strength and trying to recall the pounding of adrenaline normally reserved for the full moon. She tried to force the transformation.
     The guard paused. He muttered something in his weird language, then shouted her name. The door lock turned, and the hinges of the cage door squealed in annoyance at having to move. “Collette?” he said again. Further, Collette thought as she peeked from behind the blanket. Further in, you idiot. One more foot in.
     Her hands were shaking, and her blood rushed in pulses through her body. She felt herself tighten up like a spring being crushed down. She moved. Not enough to cause her camoflauge to collapse, but enough to draw the attention of the guard. If he knew she was there he must not’ve thought her dangerous. That would be the last lesson he’d ever learn.
     “Collete,” he said. Then some more gibberish. But he knew where she was. He took two steps towards her.
     She lept. The rush of the adrenaline release was euphoric to her. She felt what she imagined the full moon activity felt like. She’d never been able to harness it or call it forth before. Now she could.
Her hands fell onto the guard’s throat, and her short legs climbed up his torso as he fell backwards. By the time he hit the ground, with her tiny five-foot frame crouched on his chest, her thumbnails had already started a tear in the horrified guard’s neck. His short-lived scream became a gurgle of blood, and Collette watched his expression go from horrified to pleading to vacant. With a final tear, she threw her arms open wide, taking bits of flesh and muscle with them, flinging them into the cage like raw steak.
     As the dirt floor became muddy with blood, Collete stepped over the body, out the cage, and away to her freedom.

Chapter 4

"I did what?" Dominic asked. He fell back onto the bed, rubbing his wrists, which itched like mad.

"You attacked one of my nurses, teeth bared and ready to rip. Like a wild animal," Dr. Miles said. She stood over the bed and looked at him. "You don't remember anything do you?"

Dominic shook his head - not a thing. Dr. Miles walked to the hallway and called out a name, "Jasmine". A small woman in her mid-twenties appeared at the door like a mouse facing off against a huge cat.

"It's ok, Jasmine. You can come in. You'll find him quite stable now." Jasmine winced, but approached, Dominic watching her and feeling something inside - lust? No, it wasn't lust. He didn't want to have sex with her. But he wanted her. He could tell that much. He just would never be able to articulate how, exactly.

"Do you remember Jasmine?" Dr. Miles asked. Dominic again shook his head. "But you feel something for her, don't you?" Dominic shot her a look. How did she know? "Thank you, Jasmine. You can go." Jasmine didn't wait for another offer. She took off out of the door and down the hall, her white rubber-souled shoes squeaking down the hallway.

"Remnants of a desire to feed, I'm afraid." Dr. Miles continued.

"What?" Dominic sat up in the bed. This was not going at all as he expected. Then again, what can you expect when you wake up shackled in a hospital bed?

"You suffer from what's called Clinical Lyncanthropy. It's a self-identity disorder in which the patient, you, believes themselves to be an animal, usually a dog or a wolf, although there can be other types of associations. Birds, tigers, that kind of thing. It's a form of schizophrenia-"

"What? I'm schizophrenic?" Dominic shot up, a sick feeling growing in his stomach.

"Technically, yes. But your case is interesting in a couple of ways. One, the quickness of its onset, unassociated with any trauma or repression. And two, the normal state is quite, well, normal. You exhibit no other symptoms during the day or night when the full moon is not out. It's one of the more advanced cases I've found."

Dominic flopped back into the bed. "Holy shit. I'm a whacked out werewolf."

Dr. Miles laughed and patted his hand. "Not to worry. Usually psychotherapy or neuroleptic drugs do the trick. I'll get you started on a prescription for Risperadone, small dosages to start with, then leveling off once it takes hold. That should do you fine."

"Not necessarily," came a voice from behind her. Dominic leaned over to look around her as Dr. Miles twisted around. An older man with a bald head and goatee stood tall in the doorway and smiled. "Forgive my intrusion," he said with a thick eastern European accent. Almost Russian. "I am Dr. Andrei Debrovich. I am an expert in Clinical Lycanthropy and I believe I can help young Dominic here without the use of drugs.

Chapter 3

Dominic once again found himself waking up in a strange place. At least this time, when he checked, he was dressed. His head pounded, and he lacked that full stomach feeling – in fact, his stomach gurgled in protest to the lack of food. He moved to sit up but couldn’t raise his arms. Fur covered leather bands surrounded his wrists and ankles, and no amount of struggling freed them. The chains on the bands clanked against the bed railing, echoing against the clear, white walls of a hospital room.
He relaxed his head back in frustration, remembering the events of the night before.  If it had even been the night before.  For all he knew, searching the room for a calendar, he could've been out for a year. 
A quick inventory of memories showed him the mad dash into the convenience store, the screams of an elderly woman watching him (or more likely watching his flopping package), and the lunge of a trucker on top of him, tackling him just as he reached for the t-shirts.
He remembered the humiliating wait for the police to arrive, the gray, itchy woolen blanket that hung from his shoulders to the floor, the cuffs, and the standard cliché of having his head lowered as he entered the back seat.

More memories:  the police station, lucid and calm, at least relative to the other felons and petty criminals who shouted threats to every person they passed. They asked him his name, what happened, did he know where he was, so on. He knew most of the answers. When they asked “what happened”, he drew a blank.
His parents. They’d be worried about him. Dominic was a homebody – his stature conveyed an air of toughness and intimidation, but his personality was as soft as the doe he woke up next to. Or killed. And right now, he just wanted to be home.  College hadn't been an option for him, so his days were spent on video games and looking for jobs, one being a higher priority than the other.  But his parents did take care of him without complaint, and knowing what his other friends typically went through, he couldn't ask for more.
 

A woman showed up with a white lab coat, opening the door to the hospital room with a slow creak.  Heels clacked on the tiled floor as she strolled to his bed, checked the IV drip, smiled at him.  The smile triggered another memory, he had seen that before.  The police station.  She had asked him if he had any memories whatsoever about the night, and when he shook his head 'no' she had stood up to talk to a police officer in private. He remembers watching her thin, delicate fingers scribble her name on a form clinging to a clipboard, and then she had led Dominic to a…car? A van?  The storage shelves in his mind became encased in fog.

 

“Good morning,” she said with a smile. “So glad to see you awake. Do you know where you are?” Her light, soothing voice had a touch of a British accent. Dominic liked her almost immediately. Her smile showed off perfect teeth, and while he stared at her the smile transformed into a smirk as if she knew what he was thinking, and has had other boys his age look at her the same way. He turned away and blushed.

She laughed. “Ok, I’ll assume that’s a no, or that you’re too distracted to care.” She stood over him and his bed. “I’m Dr. Miles, I picked you up at the police station.” She noticed the restraints and shook her head. “Oh, goodness. I’m so sorry. I don’t think we’ll be needing these now.”

“What happened?” Dominic asked. “Why am I tied down?”

“Oh. At the time they were quite necessary, I’m afraid. You tried to eat the throat out of one of my nurses last night.”

Chapter 2

Andrei Dobrevich leaned back in his ergonomic, leather chair; the back of the chair shifting like an alien being to keep his spine in alignment. He stared at the eight by ten photo he held in his right hand, his cell phone poised and ready in his left. One call, and he could end it.
He threw the cell phone against the cherry wood panelling in his office, shattering it like it was glass. She cost me millions, he thought. Millions. Years to train.

There could be no replacement.

He stood up and walked around his massive, dark Victorian desk, sparse of any pictures or desktop paraphernalia. Andrei would have none of that. An in-box, an ink-well, and paper. All he needed. And in the middle, a manilla folder with those photos.

He stood in front of the mirror behind his bar, and poured himself a small glass of Tuica, what he called SOOKA for his American clients. It was a small token that reminded him of home, his father's plum orchard, the way the dogs ran through the thin trunks of the trees, barking. Fighting.

It didn't work - he was still drawn back to the photo: her blood-smeared face, the swells of bruises and the long claw marks. Her body lay in an unnatural, twisted position as the final pounce of her opponent broke her in half. It was horrible, and yet, beautiful how their two powerful bodies had clashed like Titans against Gods. The crowd roaring their approval and yet not loud enough to drown out the grunts, the howls of pain from the combatants below.

Andrei felt a tear well up as he downed the rest of the Tuica. Such a horrible way for such a beautiful woman to die.

The voice of his father drifted back into his head: "Nyet, Andrei. No crying. You have a stable. Plenty more money to be made. And they will pay. They always pay."

"They always pay," he said out loud.

A knock on his door. "Come," Andrei said, staring at his reflection in the mirror. The door opened. It was his assistant, Charles Dunwoody. A young lad, just out of college, and driven by his inherited lust for money to support Andrei in everything he did. A good lad. A trusted lad. Because the Dunwoodys owed Andrei quite a bit of money.

"Sir," Charles said. "We've found a new one. In Maryland. Found naked in a convenience store."

"Verified?" Andrei asked, intrigued. Could this be fate? A sign to carry on?

"Not yet, sir. Our men are taking him into custody now. We'll run the tests, of course, but all signs are good. He talked of waking up next to a mutilated doe."

Andrei smiled. Perfect. A self-starter. "Let's go pay him a visit," he said as he clapped Charles on the back. Andrei's mood had improved dramatically, and it wasn't just the Tuica.

Chapter 1

            Dominic's eyes fluttered open, and he swallowed the metallic-tasting blood that collected at the back of his throat.  He turned on his side, coughing up the blood that dripped into his lungs, and stared into the eyes of a doe.  Also on its side, the doe lie still, blood oozing from its foamy mouth as well.  Dominic startled backwards, sat up, and covered his naked body with his arms while wondering where the rest of the doe’s body was.

A dense forest surrounded him, trees towering above like bars of a cage.  His stomach revolted at the thought of getting up so early in morning, and let loose a gaseous burp that tasted like…what?   Raw meat?  He saw several bones nearby, bloody masses of hanging tissue and brown fur.  Had he done that?

He rose up, dizzy from the sudden change in altitude, leaned on a tree, and lost whatever it was that his stomach tried desperately to digest.  The answer lay in the stench and the pile at his feet.  Indeed, he had done that.

He ran.  He was normally squeamish about anything having to do with pain, but his feet stomped on pinecones and twigs as if they were made of leather, never faltering or tripping him up.   He jumped over logs and scanned the area for any sign of a path – a trail marker, downtrodden foliage, anything.  Was he still in Maryland?  Anywhere near home?  Nothing looked familiar.

Cars.  Up ahead.  That meant a road, and possibly some fucking idea as to where he was.  And what he did.

He crouched down low behind a row of bushes and trees, and saw the welcomed site of a four-lane highway.  Looking up, he saw no signs giving away his location or even what highway this is.

He started to leave the area to go thumb a ride, then remembered his complete lack of clothing.  A six-foot four, two hundred thirty pound teenager with a mass of disheveled black hair standing naked on the side of the road would likely call a bit of attention to himself.  He had woken up in the midst of a horrific nightmare – standing in public stark naked.  He needed clothes, and he needed to get home. 

Home.  His parents were probably just waking up, quietly getting ready for work, and not giving another thought to whether nor not their seventeen year-old son had even stirred upstairs.  He routinely slept until noon, and being the summer they would never have even bothered to check to see if anything was different about this morning.

But there was.  He went to bed angry, feeling a rage inside of him that he hadn’t felt before.  Why?  He couldn’t remember what it was.  He just remembered feeling…different. 

And then he woke up next to a mutiliated Bambi.  Naked.  He wished that some kind of alchohol was involved, a party to end all parties.  But he went to bed alone, and Chuck Bednarik was not going to appear like Ashton Kutcher and say he’d been punked.  He walked along the tree line, following the highway, until it branched off creating an off-ramp.  High above the off-ramp stood a sign for a gas station and convenience store.  With any luck, they’d have t-shirts, maybe swim trunks.  The trick is getting inside grabbing them, and getting out quick enough to avoid being caught.  He came to a the edge of the off-ramp, and saw the convenience store ahead of him – across the road.  He closed his eyes, counted to three, and sprinted out of the clearing.