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Authors: Catherine Lundoff
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boy would understand them. At least he didn’t run or scream. She reached out with her clawed hands and his eyes rolled back in his head and he went limp.
That was something of a mercy, or so Becca hoped. At least he was still breathing. She picked him up and heaved him over one furry shoulder. Then she began to race down the mountain.
The trip was a blur of branches and pain and she stumbled frequently. The boy stayed unconscious. She tried to get him to drink at a stream they crossed but he wouldn’t open his eyes or his mouth.
Holding the partial change was harder than she could have imagined. Her muscles felt like rivulets of lava and her nerves screamed as she exerted control. The run seemed to go on forever.
Finally, just as the moon began to set, she saw the lights of Mountainview. She dragged a final effort from her exhausted body and left the boy on the porch of a house on the outskirts of town. Then she staggered back toward where she’d left her clothes after ringing the doorbell.
She found her clothes and collapsed on top of them, letting her Becca self come back. The change back happened quickly this time, at least. Later she couldn’t remember getting dressed or dragging her leaden footsteps back to Hal and Marybeth’s. She made it as far as the porch swing before she collapsed. The sleep that took her then was like falling into a well, deep and dark and utterly black.
Chapter 7
~
Marybeth and Hal woke her up when they found her on the porch. Which left her coming up with a good story, before coffee even. She didn’t want them thinking she was the sort of divorced woman who spent her time in honky-tonks in hopes of finding herself another man but it was the most plausible explanation. Becca let her words spill over each other until they didn’t make much sense, but the general import was clear enough.
Embarrassment drove them all inside and Hal turned on the TV while Marybeth silently handed Becca a cup of coffee. Then the news came on and everyone stopped worrying about Becca and her late night doings. The headline that the Jensen boy had been found alive was national news. Apparently the kid was still in shock and his family wasn’t letting him talk to reporters yet. Becca uttered a silent prayer, hoping that he’d just think the whole thing was a really bad dream and forget about anything he’d seen.
The next headline was that his kidnapper, one James Harrison, had been found dead in the woods. His body had been badly torn up, like he’d been taken down by a pack of wild dogs. The reporters speculated on this until Becca wished the linoleum beneath her feet would open up and swallow her whole.
She opted to sneak off to the shower instead, then into the den to get some more sleep. Her dreams were full of running and blood and noise, but nothing was clear. Try as she might, she couldn’t remember exactly how she’d felt when James Harrison died. It was all one big blur. In a way, that was worse than remembering. She should feel a little guilty, she was sure of it.
Her nightmares got worse over the next couple of nights, the images clearer. She attacked a faceless man, her ears filling with his screams, and then something happened to wake her up. After the third time it happened, she thought she finally got it: she was still a werewolf and moving away hadn’t changed that. This meant that she could look forward to changing again next month. And next month, it might not be a child kidnapper and rapist whose throat she tore out.
Fears and all, she still tried to give Mountainview a chance, as if she really had the option to stay if she wanted to. She took long walks through the downtown and beyond. Plastic gingerbread and all, it was a pleasant little town. There were apartments she could rent and a couple of part-time jobs she could string together until she got back on her feet. People were friendly.
But it wasn’t home. And she had no friends here, no—and she hated to use the
That was something of a mercy, or so Becca hoped. At least he was still breathing. She picked him up and heaved him over one furry shoulder. Then she began to race down the mountain.
The trip was a blur of branches and pain and she stumbled frequently. The boy stayed unconscious. She tried to get him to drink at a stream they crossed but he wouldn’t open his eyes or his mouth.
Holding the partial change was harder than she could have imagined. Her muscles felt like rivulets of lava and her nerves screamed as she exerted control. The run seemed to go on forever.
Finally, just as the moon began to set, she saw the lights of Mountainview. She dragged a final effort from her exhausted body and left the boy on the porch of a house on the outskirts of town. Then she staggered back toward where she’d left her clothes after ringing the doorbell.
She found her clothes and collapsed on top of them, letting her Becca self come back. The change back happened quickly this time, at least. Later she couldn’t remember getting dressed or dragging her leaden footsteps back to Hal and Marybeth’s. She made it as far as the porch swing before she collapsed. The sleep that took her then was like falling into a well, deep and dark and utterly black.
Chapter 7
~
Marybeth and Hal woke her up when they found her on the porch. Which left her coming up with a good story, before coffee even. She didn’t want them thinking she was the sort of divorced woman who spent her time in honky-tonks in hopes of finding herself another man but it was the most plausible explanation. Becca let her words spill over each other until they didn’t make much sense, but the general import was clear enough.
Embarrassment drove them all inside and Hal turned on the TV while Marybeth silently handed Becca a cup of coffee. Then the news came on and everyone stopped worrying about Becca and her late night doings. The headline that the Jensen boy had been found alive was national news. Apparently the kid was still in shock and his family wasn’t letting him talk to reporters yet. Becca uttered a silent prayer, hoping that he’d just think the whole thing was a really bad dream and forget about anything he’d seen.
The next headline was that his kidnapper, one James Harrison, had been found dead in the woods. His body had been badly torn up, like he’d been taken down by a pack of wild dogs. The reporters speculated on this until Becca wished the linoleum beneath her feet would open up and swallow her whole.
She opted to sneak off to the shower instead, then into the den to get some more sleep. Her dreams were full of running and blood and noise, but nothing was clear. Try as she might, she couldn’t remember exactly how she’d felt when James Harrison died. It was all one big blur. In a way, that was worse than remembering. She should feel a little guilty, she was sure of it.
Her nightmares got worse over the next couple of nights, the images clearer. She attacked a faceless man, her ears filling with his screams, and then something happened to wake her up. After the third time it happened, she thought she finally got it: she was still a werewolf and moving away hadn’t changed that. This meant that she could look forward to changing again next month. And next month, it might not be a child kidnapper and rapist whose throat she tore out.
Fears and all, she still tried to give Mountainview a chance, as if she really had the option to stay if she wanted to. She took long walks through the downtown and beyond. Plastic gingerbread and all, it was a pleasant little town. There were apartments she could rent and a couple of part-time jobs she could string together until she got back on her feet. People were friendly.
But it wasn’t home. And she had no friends here, no—and she hated to use the
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