Suspenseful Tales Part 8

I was going to put everything on the table. "Do you remember Terrel Williams?"

She suddenly drew back. Anxiety lit up her eyes.

"Who is he?" she said, her quavering voice betraying the fact that she knew who I was talking about.

"You dated him three months ago," I said. "You went out with him a few times, until your father apparently decided that he didn't like him. Someone discovered Terrel's body in a forest. His corpse had been mauled, like a pack of wolves had attacked him."

I drew the crime-scene photograph out of my jacket pocket and held it in her face. She gasped. She climbed off my lap, her hand covering her mouth.

"Nathan," she said. "I'm sorry. I ... I don't know what to say."

I whipped out another grisly photo.

"How about David Taylor, a guy you dated last year? Remember him? Yeah, this rotted corpse with its neck chewed in half doesn't resemble him at all, but I think you know who I'm talking about. Your father hated him, too."

Tears s.h.i.+mmered in her large eyes. She hugged herself.

"Where did you get those pictures from?" she said shakily.

"Doesn't matter." I didn't enjoy forcing her face into this dirt, but it was necessary to stop these games. "We know what's been going on."

"I'm so sorry." Tears rolled down her cheeks. "Daddy can't control himself. He gets crazy when he doesn't like the guys that I date--"

"Don't make excuses for him. Your dad is a blood-crazed killer. He's only using his desire to protect you as an excuse to indulge in these wild killings. He has to be stopped."

"What do you mean, stopped? Are you a cop?"

"I am a cop, but not the kind of cop that you might think."

"What do you ..."

A howl pierced the night, silencing her I did not know exactly where the howl had come from, but I knew what it had come from, and I knew it was not far away.

I gripped Stacy's shoulder. "If you like me as much as I like you, you'll tell me everything. No more secrets, Stacy."

Her eyes were wary. "But he's coming, Nathan. Do you have any idea what he'll do if he finds you here?"

"I'll take the risk. I have to know the whole story."

She slumped on the couch. Stared at her lap.

I pulled over a rocking chair, sat across from her.

"I'm waiting," I said, rocking back and forth. I was trying like h.e.l.l to convince her that I wasn't afraid.

She said, "Eight years ago, on a family vacation in Arizona, my mother was killed." She paused and looked at me, as though checking to see whether I believed her. I said nothing, only nodded. She continued: "My dad and I found her body. It was torn to pieces. Before we could even think about what to do, me and my father were attacked, too. But we weren't killed. We were bitten and turned into ... well, you know what we became, don't you, Nathan?"

"Yes," I said.

"What happened to my mom scarred both me and my father pretty deeply, but my father's pain is more obvious. He became obsessed with protecting me, with making sure that I never ended up like my mom. Pretty foolish for him to worry about that, considering the abilities I have, but in his mind I'm just daddy's little girl, like I've always been."

"Go on," I said.

"He's as obsessed with protecting me as he is with making sure that I hook up with the right guy. I mean, the right guy, whoever he turns out to be, will have to become one of us. He'll have to become part of the family, in every way. That's why he's been giving you so much h.e.l.l, Nathan. He doesn't think you're right for me, and he's trying to scare you off."

"Without resorting to killing me, I presume," I said. She winced.

"Terrell and David were sweet guys, " she said. "But they were much more aggressive than you are. Daddy didn't like that at all. He tried to make them leave me alone, but the harder he tried, the pus.h.i.+er they became. Daddy had finally had enough. So he ..."

"Slaughtered them," I said. "There are others, Stacy. I don't have photos, but I know that Mr. Payne had been busy 'protecting' you for at least the past five years. Over a dozen innocent guys have paid the price for being interested in you."

"He's not a killer, Nathan. Please don't make him sound like he's evil."

I touched her face. I felt bad for her. She was immersed in denial.

Another howl shattered the night. It was getting closer.

I glanced at the windows, at the shadows surrounding us. He would be there soon.

Stacy straightened. "How did you learn so much about us?"

"Word gets around," I said. "When someone has been as wild as your dad has been, others notice. I pursued a relations.h.i.+p with you because I was asked to learn the full story."

"You mean you dated me only to learn about my father?" she said. "You used me?"

"Hold on, don't get mad. Yes, I first wanted to date you to find out about Mr. Payne. But when it became obvious that we clicked so well, I started to fall for you."

She smiled a little. I could not return her smile. I was conscious of the howls. They were getting much closer.

"So who sent you to me?" she said. "What kind of police do you work for?"

I opened my mouth to tell her when an angry roar filled the air. A huge, dark shape hurtled like a torpedo through the living-room window, shattered gla.s.s flying everywhere.

The intruder landed in the far comer of the room, an area dense with shadows. I glimpsed a hairy, hunched form, like a big man on all fours, and I heard husky breathing issuing from the beast.

Stacy grabbed my hand. "Come on. If you want to live, we've gotta get to my room!"

We ran to the staircase. Behind us, the creature growled. I looked over my shoulder.

The animal had moved out of the shadows. In spite of the glossy coat of grey fur, the long snout, and the sharp, canine teeth, I recognized who it was. The eyes gave it away.

Mr. Payne. The werewolf.

"Hurry!" Stacy pulled me upstairs. We scrambled into her bedroom, then she slammed and locked the door.

"Do you want to be with me?" she said. Her eyes blazed.

"Be with you?"

She grasped my shoulders. "Do you want me to be with me? Forever?"

I stammered. "Stacy, I have to do something."

"What?"

I opened my jacket, revealing the gun holstered on my hip. I pulled the revolver out of its sheath.

Stacy retreated a few steps. "Please, put away that gun, Nathan."

"Sorry, but I'm only following orders." I grabbed the door k.n.o.b and flung open the door.

"No!" she said.

Ignoring her, I moved to the staircase. Mr. Payne, the werewolf, bounded up the steps. The beast leaped over three and four risers at a time. It snarled, saliva flying in thick ropes, eyes aflame with inhuman rage and hunger.

My hands trembled. He was so enormous. If I missed, I was finished.

The werewolf sprang toward me.

I squeezed off one-two-three shots, the revolver booming like a cannon. One misfired round plowed through the railing; one smacked into the creature's chest; and the third drilled it between the eyes.

The beast shrieked. Leaking dark blood like a busted water hose, the werewolf rolled down the stairs. It crashed to the floor with an impact that reverberated through the house.

Then, silence. The creature lay on the floor unmoving. Dead.

I closed my eyes.

My a.s.signment was accomplished. It wasn't handled in the neat, thoroughly doc.u.mented manner that my superiors would have preferred, but they would accept my work. They would have to accept it. I was one of the few detectives in the world qualified to handle this kind of case. The scarcity of individuals in my position provided job security.

"You killed him," a guttural voice said from behind me.

It was Stacy. She crouched in the doorway. She had begun to metamorphose, too: pretty nose lengthening into a canine snout, claws pus.h.i.+ng through the tips of her slender fingers, coa.r.s.e hair covering her creamy skin...

"I had to kill him," I said. "Unchecked beasts like him make it more difficult for all of us. He was violating the code."

I thought I saw confusion on her rapidly transforming face.

I wanted to explain, so I said, "Our power lies in our secrecy. Your father was killing at will, and that isn't allowed. Kills have to be carefully planned and concealed, or else, the safety of our entire breed is threatened."

She dropped to the floor on all fours. She raised her long neck, stretched her jaws wide. Her thick tongue swept across her rows of sharp teeth.

She howled.

"I'm responsible for enforcing the rules for us," I said. I looked at the revolver in my hand. "According to the rules, I'm supposed to slay you, too. I'm not allowed to leave witnesses."

I studied Stacy's werewolf form. She regarded me with her dark eyes, panting softly, expectantly.

She was gorgeous.

I tossed aside the gun.

"But you know what?" I said. "I never follow all of the rules. There's a full moon tonight. And I don't know about you, but that tiny steak I ate earlier left me hungrier than ever ..."

DEAD TO THE WORLD.

The man kept calling about his check . . .

"Where's my check?"

Sitting at my desk in my tiny cubicle, rocking slowly in my chair, I bolted upright and tightened my grip on the telephone handset. Don't let this guy be another one, I prayed. I'd been answering calls for two hours that morning, and I'd taken enough blows from irate policy owners to leave me feeling like a punching bag. I didn't have the endurance to face another angry customer. After all, during my drive to work, I had miraculously avoided what could have been a fatal collision with an eighteen-wheeler. I wanted to spend the day gazing out the window, silently thanking G.o.d for sparing my life.

Please, let this guy be a quick transfer to another department.

"Before I can answer your question, sir, I'll need your policy number," I said. "Can you give that number to me, please?"

He rattled off a series of digits. As he spoke, I entered the numbers on my computer. His policy information, visible in green type, filled the black display.

The Chicago-based company I worked for, Lake Sh.o.r.e Insurance, offered medical, disability, group life, and individual life coverage. Separate departments administered each kind of insurance; I worked in the individual life area. Although our toll-free number gave callers a department menu that should have always connected them to the appropriate areas, in the course of a day I often transferred a dozen misdirected calls. But there would be no quick transfer this time. As I studied the screen, I saw that this guy had an individual life policy. Great.

I steeled myself for the oncoming abuse. "And what is your name, sir?"

"Ralph E. Stone, from Peoria, Illinois. Ain't you got that on your screen, boy?"

"Yes, sir, I do, but I needed to confirm your ident.i.ty," I said. "Okay, Mr. Stone, you were calling about a check?"

"A loan check," he said. "Thousand bucks I need, I'm in a real tight spot. I sent you folks a letter a few weeks ago, but you ain't sent me nothing yet. So now I'm calling about it. Where's my G.o.dd.a.m.n money?"

"I'll see if I can find out, Mr. Stone. Can you hold for just a moment?"

"Hurry it up."

Oh, shut up, I thought as I put him on hold. I half-wished that I hadn't been so lucky that morning; a bruise or two that would have justified a brief hospital visit would have been preferable to coming here. On days such as these, I believed that if G.o.d ever decided to condemn me to h.e.l.l, he would put me somewhere exactly like this, to deal with mad customers for all eternity.

I tapped the keyboard, flipping through various screens, searching for information about a loan transaction. I learned two things. One, no loan check had ever been mailed to Stone. Two, Ralph Stone had died on February 12th, three weeks ago. The ten-thousand-dollar death benefit had been paid to his beneficiary and sister, Irene Stone.

Obviously, something was screwed up.

I picked up the phone.

"My check on the way?" Stone said.

"Well, sir ... no. It seems we have some incorrect information on our system. According to our records, you died on the twelfth of February." I chuckled, as if such a thing were funny.

Stone laughed, too. "Then your computer's a piece of s.h.i.+t, boy, cause it's wrong as wrong could be. I wouldn't be calling if I were dead, would I?"

"Of course not," I said. "I apologize for this. I'm not sure how this happened."

"One of you crackbrains up there messed up my policy, that's how it happened."