A Bump in the Road. Chapter Eight.
A Bump in the Road
Chapter Eight
By Roofles
It was cold and the rain above stung like tiny falling needles as I ran across the wet pavement. My breath could be seen before my eyes, fogging in front of my face clear as day in the chill night air. The street lamps seemed to flicker around me and I found myself all alone this dark night running as fast as I could in an empty street.
Buildings rose on either side of me, every light was off. Even if I could manage a scream I knew no one would hear me, no one would answer. Middle of the city and no one was around. Figures. Just my luck that it'd be raining this night.
I looked behind me as I stepped in a rather large puddle of an overflow, clogged sewer drain. I could see little in the down pour even with the beacons of light above illuminating the circles beneath them. The street lights flickered and turned off, in the darkness that followed I could see those cold red eyes staring at me.
My gun was already up, trained in front of me as I whipped around. Even before I could pull the trigger those eyes closed, vanishing in the dark and soon the lights around buzzed back on. I was standing in a pool of that yellowish pool of light. A ring had formed around me, like a sanctuary protecting me from the dark. And in turn from those eyes.
A cold shiver ran down my spine as I stood there, shacking in the rain.
The light quivered above, shaking before flickering off. Then on. Then off. And with it I could hear the rasping panting breath behind me. The blood drained from my face, my legs froze and my breath cut short inside my throat. And the only thing I could hear was that heavy breath behind him. Sucking in and breathing out before everything went silent.
I think I was screaming as I felt teeth clamp shut around my neck. My guts being ripped open by claws and my limbs tearing off. A sharp pain bit at the bottom of my hand. Thrashing around, tangled in my own blankets I sat up. Wide eyed, fearful and clutching my throat with my other hand, my gut with the other. Making sure my innards were still in and not outards. A cold sweat covered me, soaking my sheets. And even as I looked around my room my mind was still in that dark place.
I was shacking, my whole body was shacking.
Shit. I looked at the wall at the side of my bed and found a rather large dent in it. "Damnit." I cursed trying to come back to my senses. Still breathing heavily I covered my face with both hands just sitting there waiting for my mind to come back to me.
There was a sharp wrap on the door and it soon opened. My brother, the werewolf, was standing there as the door creaked open. "Hey," he said in his wolfish form. The obsidian brute couldn't even fit in the door without stooping down and turning on his side. Ever since I found out about him, he was staying in it more and more. I sometimes forgot he was still human. "I made some coffee." He jabbed a thumb behind him.
And with that he left, the door still open. The light seeping into the room and illuminating the reality of my situation. Still safely in my room. Not alone, not in the middle of the rain, not being hunted like a dog. Yet I still found myself shaking, knowing I must've looked as white as a sheet of paper.
I groaned, shacking my head before getting up. It would've been one thing but for the past three days? Three days! I've been having these nightmares. Always of the same damn thing. Being hunted down like some kind of animal. And that fear... the rain... everything felt so real. I even knew it was a dream and still my mind, I was afraid. Heh, that cold primal fear that washed over me every single time before I woke up. Fighting, punching the damn wall, anything I could do to fight back. A wild panic, hysterical reaction to that fear.
It took me some time before I got up, even then I took a few minutes in the bathroom to collect myself before joining my brother in the main room.
Our place was simple. An old couch we got off Craig's list sat in the corner. We used the cooler as a tv stand, one of the older models sat on top. The TV had to weigh thirty pounds or so. There wasn't a picture in sight but we had various posters hung up, old pizza boxes scattered about, a cluster of cans of coca cola here and there with some beer mixed in around the PS4. A bachelor pad really. A two guy bachelor pad that is.
The place hadn't been vaccumed or dusted in ages. And I was sure the place stunk with random articles of clothing here and there. Dishes piled up, garbage overflowing and very little in the cabinets and fridge. Yup, good old home.
We had found an old outdoor lawn set we had brought home. It worked well for the most part. We got a free table and two chairs out of it even if it looked super tacky, not like we had anyone over thankfully. And one of those large umbrella things that go over it. For free no less. We stashed the over sized umbrella in the corner.
Marco was at the table with two mugs. I wasn't looking forward to it but that tar like coffee he concoted would be perfect after the night I had.
"Thanks." I grumbled as I sat across from him slumping over. I looked like a wreck even after I dried to drag a comb through the tangle mess of hair, wash my face off and take several moments to just calm my nerves down. My eyes were baggy, I hadn't shaved in days, I had barely eaten anything and the only thing I ever drank was coffee. That had enough nutrients to live on right?
"Long night?" Marco started off rather stupidely. Ok I was on edge but it was still stupid. "Same dream?"
"Yup." My crass reply came quickly and I shot it at him with a vehemance. Annoyed, on edge, tired and hungry. If I could've kept anything down I would've eaten.
"You sure you weren't bitten?" He asked like he had the other nights holding his cup of coffee with both hands. He rarely drank the stuff. More of a courtesy towards me to grab a cup.
"Yup." Was my grunt of a reply. I took a long drank and gagged afterwards. It really was like drinking tar. If that doesn't put hair on your chest nothing will.
And our little exchange of words was at an end. Marco was defiantly a night person. He'd sleep all morning and get up in the late afternoon, stay up all night and just walk around the apartment in his wolf form. Neither of us had done anything productive in the past Three days. After we returned home from the in-between we just crashed. I was exhausted, having nightmares. And Marco? Who the hell knows what was going through his head.
I managed to get some info from him yesterday but he wasn't a man of many words.
"You mentioned something about other kinds of werewolves?" I said sitting up a bit and looking over at him. He really did look comical. The overgrown, shaggy brute was wedged between the white plastic armrests of the lawn chair. He was holding the cup with both hands and wasn't exactly sure how he was going to drink it. He wanted to pour it into his mouth but thought better of it. He ended up just lapping at it with his tongue. Disgusting. "Something about curses?" I said fishing for more details
"I looked into it." He said with unblinking eyes. Rather unnerving as he stared at me before looking back down at his cup taking another lapping drink. "There are several types of lycanthropy." He stopped though and I could see the gears turning in his head. Marco did it far more often than you'd think. As if he were having a private conversation with himself as he collected his thoughts. "Well not lycanthropy. That's what I am."
"A lycan?" I almost scoffed at him, with a dry laugh that followed. He glared at me, folding his ears back and his lips raised up a bit. "I mean a Lycan really? Fascinating!" I corrected quickly not wanting a several hundred pound werewolf mad at me.
"It's the common thing." He said in a somewhat calm, bored voice looking down at his drink once more. "Your bit by one, every full moon you change, yadda yadda." Marco said in a very dry tone obviously having talked about it one too many times. A touchy issue I could only assume. "There are others as well." He scratched at his neck once more having to think it over.
"Like?" I asked as a full minute rolled by with no further reply.
"Voodoo magic and shit." He shrugged. "And other bad things that make your skin crawl." He said with a low booo afterwards like a ghost. He barked a laugh. "Stuff I don't deal with. Never have. That stuff should be left alone as far as I'm concerned. Even practioners shouldn't be messing with it."
"Practioners?"
"It's basically all types of magic users lumped together." He perked up a bit as he continued glad to know something for a change. "Like witches, warlocks, wizards, magicians, tricksters and the like. Most can barely conjure a flame or make the curtains blow. They're usually con artists and such." He chuckled at that shaking his head side to side. "Stuff doesn't effect Lycan's so I'm not worried about it."
"Not at all." I said almost jealous.
"Well not entirely. It has a diminished effect." There was a large toothy, proudful grin on his face. "Benefits from being a trueblood."
"Ok you mentioned that the other night." I said not wanting the conversation to abruptly stop like it did the other nights. "What's the difference between those things the other night, Lycans and truebloods?"
"Well more like pureblood." Marco clarified in that deep husky voice. "Just not deluted at all. So all the effects are at the top of the food chain." He finished raising his hand up high, way high with those large arms, to indicate this. "The things back there..." He frowned trying to think it over and began that silent conversation with himself, I could see his lips moving as if he were reading a book.
I took another sip of coffee before waiting for his reply.
"They weren't Lycans. Or not fully Lycan anymore. If I a pureblood then they are the opposite. Half-breeds? Mutts basically. They tried so hard to keep it they began like inbreeding and shit." He shook his head his voice cracking a bit becoming less human as he spoke, his sentences breaking up. "Disgusting. What people will do for power."
"But they were Lycans once then?" I pressed the issue.
"Possibly?" He offered weakly. "I mean most likely yeah. There are a few other ways. Magic is one of them but no practioner of that caliber would be giving it a gang of street dogs like them. It'd cost too much with no return."
"Cost?"
"Well all magic has a price." I frowned at that. Fuck. I really was in a god damn fairy tail. "So most practioners don't like to just go around throwing spells everywhere. Reason why you don't see them on the news and stuff. So afraid of using it, some don't ever end up using it." He shrugged and there was that toothy grin at the thought. It must be nice to be able to have something like werewolfism without worrying about side effects.
Speaking of which. "Is there any sort of side effects...for you...Them?" I asked trying to make the question broad.
"Well I'm...complicated." He chuckled a bit splaying his ears out to the sides and scratching the side of his large muzzle with a finger.
"How are you complicated." I swear if he was going to give me some half woman response I was leaving.
"Well my werewolf liked me. It was more sane and in control than most I hear about. So I got off lucky." Marco shrugged his heavy shoulders casually "They on the other hand are a whole different story." He chewed on his lip, mulling it over a bit before continueing. "I hear its like a drug. A high unlike any other," I shivered a bit knowing all too well about that. "The best sex of your life," I quirked an eyebrow at that. "Feeling invincible and overall just feeling top of your game."
He shook his head though and I waited.
"The first kill is the worse, or so I hear!" He quickly added the last bit waving his hands and giving me a hopeful innocent look (it still looked scary as fuck mind you). "And it only goes down hill from there. Like any drug you need to take more, more frequently, higher doses and it...it fucks you up." His voice died down. "Mind and body, the beast devours your spirit and you become a deformity of your usual self." His speach was still broken but he was at least holding it rather well.
"Ok, what about other ways though? To become like this. How do these guys do it. Were they bitten like you?"
He shook his head but stopped. "Well maybe?" He chewed on his lip again. "I mean the alpha of the pack probably turns them I can only imagine. But it not right. Like only half right." I looked at him as he almost slurred his words. He shook his head again before clearing his throat. "As I said before it's a bad strain of the virus. They want to keep it so bad they're willing to do anything."
We both went silent for a bit. "And other ways?" I asked once more. Trying to find the one I had in mind.
"I heard spirits of dead animals could attatch to humans. Mostly spiteful though. Causing all sorts of trouble and mayham and bad luck for them."
"And what about curses?"
"Well curses is a bit more complicated..." He stopped at this and began fishing in his pants pocket. Pulling out a tatter piece of parchment he unfolded it and began reading it over. "Some objects can be in-chan-tid." He read over. It sounded like he had been rehearsing this and forgot the rest. No wonder why he hadn't wanted to talk about it before. "Some are possessed by powerful spirits. Usually given as fake gifts to ones enemies. Or such." He finished giving a toothy grin afterwards and I swore his tail wagged as if he just finished giving a presintation in front of a class.
"What kind of items can be cursed?"
"Technically or is it theriotically...." Marco took a minute on that before shrugging it off. "Any item could be. Depends on whats doing it. Spirits attatch themselves to items they are closest too. Practioners have to use a type of talisman or such. Just depends on the hell it is."
I was about to ask once more but he cut in, sitting up and wagging his tail (I was sure) once more. "Oh! And there are these belt things in Europe. When you put them on you become an animal, feral. Walking around on all fours. Sometimes they are like skin-outfits other times they are just belts." But he frowned afterwards sitting back down a bit. "I heard those are the worst kind though. Being bitten ya' got to deal with it once a month or so. The belt is someone willingly injecting themselves, forcing their body to change shape."
"Is there anyway to remove curses?" I asked coming back to my original question or the one I had been wanting to get over.
That got his attention and his ears folded back, auburn eyes narrowing and took a full minute to just look at me. "Why?" He said. His voice was dry as it had been before, blunt and straight to the point as he stared at me trying to figure out the reason behind my question.
"Well I just..." I said looking away. The whole table shook as he got up.
"What. Happened." He nearly snarled, lip twitching as he gripped the table trying to keep his anger in check.
"Well..." And then I began regailing him with a short story of my trip inside and of the cat I met and the jackalope (I just now recalled, I hope he was alright) and finished shortly before falling into the ring.
His teeth clenched and he pushed back away from the table, knocking the chair over and began pacing. "Let me see this trinket." He said after another full minute, stopping to stare at me once more. The fur on his back had stood up and he was trying to keep his lip from twitching. Short fuse much?
I shuddered, closing my eyes.
It was the first night I had these night terrors. I was shaking so bad afterwards. I had stopped breathing when I woke up. It took me a few moments before I could again. Clutching the blankets up against my chest and just... It felt so real. I honestly thought I had died. And when I finally began to calm down I looked up. And across the room, hanging from the back of my computer chair was the medallion. A brass, heavy thing that seemed to be watching me.
Two days. The first I had wrapped the damn thing in my old gym cloths and tossed it outside. It came back that night. Like some damn stray cat. The next day I took it with me. Went to the farthest place in town and tossed it into the dump, watching it crushed before leaving. It was back the next day. Still worn and faded. I should've taken it to a damn church or something. I need a young priest and an old priest.
I pulled it from my pocket. It hummed softly as I touched it and my hand felt far heavier than it actually was. I set it on the table and the very room around us seemed to grow dark. Marco was unfazed but to me... To me it felt like it was watching me, staring at me and laughing.
And the worst part was I actually, a small part of me in the deepest recesses of my mind... wanted to put it back on. To feel that rush again. Like a damn coke fiend trying to get another effing fix. It was sad, pathetic and yet I couldn't stop thinking about it.
Three days. Three days and it already had this hold on me. How pathetic was I?
"Do you think those things back there, before were cursed?" I swallowed looking at the object. Marco hadn't moved but the back of his fur was standing on end and he was looking at it. Staring without saying a thing.
"We are all cursed." He said flatly. "Some more than others." He mumbled going silent and a dark look passed his eyes. "What is it?"
It took me a second to grasp what the hell he was talking about. "It's a jaguar."
"Fuck." He said and began pacing.
"Is that...bad?" I took my coffee and scooted back away from the table never letting my eye fully stray from it as if it was about to pounce any second.
"Cats." He shook his head. "It had to be cats!" He snarled. I left him alone and just looked down at my cup. "Cat's are prideful creatures, powerful as well. Dangerous. I ran into one once. Dude wanted to start his own fucking pack." He scoffed, laughing at that.
"Pack? Like an actual wolf pack?"
"Sort of." He snarled. "Just like those street dogs. A pack isn't how it sounds. You have to go through fucking trails and pass tests before being initiative. Humilated and abused..." He scoffed, laughing afterwards. "Like a fucking fraternity. Or more accurate, a gang."
I nodded once before looking away. A touchy subject I didn't want to pick at, I could only guess what Marco had gone through.
Fraternities could go far. Abusing and literally beating on each other. There were cases of rape and even a few I had personally been on (case wise when I was still a cop) where one of them had died, bleeding out from a cut on his femoral artery. An accident but still. Others were simple like how much you could drank, getting laid off a chick, simple stupid guy things. Gangs on the other hand were differnet.
Gangs made sure that when you joined there was no going back. Sometimes it was stealing, arson and more minor things. Putting your sign on a wall or something idiotic like that. Then there were others. To join the main gang in town you had to kill someone. Sometimes its a stranger, other times its your own family member or someone that had "dissed the group." Once you joined there was no going back. If you tried to leave they'd kill you to make an example or worse. Sometimes it was easier to just get shot rather than suffer from some of the things I had seen. Case files could be very...graphic.
And seeing Marco's face, even with his wolfish expression, I could tell that I wasn't far off. Fuck.
Most gangs, even the mafia, tried to play off the family roll. Finding losers, orphans and other people that felt alone. While someone is down on their luck they'd take them in, convince them it was for the best and then just use and abuse them as much as they like once it was too late to get out. In the end it was only about one thing though. Power. And this usually meant money to most people.
I had worked undercover on a few cases. The members had actually turned on one another trying to get the stash out for themselves. Drugs of all kinds. Easily worth hundred of thousands, in total. Trying to sneak them into town through teddy bears. Fucking teddy bears.
I shook my head clearing my thoughts. I had a few personal grudges against gangs personally. And you know the worst part about it? I wanted this damn medallion. To wear it. Gain that strength, track those fuckers down and just...
The table shook, Marco didn't notice, but I did. It was as if it sensed my blood lust and was responding to it. A cold shiver ran down my spine and I could almost feel its breath on the back of my neck again.
"I have a friend..." Marco said walking over to grab his phone. "That might be able to help with this. She owes me a favor, a big one. I think it's time to call it in."
"And what does she plan to do? Put a collar on it?" I nearly laughed but my voice failed me.
"A few things come to mind." Marco frowned before biting his finger. "If it was a dog it'd be different story. Cat's on the other hand...well we'll just have to try anyways."
"Try what?" I shot glaring at him now.
"Communicating with it." And for the longest time I figured, I hoped he was joking.