Craig Atchley was a great guy. Well, his representative was. You know, the persona he puts on daily for the public he deals with; the person people meet at parties, on the job, when he goes to buy a car. That guy. The longer you know him, the more comfortable he gets with you, the more you start to see his true colors, and it's not a pretty sight. Too bad his wife Lyviah didn't know that sooner,or things might be different than they are right now. Breathing is getting hard for her because she's pinned against the fridge with a forearm across her throat, her bottom lip swollen and bleeding just like her stinging nose. His other hand is pulling hard at a large chunk of her dark ringlets of hair as he sprays spit into her face with every other profanity he barks at her. He isn't drunk, he isn't even really mad this time. This afternoon, he's just making sure she understands the instructions he's giving her on how to conduct herself at his client's dinner party coming up on Saturday.
"You pull that shit again, getting so hammered you can't even talk, and I swear to fuckin' Christ, Lyv, I'll haul you outside, take my belt off, and stripe your back like a goddamned child! Don't you dare embarrass me again! You hear me, you miserable twat?"
Lyviah nods as best she can in his iron grip, almost managing to whisper ananswer to the positive, when she notices her heart rate rising,pounding against her breastplate with a desperate pleading for relief. Her reddened eyes being to well up and throb with a dull ache, and she notices how much her teeth have started to hurt. This was light compared to what she got when he was angry about something,but still, she had to try and calm him down somehow. Slowly she slipped her fingers into the back of the waistband of her pants,fishing for...
Damn it! There...!
She eased it out into the open, gripping it tightly, making sure Craig saw it. To him, it was just a crooked stick with weird designs burned into it, part of her mindless obsession with the occult. Lyviah,however, knew exactly what it was: her mother's casting wand, and she found herself in need of it once again. She held it against her blasting heartbeat, held it out between herself and her assailant then closed her red-rimmed eyes and began to sob, "Lupus ad somnum...back, beast, back...lupus ad somnum...back, beast, back."
Her voice steadied as she repeated it, his grip on her throat relaxing when he finally noticed she had the wand out, same as always. For some reason, this always made him let up his assault. Not because he thought it or Lyviah possessed any magic power; no, just the sheer stupidity and pathetic futility of it amused and admittedly empowered him, seeing this pitiful display, his frail wife trying to use something as ridiculous as witchcraft to stop him.
Not only did it strike him as funny and idiotic, but it fueled his raging ego to hear her call him 'beast'. It made him feel powerful and (a very twisted kind of) masculine to be referred to as a wolf, an animal that obviously terrified her, and was part of the reason he enjoyed roughing her up over nothing. With a final shove against her chest,he smirked at her and strode off down the hall and into his den,slamming the door behind him. Lyviah sank to her knees, crying quietly with her face in her hands as the wand dropped to the floor.The Craig she met two years ago was long gone, and he was never coming back.
8:53pm,the dinner party is in full swing, and Lyviah is stone drunk, just like she promised she wouldn't be. She couldn't help it, though. All the other wives huddled around her, talking about how great their lives and husbands are, asking her all kinds of questions about the Craig they know, about their wonderful life together, blah blah blah...and every time she ends up drowning all the voices in margaritas and Xanax. She had no idea why Craig had a problem with it; she was so much better at lying about their relationship and about his being a first-class asshole when she was beyond her limits,and tonight her buzz was on point. Not only that, but it helped dull the constant tension she felt around him. The last thing she was stressing about tonight was the psychotic mess she laughingly referred to as their marriage.
Just as that heinous cow Maggie Croenig was about to plunge into the ins and outs of the battle with her husband to have their old swimming pool replaced with something a little more grandiose, Craig stepped up to the circle of women, smiling and greeting each in turn with a nod. He flashed a stern glance toward Lyviah, who immediately looked away in shame, knowing he had noticed how far gone she was. He reached out in a mock gesture of affection and offered his hand to Lyviah, who knew better, even in her state, to flinch or give any indication that she was anything but completely enamored with her husband. With all the grace of royalty, she took his hand and managed to glide over to his side, placing her free arm around his waist.
"Sorry,girls, he's all mine," she joked, evoking drunken giggles from her friends, "I'll catch up later, OK?" If she could've spoken honestly, anyone who wanted him could fucking have him. Then again,would she wish that on anyone, even Maggie? She was only saying that shit because she knew it made him feel good, confident that he had her under his thumb, and placated him for the most part.
His grip on her arm was like a steel clamp, and as they walked, the brisk motion of being towed just behind his angry steps then jerked forward stirred the volatile cauldron of alcohol and pills in her stomach. Itwas inevitable...one more stumble, and.....yeah, there it was. She dropped to her knees beside a large blue vase and began to vomit herentire party's worth of booze into it. Livid doesn't even begin to describe the white-hot rage that flushed Craig's face til he was trembling. Only three or four people saw it happen, but one of them was Craig's boss, the host of this extravagant soiree, and there was no saving her from her fate.
As they crossed the room, Craig scolded Lyviah for doing this again, for being so obviously beyond intoxicated around his friends, coworkers,and acquaintances and embarrassing him, all the while keeping a smile on his face for everyone they passed as they made their way toward an empty room off to the left of the main parlor where the party-goers had all converged. She knew what was about to happen. It was dark in that room, save the light that spilled into the open doorway from the parlor, and once in there, he would do what he did at every public event; make it look like they had slipped off to have a quick,private make-out session. On the dark side of the room, though, his unseen fist would be punctuating his sentences by slamming into her ribcage, while the other hand that appeared to be caressing her neck would secure her by her hair. The whole time he would lecture her on how to behave and how this was nothing compared to what would happen once they got home. Right now, she was more wrecked than she had ever been, and almost didn't care. She just wanted to get it over with so she could go home and pass out after the real beating was over.
Once they had stepped through the doorway and into the dark, Craig's go-to opener ("You retarded hillbilly bitch!") never came, only a cool,collected request that she go to the car and wait for him. Maybe he figured the making out thing wouldn't fly because she had just filled a vase with puke, but she could tell he was seething with anger inside as he handed her the keys, but he wasn't letting it out in small spurts of cursing and quick blows to the body like he usually did. There were times he had talked about being so mad he couldn't control himself, and had learned to basically go numb until he was in a place where he could let it out, but she had never actually seen it. This time, there was a good chance she could land in the hospital. Maybe worse.
Fuck it. So be it.
The click of the deadbolt unlocking barely sounded before she caught a fist to the small of her back that sent her stumbling forward into the house. Before she could catch her breath, her face was driven to the floor by a punch to the back of the head. Blood spattered onto the carpet from her nose and Lyviah cried out, having lost whatever was left of her buzz. Craig grabbed her by the hair and slung her onto the couch. Now he said it.
"You retarded hillbilly bitch! I swear to God, you'll never leave this house again!" He was rubbing his knuckles, pacing, not even looking at her. "I should've taken Sarah from PR to the damned party.Everyone knows I'm fucking her anyway. Wouldn't have been that big adeal. At least she can hold her liquor. FUCK! GodDAMN it, I fucking hate you!"
Craig spun around and stomped Lyviah's stomach on the word 'hate'. Her face froze in agony, her mouth open as she rolled into a fetal position to try and alleviate the pain. Craig had other plans. He leaned over her and snatched up a handful of her hair. All she could do was cry and look terrified.
"Do you know why I keep you here? Neither do I."
KRAK!Fist to the mouth. Bloody lip. He had never hit her this hard before.
"Iused to feel sorry for you. Pathetic, socially awkward little twit."
SPLAT!Slap to the face. Ringing in the ears.
"You just can't seem to stop fucking up, can you? Every time, everywhere we go, your stupid bullshit fucks it up. Can't even talk to people without being so drunk you can't think. That's weakness, and it makes me sick."
By this time, he had her pinned down by the throat, his face blood-red and beading with sweat as his breath quickened. Lyviah gasped for air as his grip tightened, one hand trying to break his iron grip as the other groped at the floor, looking for her clutch. She was almost certain it had landed by couch when it went flying from her hand after Craig's first blow to her back. Now his sweating, burning face was right in hers as he released his grip a little bit, not allowing her the luxury of passing out, but keeping her firmly in place as her consciousness ebbed.
"I have two tickets to Atlanta."
Fist to the jaw...
"I'm taking Sarah there tomorrow. Might even go north after we're there, rent a cabin in the woods so I can fuck her in your hillbilly hometown."
Fist to the left eye....her clutch! Right under the edge of the couch,close enough for her fingertips to fumble at it. A familiar panic seized her as her insides began to churn and quiver. Craig had stopped hitting her to continue carrying on about his planned trip to Atlanta with Sarah while holding her face to his by her hair,twisting and pulling hard at it. While he spat and sputtered, she managed to open the latch on her clutch and dig her fingers into the one shallow pocket and pull out her wooden wand. Her teeth hurt almost too bad to open her mouth, but she inhaled deeply and began to mutter under her breath, "Lupus ad somnum...back, beast, back...Lupus adsom--"
Craig immediately noticed what she was doing, but this time, unlike all the other times, it didn't calm him down one bit. In fact, this time it pissed him off beyond his capacity to think. He snatched it from her hand and threw it as hard as he could into the nearby dining room.
"Really?You stupid fucking....that's it! That is fucking IT!"
The last thing Lyviah saw was Craig's fist drawn back, the last thing she felt was a hard lurching in her chest. His blow never landed before blackness took her.
It was nearly three weeks before the body was found. The coroner was absolutely disgusted by the nature of this murder, commenting on how only a psychopath of the worst kind could be capable of such a thing.Video was being downloaded from the security cameras as the scene was wrapped up, hoping it might provide a clue as to exactly how this got so far out of hand and became the most monstrous crime in the city's history. As for Detective Tom Darin and the others who arrived first,they weren't quite sure they actually wanted to see what happened.
Nearly four hours after leaving the crime scene, the video footage from the Atchley house was ready, having been at the back of a long line of evidence videos being processed. Det. Darin had been waiting anxiously, pacing around his office between trips to the vending machines. Nervous eater, you know. Kyle Brenner, his long-time friend and head of the Evidence department, was on his way up, but not fast enough, in his opinion. Tom quick-stepped across his office when he saw the smudged image of Kyle on the other side of his corrugated glass door.
"Kyle,geez, get in here, man! What took so damned long?"
Kyle had this indescribable expression on his face, like he had seen something no human had ever seen before. He handed the paper-sleeved DVD to Tom. It seemed to pain him to say the words.
"Just..um..just watch it, Tom. You'll see. I cut out everything but...but umm, what you need."
Tom cast a questioning eye on his friend, wondering what could have him so rattled. Kyle was a pretty sturdy guy, someone who had seen just about everything in his twenty-eight years on the force, and to see him this out of sorts was just plain disconcerting. He raised his laptop screen, logged in, and sat down with the DVD in hand. With his curiosity now burning red hot, he opened the disc drive and dropped it in, his heart speeding up along with the whir of the drive as his outdated machine struggled to process the DVD. Kyle raised an eyebrow, smirking.
"Don't start, Kyle. I know," Tom grunted. Kyle snickered.
Finally,the video was loaded and ready. Tom clicked PLAY, and sat back in his black leather chair. Domestic abuse. Figures. It doesn't always end in murder, but he had seen it happen enough to know that's where this was headed. Photographs from the crime scene were still laid out on his desk, and he was now very interested in what was between what they told him and what he was seeing on his screen.
"Why's there no sound, Kyle?"
"Couldn't take it, Tom. Sorry. I scrubbed it. You'll see."
The detective turned his attention back to the screen just in time to see Craig Atchley drive his fist into his wife's face and eye, eliciting a softly uttered 'oh shit' and 'goddamn'. He watched intently,silently cheering the battered woman on as she searched for her clutch, thinking she may have a small firearm inside. Disappointment spread over his face when he saw her take out the wand.
"What's with the stick? What the hell did she think that was gonna do?"
Kyle began to sweat a little, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot and rubbing the back of his neck.
"Of course he took it from her. Shit! Wait, did that just...she passed out for a second, then she...holy shit!" Tom back the video up to the point at which Lyviah seemed to have blacked out. His face twisted up in disbelief. "She just..she just threw this guy across the room! She was fuckin' layin' down, man! She just grabbed him by the face and he went flyin' into that bookshelf!"
Tom couldn't believe what he was seeing, especially when Craig got up and charged Lyviah again. By this time she had taken a defensive stance,her face twisted with rage, her arms and legs quaking. He picked up a lamp and raised it as he ran toward her, only to stop dead in his tracks when his eyes met hers, which had very clearly changed. This was recorded with a top-shelf camera system, and those eyes were definitely not green anymore, but a burning amber color, and much bigger and more fierce. She leapt at Craig, baring her...
Fangs?Fangs, for fuck's sake?
...and pinning him to the ground and slashing at his face with the long,black claws that had grown in place of her fingernails. Somehow he pushed her off of him and tried to bolt off into the next room where he had thrown the wand. In his panic, he stumbled and went down fast,his knee driving into the corner of an end table. His face wrenched up in pain as he fell and held his injured knee. Lyviah had dropped to her hands and knees, her back arching as she tore at her dress until the side stitches gave out, revealing the widening trail of thick black hair growing down her back. When she stood, her arms were also covered in the same coarse black hair as her back, and she seemed somehow taller. Even with no sound, you could almost hear Craig scream as she picked him up as though he were toddler and threw him completely out of frame.
PAUSE
"What the hell did I just watch, Kyle? Is this some kinda prank or something? I know you got a nephew who does all that special effects crap for Razor Wire Films. If this is supposed to be funny, it ain't! This is bullshit,Kyle! Bullshit!" Tom spat, slowly coming out of his shocked state and getting a little pissed. No way was this real.
"A prank?" Kyle couldn't hide his insulted tone. "Y'know what, Tom ?Fuck you! I'm damned near traumatized by this shit, and you have the balls to sit there on your fat ass and accuse me of faking it? You can't be serious! This is as real as it can be, untouched, outside of taking out the audio, and believe me, it's ten times worse with it!"
Tom tried to shake the chills from his spine, but the more he stared at the paused video, the worse it got. He had to see what was next, as much as he detested the thought.
PLAY
For about seven seconds, nothing. Tom's eyes darted from one side of the screen to the other, waiting for something to happen, and when it did, it was a blast of blood and big slabs of skin, a severed leg,and finally the severed head of Craig Atchley, which bounced off the couch and hit the floor. Tom's mouth dropped open. What the hell could've done this? As if in answer to the question he just asked in his head, some...thing came bounding from the direction of the torn body parts and began to gnaw on the severed leg, tearing off the remainder of fabric so it could strip off the meat, scarfing it down in large chunks and licking the blood from its muzzle. It was canine in appearance, definitely not a dog, much too big to be a wolf, but too much like a wolf not to be one.
The ears were long and pointed, its fur coal-black with dark grey down its flanks, and its eyes still that odd amber color that seemed to physically burn. Once it had finished with the leg, the creature picked up the head with a massive clawed hand, licked at the torn,bloody stump that used to be a neck, then crammed it into its mouth,shaking it around violently before tossing it away. It threw its head back in what appeared to be a long howl, then bolted off the couch and made its escape out of a nearby window. This part he watched three more times before letting the video play out to the end.
.............now what?
'Destroy it, Kyle. Whatever you have to do. Distort it, blank it out, I don't care, as long as it looks like some kind of electronic malfunction. We slam this thing shut, today!"
Kyle inhaled deeply, let it out slowly as he brushed back his hair and nodded. He turned to leave the room, turned as if to say something,but thought better of it and strode on out the door. Tom wiped the light accumulation of sweat from his brow and slowly closed his laptop. He laid his head down on his desk, wishing he could just drift off to sleep and wake up in a world like the one he knew just a few short minutes ago, a world where murder happened without werewolves...or whatever the hell that was....
In a modest house on a short street in a small town called Derby Cross, Lyviah sat silently sipping a cup of coffee. She hadn't been to Georgia, let alone her father's house, in nearly five years. Her social anxiety kept her from having what most consider a 'real life' or 'real job', so travel wasn't something she indulged in before she met Craig. Not much after that, either, come to think of it, considering he treated her like a prisoner most of the time. Looking back, she can't believe she tolerated it....then again, she can. He preyed on her lack of confidence, her low self-esteem, used them to control her. Same ol' story, same ol' song and dance.
WHAT THE FU..!!! Lyviah's head jerked right to see her dad had laid his hand on her shoulder, but quickly retracted it when it startled her.
"Sorry about that, Sweet Pea," he smiled apologetically, "guess i shoulda said somethin' first, huh?"
Lyviah reached out for his hand and put it back on her shoulder, laying her head on it.
"It's OK, Daddy, I was just kinda...lost, I guess. The whole thing is just...I mean, it's there, just really dark and vague, y'know? I know something horrible happened to Craig, and I did it, but that hasn't happened in so long, not since I that time I left the wand at home and those drunks jumped me. It was outside T-Bone's, that place down in Crow's Rest me and that girl Gail used to go every now and then. That was, what, my junior year in high school?"
"Yeah, how could I forget that? That's why I asked you to stop hanging out with her and that Scott girl. Red-headed menace, that one."
"Dad! Isn't she the one you told to call you Jack, that Mr. Maxwell was your father? Anyway, I'm not sorry at all. Is that awful of me? Maybe it's 'cause I cried it out on the plane. Figured it would happen one day or another."
She went back to her coffee and back inside her head. Her dad took a seat beside her at the table, leaned in and kissed her forehead.
"I never met the son of a bitch, but after hearing your story, I'm not sorry, either. You shoulda said somethin', Sweet Pea. I woulda put that asshole in the ground long before now. I figured somethin' was up when you stopped writin' every week. From what I gather, the world's a better place without him in it."
"I need to hear it again, Daddy. How did I become...this? Like I am? It's like I understand, I get it, until it happens, then I feel lost all over again."
With a deep sigh, Jack got up and poured a cup of coffee for himself, adding a splash of bourbon for...body...yeah...and sat at the table beside Lyviah, taking her hand.
"OK, Lyviah. God, I hate reliving that day, you know that, right? I was so glad you came out alive, but we've never been able to figure out how to undo what was done."
"I know, Daddy," Lyviah put her coffee down and laid her hand over her dad's, "I plan on studying on it all I can, finding out how to stop it."
Jack attempted a smile, half succeeding, then proceeded with his story.
"We still lived on Brecker Road then, out on Cranton Ridge. I was workin' on that old International pickup truck I'd bought off of Bruce Stevens that summer. Your mom was in the house gettin' ready to make us some lunch while you were across the yard in your playhouse with some of your dolls. You'd just turned ten the week before, and I built you that playhouse for your birthday. Anyhow, I was under that old truck, both hands jammed in and around everything tryin' to drop the tranny. This one nut just wouldn't cooperate and I had to...well, never mind all that, I'm gettin' sidetracked here. I didn't even hear what was goin' on 'til it was too late. Those two stray dogs came outta the woods, just a few yards from where you were playin', growlin' and snappin', all foamin' at the mouth and red-eyed. Pretty obvious they had rabies, even though they were dead by the time I seen 'em."
Jack took a deep gulp of coffee and continued.
"I heard 'em once they started barkin', and started tryin' to get out from under the truck, but I had both hands full of tools and parts, shit layin' around me I had to shove and kick outta the way just so I could move, but I was tryin'. Luckily your mama saw 'em creepin' up the yard and came runnin' out with my shotgun. She brought it up to fire, but by that time they were chargin' at you, got too close. I yelled for her to toss it to me, my idea bein' to swing around real quick and flank 'em. Lookin' back, I never woulda made it. Your mama threw the gun down and ran toward you, those dogs closin' in, and then brought out that wand. She yelled somethin', swung it in your direction, and there was a loud crack, kinda like thunder, only sharper, y'know? No way was I ready for what happened next. By this time, I had the shotgun in my hands and was runnin' toward you. I figured even if they got hold of you, I could smash their heads in before they tore you up too bad. Next thing I knew, you weren't even there. I saw it, but I just couldn't get my brain to accept it. My little girl wasn't being attacked by feral dogs. There was a black wolf, bigger than both of those damn dogs, just tearin' 'em to pieces."
His hands began to tremble a little. He took another long sip of his coffee, looking off into nowhere for a brief eternity. Lyviah held his hand tighter.
"It's OK, Daddy. I'm here. I made it, remember?" she smiled. Jack smiled back, took in more coffee, more breath, and pressed on.
"All I could do was drop to my knees and watch; watch, pray and panic. When the dust settled, you were standin' over the two dead dogs, not a scratch on you, still bitin' and pawin' at 'em, like you were darin' 'em to get up. Just about then, you caught wind of me and your mama. I remember you lookin' at me, those yellow eyes on fire, that low rumblin' growl. I looked back to your mother, hopin' she was about to bring you out of it, but I guess between seeing it happen, castin' the spell or whatever it was, and the runnin' out of the house in a panic, her heart had just about give out. She was about half conscious, watchin' you comin' at me. Up came that wand again, and another loud crackin' sound busted out of it. You dropped to the ground, rollin' around yelpin', but you didn't change all the way back. Looked like one of those werewolves in the movies, only the size of a child. Man, I'll never forget that. Your mama managed to call out for me to bring you over to her. I was scared as hell after seein' what happened to those dogs, but it looked like you had passed out, so I took my chances. I laid you down beside your mom, and helped her sit up so she could hold that wand over you. That's when she taught me the spell you needed to keep the wolf inside, the spell you've used your whole life. That's why it happens when you get stressed or upset. So, it ended up bein' your mom goin' to the hospital that day instead of you. She didn't last long after that, but she got to see you graduate high school, at least. Never was a parent more proud than her when you walked across that stage."
Jack fell silent, letting his voice and the story trail off along with his gaze. He missed his wife every day, but especially when he thought about the day his daughter's life was saved and cursed all at once. At least she had left behind a means to keep it under control, which abruptly interrupted his brooding.
"You did get the wand back, didn't you, Sweet Pea?"
"Yeah, Daddy, I got it. Went back to the house as soon as I was...um...me again."
Jack gave a long, heavy sigh.
"You ready to give small-town life another shot, kiddo?" he asked as he stood and walked back over to the coffee pot.
"More than ready," said Lyviah, getting up and setting her cup beside her dad's, "Those city folk are real animals."