Chapter 3
1565 Words
3
My shoulders drooped and I pursed my lips. Great. Just when I didn’t need them, they arrive. My eyes flickered between my car and the half-conscious thing close to my feet. I still had my purse slung over one shoulder. A few simple steps around the monstrosity and I would be home-free.
I took a couple of those steps, but paused when I came close to his head. One side of Dives’s face lay against the concrete, and the other looked up at me. His half-lidded eye pleaded for my help, and his words echoed in my head. Help.
My sensible mind told me this was very wrong, and that I should leave. It also told me, in an offhand way, what would happen if any of the authorities found him in this condition. Think ‘science experiment’.
The less-sensible part of my mind reminded me that even transformed as he was, he was still cute. And rich. And in desperate need of some help.
I ran a hand through my hair and shook my head. “Damn it, Dakota. How do you get yourself into these things?”
I hurried the few feet to my car door and swung it open. My purse was tossed into the passenger seat, and I opened the rear driver’s side passenger door. The sirens were getting louder as I hurried back to my fallen boss. I rolled him onto his back and slipped my arms under his. The new fur must have added fifty pounds as I dragged him foot-by-foot to the open door. I leaned his back against the car and scooted into the back of my vehicle. A few long, hard tugs and he was spread out in the back of my seat.
I slammed the doors, slid into the seat behind the wheel, and backed out of the parking spot. The garage had two exits. I went to the far one because the sirens were closer to the other one. It was now dark, and the streetlights flashed through the windows as I made my way through traffics and lights. The occasional groan and shadow in my rear view mirror were constant reminders of my hairy problem.
I lived in a small fifth-floor apartment at the far end of town. The twenty-minute drive ended without incident, but I had a new problem. I couldn’t exactly park on the curb and heft the furry load in through the front door. I turned off the street an alley short of my building and bumped us to the wide alley that split the block in two. The area was wide enough for dumpsters, and a car with a suspicious passenger. There was also a back entrance people used only for illegitimate reasons.
I parked the car among the trashcans and boxes, and stepped out. A puddle awaited me.
“Damn it. . .” I muttered as I hopped out of the water. It was too late. My shoes were soaked.
I tiptoed around the other puddles and to the rear door. Dives’s cheek was pressed against the glass and one of his yellow eyes glared at me. A scream escaped me before I slapped my hands over my mouth. The sound carried all the way down the alley. A few people peeked their heads out their windows, glared at me, and returned to their cramped dwellings.
I clutched my chest and took in the picture before me. Dives was now seated in the back. He panted and clutched at his chest. His short hair was changed to the gray mix and had progressed down his sideburns and back. His hard breathing let me see his extra-sharp teeth. Just for that reason did I hesitate to open the door.
“Mr. Dives?” I asked him.
He grimaced and closed his eyes. “I’m. . .I’m still me,” he replied.
I raised an eyebrow. “So you won’t bite me or tear me limb-from-limb if I open this door?”
He tilted forward and shook his head. I hesitantly opened the door. His weight shoved it open and he slipped out. I dove down and caught him before his clothes resembled my soggy shoes.
“Easy there. Come on,” I grunted.
I hefted his arm over my shoulders and he managed to stand. That was an improvement over my dragging him because the floors in my apartment building weren’t too clean and there wasn’t an elevator to take him up to my place. We stumbled up the broken-concrete stoop and through the tattered and half-broken back door. The entrance led down a short, narrow hall to the lobby, and from there up the stairs to the apartments. There was also a fire escape stairwell directly to our right. It was used mostly by druggies and hobos, but Lady Luck finally smiled on us. The place was deserted on that Friday night, and we made our way up the five flights to my floor.
The apartment building wasn’t exactly high living. The wallpaper, what little remained, peeled off the walls in large strips, and sat on the worn wooden floor boards. All the doors to the apartments looked like they saw better days during the Biblical Flood, and the inhabitants weren’t much better to look at. We creaked and groaned down the hall with Dives and the floor alternating with the groaning.
We reached my door, the spacious apartment at the end of the hall. I fumbled for my keys and inserted the right one into the lock.
“Who have you got there?”
I froze and winced. My mind worked on a terrible excuse as I looked over my shoulder at the middle-aged occupant of the room next to mine. She wore a bathrobe over her flowered dress and bunny slippers adorned her otherwise bare feet. Her graying hair was done up in a tight bun behind her head and her small, curious eyes fell on Dives.
“Um, nobody, Miss Ardelio.”
She turned up her peeked nose and wagged a finger at me. “No lying, Miss Combes. I can see you have a young gentleman here, but what on earth is wrong with him? Have you called a doctor?”
I glanced between Dives. “It’s really nothing. He-um, he’s practicing for a play he’s giving. The fur’s his costume. See?” I leaned him against the wall and tugged on some hair that stuck out from his shirt. He winced, but didn’t cry out.
Ardelio waltzed up to us. Her narrow eyes studied his face and posture. “He certainly looks ill.”
I flung open my door and pulled Dives’s arm over my shoulders. “That’s just him staying in character. He’s a-um, a method actor. But if you’ll excuse us.” I pulled him into my apartment and slammed the door in my neighbor’s nosy face.
My apartment didn’t look much better than the hall. The wallpaper was more often on the walls than the floor, and the small kitchen had warped cupboards and a sink with hard-water spots. The furniture in the living room, if you could call the small space in the right-hand corner, was of some ancient vintage, perhaps the Sixties, and was hidden beneath new cloth covers to hide the holes and springs. I hefted Dives over to the couch and plopped him down. He landed on his rear and leaned against the back with a heavy groan.
I sat down in the small chair opposite him and sank into the cushion. It helped that there weren’t any springs left to keep me up. I studied my unexpected, and furry, visitor.
Dives’s breathing was less erratic and his arms hung by his sides. His eyes were still yellow, and it was unnerving to be watched by them. He didn’t blink much.
He shifted on the cushion and winced. “I think one of your springs is broken.”
“It’s probably missing,” I replied. I leaned forward and set my elbows on my legs. I clasped my hands together and set my chin on them. “So do you always get hairy when you hit on girls, or is this a new thing?”
Dives managed a hoarse laugh and shook his head. “No. At least, not until after the first date which is after I’ve learned her name.”
I raised an eyebrow. “So this has happened to you before?”
All humor fled from his face. He pursed his lips, but nodded. “Yes, but not this-well, it’s never gotten out of my control before.”
I looked him over. The gray-brownish fur. The increased muscle mass. The sort-of-snout. It all pointed to one unbelievable conclusion. “So you’re a werewolf?”
He sighed and sank deeper into the couch. That, or it was slowly sinking beneath his heavy weight. “Yes.”
I frowned. “After saving your life all I get is a ‘yes?’”
A mischievous smile slipped onto his lips. “I could give you something more, but you already refused my kind offer.”
I leaned back and rolled my eyes. “I don’t think making out with a werewolf is on my bucket list.”
Dives chuckled. “I suppose not, but I guess I could give you some more explanation. That is, if I can trust you with it, and if I can know the name of the beautiful woman who saved me.”
I shrugged. “Would anybody believe an office girl when she tells them the owner of her billionaire-dollar company is a werewolf? As for my name, it’s Dakota Combes.”
He smiled. “Dakota Combes. Not a bad name.”
“Now for the story,” I insisted.
My boss tilted his head back and nodded. “I see your point about the authorities, but it’s a long and strange story.”
“It’s Friday night, and I’ve got nothing to do.”
- Writer
