werewolf, werewolves and lycans


“Thank you for coming in, Dr. Frye.”

The big black man held the office door open. Hank shuffled inside. He forced his legs to work, trying to look normal, yet he felt so tired he could scarce stand. He hoped the policeman didn’t notice him trembling.

“Why did you want to see me?” Hank asked, dropping into a seat.

“We just need to ask you a few more questions, Dr. Frye,” Brewster said, seating himself behind the desk.

“I’ve already answered all your questions,” Hank said.

“Please, humor me,” Brewster said.

“Do you, um, know where Lucas is?” Hank asked.

Brewster studied him a moment, meaty hands folded on the desktop. “We believe he’s still close by.”

“Why? Why is that?” Hank clasped his own hands to stop them from shaking.
Brewster hesitated.


Brewster nodded, frowning. “All right, Dr. Frye. I’ll trust you’re an intelligent enough man not to leak any of this to the press, though I expect they’re going to find out, anyway. People talk.”

“What do you know?” Hank pressed.

“A woman has disappeared,” Brewster said. “Lucas Vale’s girlfriend.”


“They’d just started dating,” Brewster said. “She disappeared from in front of her home last night. Her car was found in the driveway with the door open and the engine still running. No sign of her, though.”

Hank felt his heart turn to a chunk of ice in his chest.

I want to kill you all…

“Her name was Marley, right? I do remember he mentioned somebody by that name.”

“Yes. Marley Kidde.”

“And Lucas killed her?” Hank managed to keep his voice from cracking, but he felt sick. His stomach churned.

“They’d been dating, like I said.”

“You haven’t found a body?”

“No. Not yet.”

Hank looked away.

“That brings the number up to four, Dr. Frye,” Brewster said. “Four victims that we know of.”

“I can’t help you,” Hank said. “I don’t know anything.”

“You chased off the deputy we had stationed outside your house,” Brewster said.

“You think I can help you,” Hank said. “But you’re wrong. I can’t help you. Or Lucas. He’s beyond my help.”

“Dr. Frye,” Brewster said. “I know you understand how imperative it is that we find your patient. He has to be stopped.”

Hank shook his head. “I can’t help you, Brewster. Or Lucas, either. I can’t help anybody.”

“It surprises me to hear you talking like that, Dr. Frye.”

“Surprises me too,” Hank answered. “But it’s true. I feel so helpless.”

“‘There is no help in us,'” Brewster said, leaning back in his chair. “So the Bible says. Are you a spiritual man, Dr. Frye?”

Hank leaned on the desk. Had it not been there he would have fallen out of his chair. “I guess maybe it is up to God now, isn’t it?”

“God helps those who help themselves,” Brewster said.

Hank looked up. “Does He?” he asked. “Well, I hope that’s true. I damn sure hope that’s true.”

* * *

The Evil Cheezman • November 8, 2018

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