werewolf, werewolves and lycans

THERIOPHOBIA: FEAR THE BEAST Part 25

The police told the Kidde family to go home and rest.

Chaney Kidde had never been very good at doing what she was told.

She’d gone home, hers and Marley’s, to get their dog. They’d wait it out at her parents house, that was the plan. Her mother had been near hysterics by that time, and her father hadn’t been in much of a condition to argue. So she went alone.

“I’m gonna go get Chester. You stay here with Mom. I’ll come right back.”

But she’d decided when she got home–hers and Marley’s–that she didn’t much like the idea of sitting around and waiting until the police found her sister. She didn’t trust the police, not with Marley’s life, anyway. Besides, Marley was her sister, her twin. She should be in on the search too. Even more than her parents, she deserved to be in on the search.

She scanned the house again for anything out of place, made a brief call to her parents so they wouldn’t think something had happened to her, too. Then she sped straight to the police station.

“Miss? Miss?”

Chaney walked right past the front desk. She didn’t intend to waste even one second arguing with some peon. She knew who she needed to see. And she spotted him coming out of his office. Roosevelt Brewster would have been hard to miss. There was another man with him, someone Chaney didn’t recognize.
“Miss Kidde?” He looked surprised to see her. But he shouldn’t have been.

He just doesn’t know me.

“Chief Brewster,” she said. “I want to talk to you a minute about my sister.”

“Did you think of something else that might help?” Brewster asked.

Chaney looked at the other man. “Who’s he?” she demanded.

“Oh,” Brewster said. “Well, he’s not really involved.”

“I’m Chaney Kidde,” she said to the second man. He wore glasses and a moustache and hadn’t shaved. By the look of him, he hadn’t slept, either. “Who are you?”

“Hank Frye,” the man said, trying to smile, failing.

“Do you know anything about my sister?” Chaney asked.

“Your sister?”

“Miss Kidde,” Brewster said. “I can see you’re upset. Why don’t we…?”

“Do you know anything about my sister, Marley?” Chaney repeated.

“Your sister,” Hank repeated. He closed his eyes. “Oh, God.”

“Dr. Frye?” Brewster began.

“What do you know about all this?” Chaney pressed. Frye looked at her. He opened his mouth but said nothing, stood there with his mouth hanging open. Chaney could see the silver of his fillings.

“Miss Kidde,” Brewster said, taking charge, or trying to. “Dr. Frye is Lucas Vale’s physician. He was good enough to come down and answer a few questions for us. All routine.”

“Do you know where Lucas Vale took my sister?”

Frye found his voice. “No, I don’t.”

“Miss Kidde,” Brewster said again.

“You were his Doctor?” Chaney said, ignoring the policeman.

“He’s my friend,” Frye answered.

“Your friend?” Chaney said. “And did you know your ‘friend’ is a goddamn murderer?!”

Frye flinched like she’d hit him. “It’s not his fault.”

“You’re defending him?!” All the background noise of the station had quieted. Every pair of eyes were on her. Chaney didn’t care.

“Chaney.” Brewster laid a hand on her shoulder, soft, but she could feel the strength behind it. “Please, calm down.”

“I will not calm down!” Chaney snapped. “He’s defending the son of a bitch!”

“I’m sorry,” Frye said. “I’m so sorry.”

“Where’s my sister?!”

“We don’t believe Dr. Frye was involved in your sister’s disappearance,” Brewster said. “He was just answering some questions for us.”

“Bullshit! I bet he’s in on it!”

“Relax, Chaney.”

“No!” The tears came and they angered Chaney even more. She had to stay strong. “You’ve got to find out what he knows!” Her voice broke, drowned out. The next thing she knew the big cop had his arms around her and she let him hold her, sobbing.

“Dr. Frye, you should go,” she heard him say. “If we need you, we’ll be in touch.”

“Yes, I really must be going.”

“No!” she sobbed. She couldn’t even understand her own voice. “Please, don’t let him go! You gotta find my sister! Don’t let him go!” Her knees gave and Brewster caught her, holding her up.

“It’s okay,” the big man said, his voice deep and gentle. “It’s okay.”

* * *


WAYNE MILLER is the owner and creative director of EVIL CHEEZ PRODUCTIONS (www.evilcheezproductions.blogspot.com, www.facebook.com/evilcheezproductions), specializing in theatrical performances and haunted attractions. He has written, produced and directed (and occasionally acted in) over a dozen plays, most of them in the Horror and Crime genres. His first novel, THE CONFESSIONS OF SAINT CHRISTOPHER: WEREWOLF, is available for purchase at https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/734763

MORTUI VELOCES SUNT!

The Evil Cheezman • November 23, 2018


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