Blood Wolf’s Path - стр. 4

I took a sip. It hit my throat with the bouquet of worn sneakers. I felt sick; I wanted to puke.

"Good whiskey," I praised. "Anyway, I need another meeting with Fred Johnson."

"You know that’s impossible… at least right now. The feds are still hovering around here. I don’t like any of it," Leslie said, sniffing his foul whiskey.

"Alright, let’s wait a couple days for things to quiet down. In the meantime I’ll go visit Taylor’s widow. Even though they hadn’t lived together for five years, he was helping with the kids—he had two of them… The guys collected some money for her. I need to deliver an envelope," I said.

"Here, add this," Leslie pulled a twenty from his wallet. Then he thought better of it and added another twenty. "She’s got two kids left."

The widow lived in Albany, two hundred miles from Boston. I reached her after dark via I-90.

"Hello, Brenda," I said when a pretty 35-year-old woman opened the door – tall and slim, with a sweet, pleasant face.

Interesting, why did they divorce? She’s sexy, I thought.

I explained the situation to Brenda and asked if I could come in.

“Well, Taylor and I haven’t lived together in ages… It’s very sad, of course. He helped out, sent money. How am I going to feed the kids now…” Brenda said, licking her lips.

Linda and Angela, two nine-year-old twin girls, sat on the couch, glued to their phones.

“We, uh, collected some money… Things turned out awful. Anyway, this is for you,” I said, handing Brenda the envelope and rising to leave.

“Are you in a rush? Stay, tell me how it happened. I have some beer,” Brenda said softly, taking my hand.

“I’m driving. If I drink a couple…” I said, sitting back down on the couch.

We chatted about nothing in particular. I felt awkward, knowing her husband had been killed because of me. But Brenda wouldn’t let me leave. Her crimson lips were hypnotic, and her breasts and hips seemed to show through her thin dress. A pleasant feminine warmth radiated from her body. At some point I realized I couldn’t get up from the couch because I had a raging hard-on for Brenda. I needed to think of something nasty, fast, to make it go away.

I started recalling the crime scene photos of my partner with his head partially torn off, but it didn’t help. The kids went upstairs, and Brenda still wouldn’t stop chattering nonsense. I tried to scoot away so I wouldn’t feel the tempting heat of her body, but she snuggled even closer and whispered, her lips brushing my earlobe:

“I want you to fuck me tonight, Jerry.”

She touched my right thigh and started moving her hand upward.

What am I doing, I thought, but it was already too late.

That evening was bliss.

In the morning I woke to a strange smell, like vomit. I opened my eyes and was stunned. I had never seen a sight like this at any crime scene. The entire bed was soaked in blood; on the floor lay Brenda with her abdomen slashed open, guts everywhere, and the white ceiling was spattered with gray gore. My hands, face, and chest were covered in blood and bits of flesh. The bedroom door was smashed off its hinges. I rushed into the twins’ room… They were dead, like their mother, killed in the most brutal way.

God, I did this… flashed through my mind.

And then the puzzle pieces clicked together in my head. The full moon, the bear attack, the blackouts, the torn clothing, the door busted outward from inside, these murders… I had become a werewolf. And I remembered nothing after I turned into a monster… Fucking Tim Cook…