Blood Wolf’s Path - стр. 7

I got into my car and realized I was still free, for now. That idiot Cocksucker should have arrested me, but he’d chickened out – even though the grounds were more than sufficient.

As I drove away from the prison, everything became clear to me. That bastard Fred Johnson had sent his werewolf brother to kill us. My partner figured out who was hunting us and cast silver bullets, one set of which he gave me along with a pistol. I pumped all five rounds into Fred Johnson’s brother when he crawled out of the bushes to kill me. But the werewolf had scratched me and infected me with its virus – and I became a beast. Each night I turn into a hellish death machine and bring people grief and suffering.

Half an hour remains until dark. I’m getting sleepy again. Next to me lies a loaded Colt, my partner’s gift. Its bullets once saved my life. I haven’t decided yet – will I end it all, or will my hand falter… and I continue to kill? There’s no time left to find a cage or a sturdy basement. So tonight I will either kill myself or kill others. Ah, how I want to live!

The next morning, I woke up in the park, completely naked. The city was still asleep, and only the early birds were chirping to greet the dawn.

My head was pounding. I got up on my knees and ran my hand over my face – it was clean, with no blood. That meant I hadn’t killed anyone that night. The full moon had waned, and probably the wolf’s strength had weakened. I didn’t know for sure; these were all just guesses of mine – I wasn’t about to go to the library. Then again, who knows – maybe I’d have to conduct my own investigation, if I wasn’t caught first.

But I needed to get home, grab my money and guns, get dressed at least, and then get the hell out of town. I figured the murders of two children and their mother in Albany were already known. Soon the police would track me through the cameras – and then I’d be finished. And once they saw the kind of monster I turned into at night, they’d hand me over to the authorities for experiments. That’s the last thing I needed.

Before entering my house, I looked around. No suspicious cars. My detective instincts told me everything was clean. Maybe a little too clean. But whatever – sometimes you just have to take the risk.

When I walked in, I pulled an intact pair of jeans from the closet (there were fewer and fewer of those left) and started putting them on. At that moment, from behind the curtain, stepped Agent Cocksucker, walking across the carpet in his polished shoes. This still young, by police standards, agent had an unpleasant appearance. His large, protruding ears were lit from behind by the light coming through the window.

What followed was a silent standoff. What to do? I glanced at the Colt lying on the couch in its holster, but Cocksucker shook his head.

“Don’t do that, Jerry Harrison – you won’t have time.”

“And who’s going to stop me? You going to try and slap the cuffs on me? You know the twenty-one-foot rule. Want to risk getting closer?” I shot back, aggressively.

“I just came to talk. I’m not your enemy. Maybe even a friend,” said Cocksucker, taking two steps back as a gesture of peace.

“Hm, you think I belong in the loony bin?” I couldn’t figure out where Cocksucker was going with this.