The Abused Werewolf Rescue Group (6 page)

‘
Behavioural
problems?’ Mum echoed, all at sea. By this time Reuben was shifting about like someone sitting on a hotplate.

‘I turn into a wild animal,’ he said roughly. ‘No one can stop it.’ He wiped his hand across his mouth as he stared at the floor. A muscle in his cheek was twitching. ‘It’s dangerous,’ he finally concluded. ‘If you don’t take precautions, things can get . . .’ He trailed off.

After a moment’s silence, Father Ramon finished the sentence for him. ‘Things can get out of control. People can get hurt.’ The priest placed his palms together, leaning forward, brow furrowed. ‘That’s why we had to warn you. If Toby is affected, then his condition will have to be managed properly. Otherwise he might attack someone.’

Attack
someone? I couldn’t believe my ears.

Neither could Mum.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she scoffed. ‘Toby wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

‘Not in his normal state. Of course he wouldn’t.’ The priest smiled at me. ‘But when he’s symptomatic, he’s not himself.’

‘He’s a wild animal,’ Reuben elaborated. ‘We all are. I told you. We can’t help it.’

By this stage I was as tense as a cornered chihuahua, all quivering limbs and popping eyes. Though Mum made a gallant attempt to reassure me, it didn’t do much good. Her voice was about an octave higher than usual.

‘This is nonsense,’ she said. ‘You’re not psychotic, Toby. Remember what Dr Passlow said? Psychosis and epilepsy are completely unrelated.’

‘Epilepsy?’ Reuben was flummoxed. ‘Who said anything about epilepsy?’

Father Ramon sighed. When he rubbed his face, the loose pouches of skin were pulled about like folds of fabric. He looked exhausted. ‘This isn’t just a psychological problem, Mrs Vandevelde,’ he pointed out. ‘You can’t treat it with therapy or anti-psychotic drugs.’

‘I’ve tried. It didn’t work,’ said Reuben, butting in again.

‘This is
physical
. It’s very much a
physical phenomenon.’

All at once Reuben sprang to his feet – so unexpectedly that my mother stumbled backwards. But he wasn’t trying to pounce on her. He was pulling a digital camera out of his pocket.

‘We took some photos,’ he revealed, pushing various buttons on the device. ‘They’re not of me. No one’s ever managed to get any shots of me, because I smash everything when I’m on a rampage.’ He thrust the camera in my direction. ‘You can see the scratches I’ve left, though. And the tooth marks. That’s a concrete wall.
Reinforced
concrete. It’s the wall of a bank vault, it’s not some plasterboard thing.’

Obediently, I studied the camera’s display screen. On it I could vaguely identify a pattern of shapes – some lighter, some darker – although I couldn’t really see what these shapes were. The picture wasn’t clear enough.

‘That bank vault is one of our precautions,’ Father Ramon ventured. ‘Every full moon, Reuben has to be restrained for a night. It’s what Toby will have to do. We’ll have to find him a secure facility—’

‘
Restrained?
’ Mum interrupted, latching onto that word the way a tick latches onto a dog. Apparently she hadn’t noticed the two words that had caught
my
attention.

Full moon?

‘I lock myself up,’ Reuben assured her. ‘I have to. It’s voluntary.’

‘You want Toby
to be
locked up
?’

‘It’s only one night a month,’ he said, as if this made all the difference. Mum, however, wasn’t persuaded.

‘Why on earth would I even
consider
doing something like that?’ was her very reasonable question. To which Father Ramon replied, ‘For your own safety.’

‘Otherwise Toby will rip your head off and eat it,’ Reuben insisted. ‘You’re lucky he didn’t do it on Monday night.’

Mum regarded him for a moment with a mixture of scorn and disbelief. At last she said, ‘You’re mad.’

Reuben flushed again. His brows snapped together.

‘Rip my head off and eat it?’ Mum pulled a face. ‘You’ve been watching too many horror movies.’

‘Mrs Vandevelde—’

‘And if someone’s been locking you up in a bank vault, Mr Schneider, you should go to the police,’ she finished. ‘There’s no excuse for doing that to a person.’

‘But I’m
not
a person!’ Reuben snarled. ‘Not on those nights!’

Mum shook her head in disgust. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘I’m an animal! I told you! I
turn into an animal!
’

‘You’re behaving like an animal now – which doesn’t mean you are one,’ she scolded. I don’t know what else she might have said, given the chance; it seemed to me that she was only just warming up. Before she could really get stuck into Reuben, though, I finally found my voice again.

‘If you turn into an animal when it’s a full moon,’ I croaked, ‘doesn’t that make you a werewolf?’

I was being sarcastic. At least, I
think
I was being sarcastic. Maybe I was hoping for an outraged response, which would have laid my niggling fears to rest once and for all.

If so, I was disappointed. Because Reuben swung his head around, looked me straight in the eye, and said with a kind of shamefaced defiance, ‘That’s right. I’m a werewolf. Just like you.’

A
s soon as
werewolves were mentioned, everything changed. Mum hit the roof. I mean,
werewolves
? Puh-
lease
.

‘Get outta here,’ I said with disgust. ‘You guys are so full of it.’

‘Toby, go and call the police,’ Mum ordered. ‘The number’s on the fridge. Tell them two intruders are on our property and are refusing to leave!’

It didn’t take me long to find the number of our local police station. But by the time I’d started punching digits into our kitchen phone, Father Ramon and his friend were already on their way out. I heard footsteps. The front door slammed. Then Mum appeared at my elbow.

‘It’s okay,’ she announced. ‘They’re gone.’

I hung up, hugely relieved.

‘Oh, man.’ My heart was still racing. ‘They nearly had me fooled, for a second.’

‘He gave me his card! Can you believe it?’ Mum tossed a little white rectangle of cardboard into the bin. ‘I bet it’s not even his real name. And I bet the other one’s not even a real priest!’

‘Do you reckon it was a joke?’ I asked. But Mum didn’t answer. She was following her own train of thought.

‘I got their numberplate,’ was all she said.

‘Werewolves,’ I muttered. ‘Did they really think we’d fall for a dumb stunt like that?’

It’s funny how one word can hit you like a train. Reuben had been making good progress until he’d mentioned werewolves. That was when I’d stopped listening. That was when all his arguments about quick reflexes and fast-growing hair had been blown to atoms.

Werewolves
, I thought, as I climbed into bed that night.
What kind of losers would believe in werewolves?

I can’t tell you what a relief it was to know that Father Ramon was either lying or deluded. It meant that I didn’t have to worry about a ‘rare disease’ anymore. The only thing I had to worry about was epilepsy – and that wasn’t the end of the world. Especially if it gave me a foolproof excuse for just about everything.

So I went to sleep feeling pretty calm, all things considered, and woke up the next morning eager to tell Fergus my weirdo-invasion story. Amin and Fergus always have lots of weirdo-invasion stories (
‘Eeep! Eeep! Eeep! Weirdo Invasion!’
), because Amin’s enormous extended family is full of drama queens and psycho in-laws, and because Fergus’s brother has friends who get very drunk. But at last I had a story as good as anyone’s.

That’s why I was happy to be spending the day at Amin’s place. That’s also why I secretly fished Reuben’s card out of the bin. I wanted proof, see. I didn’t want anyone thinking I’d made the whole thing up.

By ten to eight I was in the car, pumped and ready to roll. I wasn’t fretting about my blackout anymore – not after two full nights of undisturbed sleep. You could almost say that the whole amnesia episode had slipped my mind. (Ha ha.) Mum was the same. Rather than dwelling on gloomy things like
grand mal
seizures, she preferred to bitch about unprincipled priests who preyed on the fears of vulnerable families. ‘They were obviously trying to sell something,’ she said of our two recent visitors, as she navigated the sunbaked streets of Doonside. ‘They must have had some treatment they wanted to flog. No one would go to that much trouble if there wasn’t money involved.’

‘Maybe they build underground bunkers,’ I hazarded. ‘Remember they wanted to lock me up?’

‘It’s a disgrace. I’m going to tell Dr Passlow. He should be warned.’

She went on and on until at last we pulled into Amin’s driveway. Amin lives quite near us, in a two-storeyed brick house so huge that it doesn’t have much of a garden. There’s a patch of grass out the front, and a patio with grape vines down the back, but the rest is all house. It has to be, because Amin has eight brothers and sisters, plus a live-in grandmother. With a family that big, you need at least five bedrooms (plus three bathrooms, an industrial-sized laundry, and a two-car garage).

It’s no wonder Mrs Kairouz doesn’t work. Running that house must be a full-time job. But she doesn’t seem to mind – or to care how many extra children are running around. In fact, I used to spend most of my school holidays with Amin. And even though I’m old enough to look after myself now, I still end up at his house once in a while. Especially if I’m feeling sick.

Not that I was sick that particular Thursday morning. But Mum had come to the conclusion that I was still ‘convalescing’, so she had appealed to Mrs Kairouz for help. That’s why I found myself standing on Amin’s doorstep, ringing his doorbell as Mum waited in the car. That’s also why she wouldn’t leave until Amin had ushered me over his threshold. She was probably worried that if I had to stand in the sun for too long, I might keel over.

But the sight of Amin reassured her. She beeped her farewell before reversing back into the street.

‘Fergus is here,’ was the first thing Amin said to me, once we were both inside. ‘Just as well, or I wouldn’t even know what happened. Why didn’t you answer my messages?’

‘Because I figured that Fergus would tell you everything. He usually does.’ I decided not to comment on Amin’s geeky Pokemon T-shirt. Like Fergus, Amin tends to wear hand-me-downs; the clothes in the Kairouz family keep getting recycled until they practically fall apart, so I recognised Amin’s T-shirt, which had once belonged to his brother Rayan. It didn’t fit very well because Amin’s a lot fatter than Rayan used to be. That’s one reason why Amin cops a lot of abuse from bullies at bus stops, though it’s not the only reason. There’s something about Amin that brings out the worst in brainless kids. Maybe it’s his high voice or his dimples. Maybe it’s his doggy brown eyes.

‘Is your mum babysitting or what?’ I asked, as a tornado of little kids burst into the hallway, nearly drowning my voice. (There seemed to be more of them than usual.) ‘I don’t remember that bald one from last time.’

Amin grimaced.

‘My cousins are here,’ he replied. ‘We should go upstairs before we get trampled.’

So we went upstairs together, retreating from the chaos on the ground floor. Luckily, Amin’s older brothers weren’t home; this meant that he had full custody of a bedroom that he normally has to share. In fact the entire top floor was pretty quiet, for a change. We didn’t even have to fight our way past gaggles of teenage girls.

‘Fergus said you had an epileptic fit,’ Amin remarked, following me into his room. ‘But I still don’t understand how you ended up in that dingo pen.’

‘Neither do I.’ Having spotted Fergus on Amin’s bed, I launched straight into my weirdo-invasion story. ‘You’re not going to believe who came to
my
house, last night. Fergus? Are you listening? You’re not going to believe this.’

‘Hang on.’ Fergus was hunched over Amin’s Nintendo. ‘Wait – just wait—’

‘Who was it?’ said Amin. ‘Not the guy from the wildlife park?’

‘No. Better than that.’

‘Who?’

‘A Catholic priest,’ I replied. Then, when I saw that Fergus wasn’t even listening, I added, ‘Oh –
and
a werewolf. Don’t let’s forget the werewolf.’

Amin gasped. Fergus raised his head. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ he said.

‘I told you. A priest came to visit, and he brought a werewolf with him.’ I was enjoying the impact I’d made. ‘Not that this guy
looked
like a werewolf. He looked just like a regular guy. But he said he was a werewolf.’

‘Are you joking?’ Fergus asked suspiciously.

‘Nuh.’

‘Someone came to your house and told you he was a
werewolf?
’

‘That’s right.’ I nodded. ‘He also told me that
I’m
a werewolf. So you’d better watch out, Fergus. Don’t mess with the werewolf, bud.’

I’d been saving the best for last, and it was fantastic. Fergus almost dropped his Nintendo. Amin gave a squeak. Then Fergus recovered enough to drawl, ‘Yeah, right.’

‘It’s true.’

Fergus snorted.

‘He left me his card.’ I pulled it out of my pocket. ‘See? That’s him. Reuben Schneider. And the priest was called Father Ramon Alvarez.’

As I’d expected, the card was proof enough. Even Fergus wavered. To study it, he had to put down his Nintendo.

Amin gazed at me, round-eyed.

‘Why would anyone think you’re a werewolf?’ he wanted to know.

So I told him. I told the entire story, in such detail that it must have taken me at least ten minutes. By the end of it, we were all huddled together on Amin’s bed, bouncing with excitement.

‘Oh man,’ Fergus kept saying. ‘Oh, man. Oh,
man
.’

‘But the strange thing is, he was right.’ I saw Amin’s jaw drop. ‘Not about being a werewolf, dummy!’ I snapped. ‘About my hair. And my nose. And my reflexes.’

‘You do have really quick reflexes,’ Amin gravely confirmed.

‘I know. It’s weird, isn’t it?’

‘Maybe you
are
a werewolf,’ Fergus joked.

‘Ha ha.’

‘God, I’d love
to be a werewolf,’ said Amin. His tone was wistful. ‘Can you imagine how cool that would be? No one would ever mess with you in a million years.’

‘Yeah, but I’m
not
one. Okay?’

‘I know. I’m just saying.’

‘You should call him.’ Fergus looked up from the card in his hand. ‘Why don’t you?’

‘Huh?’

‘Why don’t you give this werewolf a call? I wanna hear what else he says.’

I recoiled. ‘Oh, no.’

‘Go on.’

‘No.’

‘It’ll be fun!’ Fergus insisted. ‘It’ll be great!’

I shook my head.

‘He won’t mind,’ Fergus pointed out. ‘He
asked
you to call him, remember?’

‘So what?’

‘Toby, this isn’t just your average nut, okay? He’s a once-in-a-lifetime loony. We can’t miss a chance like this.’ Fergus appealed to Amin. ‘Don’t
you
wanna know what’s going on?’

Amin nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘Come on, Tobe. I dare you. Come
on –
it’s not like there’s anything else to do around here.’

As I said before, whatever Fergus wants, he gets. He’s unsquashable. In the end he made me feel like such a killjoy that I couldn’t argue, because I couldn’t admit to being scared – not even to myself. And
certainly
not to Fergus.

Fergus wasn’t scared. He almost never is.

‘Your mum won’t find out,’ he assured me. ‘She wouldn’t listen to this werewolf guy – you said so yourself. She doesn’t want anything to do with him.’

‘I’m not worried about my
mum
.’ What did he think I was, a two-year-old? ‘I just don’t know what to tell him, that’s all.’

‘Tell him you want proof,’ Fergus suggested. ‘Tell him you want a photo.’

‘He doesn’t have
any photos, remember? Because he always tears the camera apart.’

‘Yeah, right.’ Fergus sniffed. ‘A likely story.’

‘Tell him you want a sample,’ Amin butted in. ‘Like a tooth or a hair. Or werewolf poo.’

‘Tell him you want to do a school project.’

‘Ask him if he’s got a website.’

‘Hey – no – you should ask him if he’ll come and give a talk to your biology class!’

By this time the two of them were writhing with amusement. Fergus was snickering and Amin was giggling and even I could see the funny side of it all – though my own smile was a little lopsided.

‘He’s not a complete psycho, Fergus,’ I growled. ‘He’s gunna know it’s the summer holidays.’

‘Yeah, yeah. I was only joking.’ Fergus lapsed into thought. ‘Okay, how about this?’ he said at last. ‘You ring him and you ask for proof.
Physical
proof. And we’ll see what he comes up with.’

‘A claw would be good,’ Amin elaborated.

‘Or a paw print.’

‘Or a dna test on werewolf spit . . .’

They wouldn’t let up. I finally had to key in that number, or there would have been hell to pay. They would never have let me forget it.

Reuben Schneider answered on the second ring.

‘
Hello?
’

‘Oh – ah . . .’ I grimaced at Fergus, because he was breathing down my neck. ‘Is this Reuben?’

‘
Speaking.
’

‘This is Toby. Vandevelde. From last night.’

There was a brief pause. Fergus gave me a thumbs-up, flashing his teeth and waggling his eyebrows.

‘
Oh, yeah?
’ Reuben sounded cautious. ‘
Okay.
’

‘Can I talk to you?’

‘
Sure
.’

‘About werewolves?’

‘
Any time
.’ He waited. I waited. At last he said, ‘
What do you want to know?
’

‘Um . . . well . . .’ I covered the mouthpiece, so flustered that I couldn’t think straight. ‘What do we want to know?’ I mouthed at Fergus.

He rolled his eyes impatiently.

‘We want proof!’ he whispered.

‘Oh, yeah.’ I cleared my throat, then addressed the phone again. ‘You have to show me proof. How can I believe you, otherwise? I need proof.’

Reuben grunted.

‘
Right
,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘
Yeah. I don’t blame you.
’ After a moment’s hesitation, he added, ‘
Is your mum there?
’