The Craving (39 page)

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

“We can’t right now,” Ramon said.

“What do you mean, can’t?” Geri said. “This is police business. I’m working on a case.”

“This is more important than your case.”

“Look, this is fun,” Geri said. “I think it was romantic, you showing up and taking me on this mystery ride, and I agree I feel something with you, something different. I don’t know if it’s attraction or obsession or what, but I have an emergency now, I have to go, okay?”

“You don’t get it,” Ramon said. “You can’t go now.”

Geri didn’t know what to do. She had to get back to the city, she was
going
to get back to the city. She didn’t want to threaten Ramon, but she would if she had to.

“Why?” she said. “Why can’t I go?”

Ramon shook his head, looking out at the highway.

Then he said, almost reluctantly, “’Cause if I let you go you’re gonna die tonight, that’s why.”

S
imon was running. He wanted to get away from Michael and the Hartman Brewery as fast as he could, as if by leaving it behind, he could escape what had happened there, or at least make it into a bad memory. He was sprinting along the Navy Yard area by the East River, maybe running faster than he’d ever run before, despite the Ferragamo loafers, until he reached the outskirts of DUMBO. There were lots of people around, many staring at the guy sprinting in designer clothes, so he slowed to a jog and then walked toward the pedestrian entrance to the Brooklyn Bridge, because he didn’t want to attract attention and because it had set in that he couldn’t escape from the horror by running away because the horror was inside him.

Walking across the bridge, he saw that the moon—to his left toward the Statue of Liberty—was still almost full, which, according to Volker, would make it easier than normal for him to turn into a
werewolf tonight. Great, now Simon had something else to worry about, but his most immediate problem was Michael. Simon had no doubt that Michael was serious about his threat to kill him and Detective Rodriguez if Simon didn’t kill her himself, but Simon had no idea what to do about it. He had to stop Michael, but what was he supposed to do, try to kill Michael by ripping his jaw apart? Even if he was somehow successful, where would that get him? Michael would be dead, but since Simon hadn’t found the remedy yet, it meant he and the other guys would be werewolves for the rest of their lives.

Simon couldn’t handle this alone. He needed Volker’s help, but he had no idea how to contact him. At a point on the bridge where there was no one around, he yelled, “Volker! Volker! Where the hell are you?” but his voice was drowned out by the cars speeding by, and he also felt ridiculous yelling for someone who wasn’t even here. What was he expecting, that Volker would just materialize? What had Volker told him this morning? Oh, right;
I can find you, that’s more important.
What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Then Simon decided that his only hope was to look for Volker at the Ramble in Central Park. Though the fastest way to get there would probably be to run, he didn’t think running all the way uptown the way he was dressed was a great idea. The FDR Drive looked like it was backed up, and there was a lot of street traffic, so he figured the subway was his best bet.

At Brooklyn Bridge/City Hall, he boarded an uptown 4 train. The train wasn’t packed, but it was crowded enough that some claustrophobia and panic set in. He was taking deep breaths, trying to relax, afraid he would turn. He was aware of several women on the car staring at him, and it wasn’t with concern because he seemed to be slightly in distress—no, they were clearly checking him out because they were attracted to him. He realized that in his expensive
clothes, and with his scruffy face, and the usual werewolf aura he projected, he probably seemed like the sexiest guy in the world to them. Simon wondered what they’d think if they knew the truth about what he’d done and what he was capable of. Would they be repulsed or would they still be infatuated?

To avoid eye contact, Simon turned to face the subway door and stared at his reflection. In the distorted dirty glass he didn’t look like a monster that had an uncontrollable craving for human flesh. He didn’t look much different than he used to look a couple of months ago, when he was an ad exec, a normal
human
ad exec, returning home after a long day at the office. It gave him some hope that maybe the old Simon Burns was still in there somewhere, that he wasn’t dead completely.

At Fifty-ninth Street, Simon exited the subway and walked as fast as he could a few blocks west to Central Park. In the park, he let loose and sprinted, trying to enjoy the freedom of running, but he was so terrified of what he’d become and what he might do that it was hard to appreciate the positives of being a werewolf.

Past the lake, he veered off the road and entered the Ramble. He went to the area where he’d met Volker last night, and although he couldn’t detect Volker’s scent, that didn’t mean Volker wasn’t necessarily there, since he had the ability to mask his scent. Simon inhaled to make sure that there were no humans in the vicinity, and then he yelled, “Volker! Are you here? Volker!”

For the next hour or so, Simon walked around the Ramble, screaming Volker’s name when it was safe to do so, but his desperate pleas received no response.

Finally Simon gave up and left the park with the sick, helpless feeling that he was in this alone.

S
imon returned to Charlie’s apartment, entering with the key Charlie had given him. He hadn’t eaten anything since Stephen Tyler and he was starving. He went right to the fridge and, God bless Charlie, saw it was stocked with meat—chop meat, sausage, ham, and in the back a couple of steaks. Too impatient to cook the steaks, he tore open the packaging and ripped into them, standing by the sink. The meat tasted good raw, but eating a steak as a human wasn’t nearly as satisfying as eating a human as a wolf. Oh, God, it was true what Volker had said—Simon did have the craving.

Though he managed to finish the rest of the raw steak, he didn’t really enjoy it, feeling as unsatisfied as he used to feel after having a bagful of cookies.

Cooped up in the apartment, he felt restless. Pacing in the living room like an animal in a cage, he checked his phone—still no response from Alison to the message he’d sent from Grand Central.

So he sent:

He continued pacing, and then, maybe five minutes later, his phone vibrated.

From Alison:

He was relieved. He missed Jeremy so much, he would’ve given anything to pick him up and give him a big, tight hug and tell him how much he loved him.

Teary-eyed, he texted:

He was hoping she’d respond with
Miss u 2
but he knew this was beyond wishful thinking—it was hopeless thinking. After all, this was a woman who was so angry that she had hired a PI to follow him. A few years ago, when things were good, the idea of Alison hiring a PI would have been unimaginable. It hit Simon, really hit him, how far he had pushed her, and even if he found the remedy and it worked, he knew he had his work cut out for him if he was going to get her to ever trust him again.

Figuring that getting some rest would probably be a good idea after an extremely eventful day, he was pulling out the couch when he heard the elevator doors open and then smelled Charlie. He was surprised because Charlie had said he was working a twenty-four-hour shift.

A key turned in the lock, and then the front door opened and Charlie entered and said, “Good, you’re awake, we gotta get out of here.”

Charlie was usually relaxed, low-key. There was an urgency in his tone Simon hadn’t heard before.

“What’s going on?” Simon asked. “What’s wrong?”

“The boss said you know,” Charlie said.

Now Simon knew, but he was praying he was wrong. The poorly chewed steak was suddenly heavy in his gut.

“Know about what?” Simon said. “I don’t know anything.”

“Look, this isn’t my business, all right?” Charlie said. “The boss said he discussed it with you and you’d know what’s happening tonight. He just wants us both downstairs in five minutes.”

Simon hadn’t expected this at all. He thought he’d have time, at least a few days, to figure out what to do. But obviously Michael wasn’t planning to give him a chance to come up with a plan.

“Downstairs?” Simon said. “What do you mean, downstairs? In the lobby?”

“No, in front of the building. A car’s coming to pick us up.”

“Wait, we can’t go,” Simon said.

“What do you mean? We gotta go.” As Charlie glanced toward the kitchen, his nostrils flared. “Did you eat all the steak?”

“You know what he wants me to do, right?” Simon said. “I mean, he told you.”

“It’s okay, I got more in the back of the fridge.”

“Listen to me. I can’t do it, I can’t kill a cop. And if he does something, we’re all involved, including you.”

“Come on, we gotta get going,” Charlie said.

Simon moved closer to Charlie and said, “I get it. You have a bond with Michael, and you have a craving. I know, trust me, I have it too. But I still know it’s wrong and I want to stop myself; I don’t want to hurt anybody else. Don’t you want that too?”

Charlie held Simon’s gaze for a few seconds, then said, “Come on, the boss is waiting for us; we don’t wanna piss him off.”

Simon knew that trying to win Charlie over completely, at least while Michael was alive, was a waste of time. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t get some help from him.

“Okay, I’ll go with you, but can you at least tell me how you control yourself, how you don’t ‘wolf out’ at the wrong time?”

“You gotta learn that from Michael,” Charlie said.

Simon grabbed Charlie by the forearm and said, “Please. I know you’re a good guy, and you like me. Please, as my friend, tell me how to do it.”

Simon could see something in Charlie’s eyes; he wasn’t unreachable.

“I shouldn’t be saying this,” Charlie said, “but you have to love it.”

Releasing his grip, Simon asked, “Love what?”

“Who you are,” Charlie said. “At first me and Ramon, we were fighting it too, but when you love it, you control it.” Then, looking serious, he said, “Forget I told you that; let’s go.”

Charlie opened the front door and waited for Simon to grab his Armani sport jacket. Simon hesitated, then decided he had no choice but to go. If he didn’t go, Michael would just kill Detective Rodriguez on his own, but if Simon went, at least he had a chance to prevent it.

Outside the building, a black Lexus SUV was waiting, double-parked. What with the tinted windows and the glare of streetlights on the windows, Simon couldn’t see inside. He was able to make out the scent of a human; was it Eddie? Yeah, it was Eddie. There were no other scents coming from the car, but Simon sensed danger, a threat, and knew Michael was in there too.

Charlie opened the door, and sure enough Michael was sitting in one of the plush leather seats. He was in jeans, a perfectly fitting black shirt tucked in, with the top few buttons open, exposing his gray chest hair.

“Come join us,” he said.

With a certain feeling that this night wasn’t going to end happily, Simon got into the car.

Simon, Charlie, and Michael sat in the back, while Eddie drove. For a long time, maybe a half hour, nobody said a word. They were going north—FDR, then eventually across to the Saw Mill. Simon wanted to know where they were going, of course, but he didn’t see the point in asking about it.

As they left the city, Simon had to admit that despite his anxiety and fear, it was exhilarating to be out of the city, breathing in the fresher air that was seeping into the car, and to be surrounded by trees and actual woods. Like a kid passing an amusement park, he was dying to get out of the car and run around and be free.