Ashton Daigle

Jesse and Rakov were still outside, looking for Namid’s footprints or a blood track and had not even made it out of Henderson, when they heard the gun shot.

Rakov was surprised and bristled when he heard the sound. Jesse, however, who was still unnerved by what they’d just witnessed, cringed with a start, nearly jumping. He turned to look at Rakov just as the realization hit him.

“Oh no,” Jesse said. “Oh shit, the kid.”

They both sprinted back to the old bank building and walked inside.

“No,” said Jesse kneeling beside the kid’s body, distraught. “No. No, no, no. Why? Why did you do it?” He then attempted to cradle the kid’s limp body in his arms, but stopped himself when he saw what was left of the kids brains sagging out of the back oh his head. Instead, Jesse cried, cursing himself and the wolf.

Rakov remained quiet, but placed a gentle hand on Jesse’s shoulder and said, “Please, come on and get up.”

Rakov knelt, to give Jesse a hand up, but stopped when he noticed one of the kid’s shirt sleeves was rolled up. He saw the two bite marks, sighed and nodded at them, to Jesse.

“Bite mark,” Rakov said.

“I can see it’s a bite mark,” Jesse said, as he turned the kid’s arm over examining them. “But how did he get it? He’s never seen our wolf?”

Rakov and Jesse both stood at the same time and glanced at each other. It was a passing glance, at first, but then Jesse realized Rakov was glaring at him, and stared back, trying to understand.

“What?” asked Jesse defensively.

“Oh, what you ask,” Rakov replied accusingly.

“Yeah, what?” Jesse asked. “You’re the one staring at me. Am I missing something here? Has the kid seen our wolf?”

Rakov just continued to stare at Jesse, his face beet red, looking as if it were about to explode in anger.

“I’m gonna ask you this and I’m only gonna ask you once Rakov,” Jesse warned. “Is there something you’re not telling me? I don’t claim to be no mind reader, but I’ve been around a while. I think I can pretty well tell when a man isn’t telling everything he knows.”

“You,” Rakov yelled, unable to contain his rage any further. “You would dare accuse me of withholding information? You have no room to talk tracker.”

“What the hell are you talking about Rakov?” Jesse asked.

“I saw you this morning,” Rakov yelled again. “I saw you close the door to her cell.”

“You what?” Jesse asked.

“I saw you,” Rakov said. “I watched. You woke, sat up, stood up, walked over, closed and locked the door to her cell. She whispered to you and you whispered back. What did she tell you?”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about Rakov,” Jesse stammered, despite the fact that what the Russian had just told him sounded vaguely familiar somehow.

“Oh, you don’t know what I’m talking about,” Rakov mocked. “I watched you with my own two eyes. I know what I saw. I know I was not dreaming.”

“Well maybe I was, or maybe I was sleep walking,” Jesse said. “Hell, I don’t know. I said I don’t remember. What is it to you? And, still, you haven’t answered my damned question yet either. What are you not telling me Rakov?”

“I have told you when I have been reserving my opinions, every time,” Rakov said, not yelling any more, but still clearly angered. “And I have done this because I have not wanted to go jumping to wild conclusions. I am a man of science, and I cannot draw conclusions from hearsay and jumbled half-truths. I use evidence to draw rational and definite conclusions.”

“That might be part true, Rakov, but you’re also a hunter just like me,” Jesse said. “I’ve seen it. I’ve seen you. And hunters don’t operate science and definite conclusions. Tracking, hunting, that’s art, not science. It’s about hunches, not evidence.”

“You are splitting hairs,” Rakov said, disgusted.

“And you’re still evading my fucking question Rakov,” Jesse said. “I expect an answer. I deserve one. For that matter, so does the kid there and all the other’s who’ve been killed. If you know something, now is the God damn time to spill it.”

“I still don’t know for sure,” Rakov finally said flatly, exhausted and exasperated by Jesse’s tenacity.

“Well, don’t you think it’s about damn time we got sure?” Jesse asked. “How many more people have to die? Namid is running around out there, hurt, pregnant.”

“Namid is not going to die,” Rakov said.

“What do you mean Namid is not going to die,” Jesse said. “We’re all going to die some time.”

“Not necessarily,” Rakov said.

He then pointed to the table and chairs.

“Sit,” he said, nodding at Jesse, pointing to the chair.

“I’ll sit when I’m damn well ready you arrogant little….”

“You will sit, and you will sit now,” Rakov screamed, the sheer weight and authority of his command prodding Jesse into begrudged compliance. “This whole time I have been here, it has been Jesse this and Jesse that. You’ve had your turn to run this show and look at the bloodshed on our hands now.”

“You can’t put all this off on me Rakov,” Jesse screamed back. “You had plenty of opportunities to add your input, and believe me, you did. If there’s bloodshed on our hands, you helped put it there too and I guess we’ll share a nice room in hell together.”

“Fine, now will you just shut up and listen,” Rakov said. “Either you want to hear what I have to say or you do not.”

“I’m all ears,” Jesse said.

Rakov turned, spun away haughtily, grabbed his kit bag and slammed it down on the table.

“Careful,” Jesse said. “Don’t break the damned vodka.”

Rakov smiled, removed and opened the bottle, drank and handed it to Jesse. Jesse sipped it and handed it back. Rakov then removed a row of about six or seven pieces of some kind of hardened clay or plaster.

Jesse couldn’t make out what they were at first, but when he leaned in closer, he could see they were some sort of impressions of teeth.

“It’s all right. You may touch them. They won’t bite you,” Rakov said, laughing heartily at his own joke.

Jesse reached out, and scooped them to him like a poker player would a winning pot. He then set them up in a neat row in front of him and shrugged.

“This is all well and fine Rakov, but can you tell me what the hell it is I’m supposed to be seeing here?” Jesse asked.

“These, were all impressions taken from victims of the three attacks,” Rakov said. “It is a complicated process, but I was able to measure the bite marks and reconstruct these models using those measurements.”

“They’re all identical,” Jesse said. “Or at least look to be. Look, I don’t want to sound ungrateful Rakov, but Namid is out there. I hope you have a point to all of this.”

“I told you, I believe Namid is going to be fine for the time being,” Rakov said. “You have to know this, all of this before we proceed.”

“Fine,” Jesse said.

“Anyway, yes you are correct,” Rakov continued. “All of these models are all identical, because they were molded from the bites our wolf left.”

Rakov then laid out three more of the plaster models and slid them to Jesse.

“These are different size,” Jesse said. “Not the same as those left by our wolf. In fact, all three look like different bite marks.

“That is because they are,” Rakov said.

“Well, okay,” Jesse said. “Where did you get them?”

“These were the bites found on Namid’s body,” Rakov said. “All of them wolf bites. There were seven bites in all, but only made by three wolves. None of them match the bites from the victims.”

“How can that be?” Jesse asked. “I saw the wolf drag Namid off during the third attack.”

“You saw or you heard?” Rakov asked.

“I found pieces of her clothes, and her blood the next morning,” Jesse said.

“Did you actually see Namid get dragged away by the wolf?” Rakov asked.

“Well, it was dark,” Jesse said. “She was screaming. I guess I only heard her. But still, what are you saying here?”

“I still have one more measurement to take before I am sure,” Rakov said, walking toward the kid, and kneeling down with pencil, paper and a ruler.

Rakov moved the kid’s arm slightly and began carefully and methodically measuring the bite mark on the kid’s arm. He took careful notes, re-checked them and then rose and sat down at the table with Jesse. He slid the pad to Jesse.

There was a simple sketch, but the measurements were exact. Even though Jesse was no expert, he could clearly see that the bite on the kid’s arm matched bites found on the victim.

“How the hell?” Jesse asked. “When did the kid get bit by our wolf?”

“He didn’t,” Rakov said. “He was bitten by Namid; the night we found her, when we were wrestling her down. I saw her bite down on his arm and I heard him yell out, but there was so much other confusion going on with Garvey I forgot about it, and when he never complained about it, I didn’t even think twice about it.”

“So you’re saying Namid killed all those people?” Jesse asked.

Rakov shook his head and handed Jesse a calendar and said, “Look, look there at the marked dates. Those are the dates of the three attacks. What do you notice about them?”

“I don’t know,” Jesse said.

“Look, look closely, they were all nights of the full moon,” Rakov said. “Tonight is a full moon.”

Jesse finally realized where Rakov was going with it all and he shook his head laughing.

“Have you lost your ever loving mind Rakov?” Jesse asked. “Do you actually expect me to believe some old Indian superstition about shape shifters and werewolves? That’s bullshit Rakov. Those are old wives tales told to naughty children by their parents to keep them in line. Do you really expect me to believe Namid is a werewolf? We were practically married Rakov. I think I would have noticed before now if she was a werewolf.”

“Will that be all?” Rakov asked, raising his eyebrow sternly.

Jesse was still chuckling, but he nodded and said, “Sure Rakov.”

“In Russia we have legend,” Rakov said. “In Russia we have many legends, folklore, even many legends of werewolves. Your Indians here certainly have no claim to the werewolf myth. In fact, although the word werewolf first appeared in text, in the early 1200’s, in Gervase of Tilbury’s Otia Imperialia; werewolves and lycanthropy, the belief in the transformation of man, or woman, into the form of some sort of an animal, pre-dates Christianity significantly; as far back as the ancient Greeks, in the writings of Petronius..

“Look Rakov,” Jesse cut in. “This is all well and good. As usual your knowledge on the subject is impressive, but I don’t see what any of this has to do with Namid. You, yourself, just said all of this is just legend.”

“Rube,” said Rakov, annoyed. “You are such a rube at times. If you shut up, and if you listen you will hear the significance soon enough.”

“All right,” said Jesse. “I just wish we could open another door or a window or something. I don’t know about you but I’m sort of feeing like a ghoul just sitting here, ignoring the bleeding, rotting elephants in the corner over there.”

“Yes, it is troubling isn’t it,” Rakov said. “But I don’t think we should disturb them, or call the sheriff here in this town yet. I’m actually surprised no one came running after he shot himself. That shot was like thunder in this quiet town.”

“Yeah, that surprised me too,” Jesse admitted.

Rakov opened the bottle of vodka took a large swig and handed it to Jesse and said, “Here, this will help clear your sinuses. It might help with the stench. But you are right. Time is of the essence, please let me finish.”

“Fair enough Rakov, even if what I think you’re telling me is a load of horse crap, you have my attention,” Jesse said.

“That is all I have ever asked of you,” Rakov said, although he knew that was not quite the truth. “Anyway, werewolf legends in Russia are a ruble a dozen. There is only one that interests me, it is the story of a young girl named Nadia. According to legend, she was born on December 24, Christmas Eve; the same year Christ was born.

“Her origins are unknown, but it is believed that she was stillborn and that one of the parents’ servants took the child into the countryside to bury it. But instead, the servant just left the child out in the open, a several hundred yards from the road. Of course, though, the child was not actually still-born; but instead was found and raised by a she-wolf; and in turn, became a werewolf. It is believed that she still roams the earth.”

“An original werewolf,” Jesse muttered.

“Yes,” said Rakov, as he dug in his bad and then removed a large binder.

Rakov opened the binder and removed several pictures, and slid them over to Jesse. Jesse held them up; one by one studying them; partially in honest curiosity, but also with growing terror.

“Why statues?” Jesse asked.

“Do you not see the resemblance?” Rakov asked, infuriated.

“Of course I see the resemblance,” Jesse said. “I’m not stupid. That much is obvious. She looks identical to Namid. But why the statues?”

“Well there are paintings and portraits too, as her likeness is a very popular one in some parts of Russia,” Rakov said. “Essentially, she is worshipped by some groups in my homeland; almost; no exactly in the same way various cults worship Diana; the Greek goddess of the hunt; and, of all things, the moon. In fact, there are variants of the tale where Nadia and Diana are; or their legends at least, are almost synonymous.”

“So you’re trying to tell me that not only is Namid a werewolf, but that she’s a thousand-year old werewolf who has been roaming the earth for thousands of years,” Jesse said, his voice skeptical, but his expressions, his mannerisms; dreamy, as if remembering some long lost dream or memory; beginning to shift.

Rakov then removed several very old copper plates; daguerreotype photographs. There were several group shots of children, but Jesse spotted Namid right off; in the front row and the far left.

“What’s this?” Jesse asked.

“Photographs taken in my village when I was a small child,” Rakov said. “There in the front…”

“I see her,” Jesse said. “I see her.”

“She arrived in our village, an orphan, about two years before this photograph was taken,” Rakov said. “Also around that time,” he began, but Jesse held his hand up, silencing him.

“Let me guess, a series of gruesome wolf attacks occurred,” Jesse said.

“Yes, and my older brother Gregor was among the first of the victims,” Rakov said with a heavy sigh.

“So you’ve known about this all along?” Jesse said.

“It is not like that,” Rakov said defensively.

“No, it’s exactly what it is,” Jesse said. “You didn’t come here to help your old college pal Doc Ogle, like you said you were. You came here on some sort of blood vendetta; to track and kill the werewolf that killed your brother.”

“Listen to yourself, you imbecile,” Rakov hissed. “For the final time, I tire of repeating myself, shut up and listen. I barely even knew my brother. I was only three when he died. Vendetta, that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. I am a scientist. I would never wish to hunt and kill any wolf, or werewolf for that matter.

“Yes, when Ogle telegrammed me, and told me of the problem here; the first thing I noticed was that the attacks had all occurred on full moons. It struck me only as a little odd, but not very because many species of animals, including wolves, are very active hunters on full moons; but not because they’ve turned into were wolves, but because visibility is better. Yes, most animals predominately utilize keen senses of scent and hearing to hunt; but they don’t not use vision.

“And although I began to suspect that something with your wolf problem here was not adding up, I truly did not suspect anything until I actually laid my eyes on the girl,” Rakov said. “That is the truth.”

“So you believe all this?” Jesse asked.

“I do not have a choice in the matter,” Rakov said. “It’s no longer a matter of belief. All of the evidence we have seen, all of it suggests we are dealing with something that is not human. Can you not see that? You have to look no further than the door to that jail cell. No human could have ripped it off its hinges like that. We watched Namid all day today, tugging and pulling with all her might, trying to budge those bars and they did not move. Look at the window and the frame.”

“There’s logical explanations for it, for all of it,” Jesse said.

“No there isn’t, that is what I am trying to tell you,” Rakov said. “Logic and illogic have become inverted here. There are nothing but logical explanations left, and that logic is that Namid, or Nadia if you will, is a werewolf. Go, examine the corpses of the men in that cell. That one’s head was heaved cleanly off. We all wrestled with Namid when she was human. She was strong, but not that strong.”

“Well then why did the kid say Namid did this?” Jesse said. “Why didn’t he say a werewolf did it?”

“For the very same reason of what we spoke of around this very table several nights ago,” Rakov said. “He saw something that was too terrible for his own mind to process. And he was bitten. That is why he shot himself. Go, look inside the cell, you will find fur, and if we look hard enough outside with a torch, we will find wolf tracks, not a girl’s footprints, leading out of this town.”

Jesse was beaten, resigned, and he breathed deeply as a single tear trailed down his cheek. He wiped it off and regained his composure quickly.

“So we just kill it, kill her?” Jesse asked. “I guess I don’t have to remind you she’s carrying my child; or something’s child I guess.”

“Are you insane?” Rakov asked. “A creature like this, that has possibly lived for thousands of years? Could you imagine the things it knows, the stories it could tell us. It is not my intention to kill this creature.”

“You want to fucking capture it don’t you?” Jesse finally said, more statement than a question.

“Yes,” Rakov said. “And I don’t even think we need to track it. We both have a very good idea where she is going. Are you with me or not?”

“If us getting to her first means that some other nut job like Garvey or his crew get to her and kill her first, then yes,” Jesse said. “I’m with you.”