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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Lamprolign" data-source="post: 843836" data-attributes="member: 7860">014Bright is the moon high in starlightChill is the air cold as steel tonightWe shiftCall of the wildFear in your eyesIt's later than you realized- Metallica, Of Wolf And ManI should be at home working.  Asher Russell tipped back his third Killian's Irish Red in thirty minutes at the Metro.  Just off the great hall of Union Station, this was one of his favorite downtown haunts.  The nostalgia here conjured images of Bogart, sitting in a shadowy booth with his fedora pulled low.  Here's looking at you, kid.  Asher downed the beer and slid his empty mug to the bartender, a thick man with a square jaw who could have played the heavy in one of those old films. To have lived then, Asher thought, and started in on his fourth. ***** Piotr gazed through the plate glass separating the circular bar from a room with a pool table.  Nearby, a tall, painfully thin man circled the empty pool table with cue in hand.  Occasionally he would stop, stoop, and line up a shot on a ball that did not exist.  The old man's stark white beard contrasted his dark brown skin.  Deep grooves lined his face, vertical crags beneath his eyes that looked as if they had been worn by corrosive tears.  The man wore a long black coat, probably wool, and black trousers that fell over worn work boots.  Every so often he paused to gaze through the plate glass with a warm smile for the patrons sitting inside.  But he would always return to the empty table, contemplating a game only he could see. The old man's gaze fell on Piotr each time he looked inside, lingering for a moment.  Most people wilted under Piotr's intense glare, few ever holding his gaze for more than an instant.  When the old man's eyes met Piotr's, however, he simply stared out from that weathered face and smiled his kindly smile.  Though Piotr knew he could break the man's neck as easily as he might shake his hand, that stare unnerved the big Russian.  Crazy old man, Piotr thought and shrugged, feeling a bit foolish and more than a little annoyed.  He shifted his attention back to the young man pounding mugs of reddish colored beer.  Thus far his quarry had remained in crowded public places, surrounded by too many witnesses.  Piotr was a patient hunter, however.  Patience was the key to success in his profession.  Watch.  Wait.  Stalk.  Kill.  Vanish.  He swallowed a shot of Smirnoff and shook his head as he observed the antics of his prey on the other side of the glass.  This one will offer no challenge, he thought with a hint of disappointment. * * * * "… I ain't got no CIGARETTES….""Hey pal!  Hey buddy, you got to get off the bar!" "Eh?"  Asher glanced down just long enough to make out the stern face of the meaty barkeep before returning to his performance.  He was just getting to the best part."I know every engineer on every train, all of their children, and all of their names…."  Three middle-aged women, well heeled and attractive, sent up encouraging catcalls, and one of them tried to stuff a dollar bill into Asher's pants.  A group of businessmen yelled for him to shut the hell up, while an old-timer at the end of the bar nodded approvingly in time to Asher's singing. "Look clown, if you don't get down from there right now I'm going to throw your skinny ass down myself!"   "Why have karaoke night," Asher mumbled, barely coherent, "if you're not even gonna let a fella sing."  By some miracle he managed to scramble down without spilling the half drained mug he clasped tightly in one hand.  "We don't have a karaoke night, jackass.  There's no music.  That's a beer you're singing into, not a microphone.  I'm tossing you out, you drunk bastard!""I'm not drunk, sir," Asher replied with a comically serious expression.  "I've been over served."The bartender rolled up his sleeves and started around the bar.  Asher donned his bomber jacket and tucked his unruly mop of blonde hair under a Cubs ball cap as he hustled through the door.  He was going to need to drink a lot of water if he didn't want to wake up with a hangover.  He paused for a second in the Station's great hall, staring like a tourist, but moved on quickly when it occurred to him that the bartender might have called the police.  He hurried through the Station and stepped out into the night. The temperature had dropped below freezing and flurries fell from an invisible sky.  A glistening coat of ice bore witness to the freezing rain that had fallen earlier in the evening.  Pedestrian and vehicle traffic moved briskly on Adams at this late hour.  Asher walked east, hands shoved in his coat pockets.  The closest stop for the loop was Quincy, too far away for his liking tonight.  Why do I do this to myself, he wondered before hustling on, the cold northwest wind quickening his steps. * * * * Piotr watched his target walk east on Adams.  He would have to follow until Asher left the densely peopled downtown area.  He stayed twenty paces behind, careful not to lose sight since the wind robbed him of his prey's scent.  Watching the reporter's stumbling, staggering progress, Piotr grinned.  At least you enjoyed your last night.  He quickened his pace, following the reporter toward a bridge crossing the Chicago River. * * * * Asher's buzz was beginning to wear off.  I'm going to need to drink a lot of water if I don't want one hell of a hangover tomorrow.  His thoughts turned to his editor's admonition that he had better have something on the Abrams story ready for tomorrow's evening edition, or else.  His editor said "or else" frequently.  Asher had yet to learn exactly what his editor meant by it, but he didn't particularly care to find out, either. "Well crap," Asher muttered.  In his musings he had taken the wrong turn off of Adams and found himself in a narrow alley.  He looked around, shrugged his shoulders, and kept walking.  He was still headed in the right general direction. * * * * Piotr stopped and squatted on his haunches at the entrance to the narrow alley, his face held high to the wind.  He smelled the booze on his prey, of course, but there was something else.  For the first time on this hunt, he smelled fear on Asher Russell.  It was a good smell, high and pungent.  Piotr smiled.  Nowhere to run, comrade.  Your good fortune has come to an end.   * * * * Gooseflesh rose on Asher's neck, and a strange thought crossed his mind.  A shadow just fell across my grave.  He laughed nervously at the odd notion, but quickened his pace nonetheless.  A glance over his shoulder revealed nothing.  Great, now I'm drunk and paranoid.  But he could not shake the feeling that somewhere in the shadows someone watched him. * * * * There was always the pain.  Bones warped, shifted, realigned.  Muscles stretched and writhed, skin quivered, body hair grew thick and coarse.  Piotr raised his arms skyward, long bestial claws outstretched, caught in the throes of agony and ecstasy.  There was always the pain, but with it came the power.  He would not risk a full transformation with so many people nearby, but against his drunken quarry this form would more than suffice.  A low growl in his throat, the man-beast that had been Piotr bolted down the alley with long running strides and leaps.* * * * Ok, that time I definitely heard something.  Asher looked back in time to see a large silhouette bound over a fallen trashcan in the alley, land silently, then charge toward him in long strides, hunkered low to the ground.  What the…!?  For a crazy instant Asher froze, staring at the impossible beast that bore down on him.  Then instinct took over.  He whirled and sprinted toward the distant end of the alley, the wind catching the brim of his cap and peeling it from his head.  Behind him the sounds of his pursuer's footfalls grew louder, the fast, rhythmic beat matching his pounding heart.  Asher's legs pumped as they had not in years.  Rational thought rebelled at the thought of the beast after him, a creature that could not possibly exist.  But deep in the corners of his mind, something long denied stirred. High above, a fire escape, decayed from years of neglect, shuddered slightly in the wind.  As Asher passed the fire escape swayed side to side, clanging loudly against brick wall.  The structure groaned in protest.  Rivets, more rust than steel, popped from their moorings. Asher hazarded a glance over his shoulder.  The beast was overtaking him.  He could see a human face, but the bones and muscle seemed to swim beneath the skin, transforming the face into a shifting blur of hair and feral eyes and impossibly large teeth.  <img src="https://cdn.jsdelivr.net/joypixels/assets/8.0/png/unicode/64/1f642.png" class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" width="64" height="64" alt=":)" title="Smile    :)"  data-smilie="1"data-shortname=":)" /><img src="https://cdn.jsdelivr.net/joypixels/assets/8.0/png/unicode/64/1f642.png" class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" width="64" height="64" alt=":)" title="Smile    :)"  data-smilie="1"data-shortname=":)" /><img src="https://cdn.jsdelivr.net/joypixels/assets/8.0/png/unicode/64/1f642.png" class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" width="64" height="64" alt=":)" title="Smile    :)"  data-smilie="1"data-shortname=":)" /><img src="https://cdn.jsdelivr.net/joypixels/assets/8.0/png/unicode/64/1f642.png" class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" width="64" height="64" alt=":)" title="Smile    :)"  data-smilie="1"data-shortname=":)" />!  He had no breath to curse aloud.  Adrenaline flooded his body.  The sound of twisting steel caused him to risk another look behind.  The ancient fire escape tore free from the wall, collapsing just as the beast passed under it.  There was a deafening crash, and the monster disappeared beneath two tons of tangled steel.  His attention fixed behind him, Asher did not see the raised manhole cover that caught his foot and sent him sprawling face first into the alley.  His chin hit pavement with enough force to draw blood and chip a front tooth.  Bright lights exploded in his vision, and it took a second for him to clear his head.  All was silent for a moment, but then behind him the steel began to groan and move. It was still alive. Asher pushed himself to his feet with palms that were raw from his spill to the asphalt.  Ahead he saw the mouth of the alley, light, people and cars moving down a busy street.  He ran as fast as he could, his left knee painfully protesting.  The knee of his jeans was torn out, and he was bleeding there too. A roar echoed through the night as the beast freed itself.  No longer manlike at all, it ran on four legs.  The face had become fixed, a bestial muzzle bristling with fangs.  Wiry gray fur covered it in an uneven coat, thicker along the spine.  It was the perfect killer, knowing neither pain nor fear, only the thrill of the hunt. Asher skidded around the corner, out of the alley and onto a well-lit street.  He was not certain where he was.  The streetlamps and taillights of cars blurred in his vision.  Engine noise and honking horns and voices were drowned out by his pounding heart and ragged breathing.  Asher ran alongside the row of parked cars that lined the street. The creature barreled out of the alley, taking a short bound and gathering itself for the leap that would bring down its prey.  Just then, a car door opened in its path.  Unable to stop, the beast slammed into the door, bending it backwards on its hinges in a clamor of popping steel and shattering glass.  The creature sat back on its haunches and shook its head.  Somewhere deep in its brain, a small scrap of human thought registered that the car was empty.  The beast sprang to its feat and leapt back into pursuit. Asher ran in terror.  Ahead he saw a CTA bus pulling to a stop.  The side was plastered with a banner ad for his newspaper.  "START YOUR MORNING WITH THE TRIBUNE."  I'll be lucky if I live to see the morning at all, much less read the paper.  He poured everything he had left into a last sprint. The hiss of releasing airbrakes announced the bus's slow departure.  Asher ran alongside it as it rolled away.  Just when he thought he would surely collapse there on the street, the door in front of the bus' rear wheel folded open.  Asher jumped, catching the handrail and pulling himself up into the bus.  Distracted by traffic, the bus driver had not noticed his entrance.  Several passengers glanced curiously at the disheveled man, but looked away soon.    Asher hauled himself into a seat, panting heavily with fear and exertion.   What the hell was that thing?!  He glanced around the bus.  It was unusually crowded for this time of night, but then it was a Friday. Asher breathed a little easier.  He had escaped.  He did not know what he had escaped from, but he was safe.  By morning, he might convince himself that it had just been a stray dog.  He looked out the back window, and his heart skipped a beat.  Barreling down the sidewalk, the creature gained on the bus as it slowed for the next stop. "Don't stop!" Asher yelled, bolting toward the front of the bus. Looking in his mirror, the driver saw what seemed to be a crazy man screaming up the aisle.  Panicked, the driver stomped the brakes. The sudden stop sent Asher reeling off balance to the front of the bus, slamming into rows of seats along the way.  He spilled forward and tumbled into a heap of limbs in the front stairwell.  The bus driver, an old man with close-cropped white hair and thick glasses, looked down his nose disapprovingly at Asher.  Just then, the bus' rear door exploded inward, followed by a nightmarish creature that leapt in from the night.  A woman screamed in a high, shrill voice, and soon all the passengers were on their feet, gripped in panic. Asher disentangled himself and saw the driver's terrified expression as he looked toward the back of the bus.  Asher lunged for the door handle and it folded open.  "Get out of here!" he called to the driver, in a voice that barely rose above a whisper.  His knee buckled, spilling him out onto the sidewalk.Inside the bus, the beast tore through the press of frantic people.  Blood sprayed the windows as it raced from rear to front.  The driver's foot hit the accelerator and the bus lurched forward.  Tires screeched and horns blared as cars swerved to avoid collision. Asher scrabbled to his feet.  He spotted a taxi not a dozen yards away, and ran for it with his last bit of strength.  He threw open the door and jumped in the back seat.  The cabbie, busy watching the spectacle of the bus lurching across traffic, whipped around at Asher's sudden entrance. "Go!" Asher yelled.  "Just drive!" He dumped the contents of his wallet in his hand, grabbed a folded hundred dollar bill, and waved it through the small opening in the Plexiglas barrier between the front and back seat. The driver's scowl disappeared when Asher dropped the bill on the front seat.  He pulled the car out into traffic, cutting off another cab and drawing a profane gesture from its driver.  The driver sped away, calling back, "Where to?" Oblivious to the driver's inquiry, Asher peered through the rear window to see the bus careen into a semi.  A diesel fireball enveloped the vehicles.  As the inferno shrank in the distance, Asher saw a large form explode through the bus's rear window to disappear into the night. * * * * Poe stood outside the Haven for almost an hour before going in.  She had slipped back into a barbarism she struggled with every moment of her existence.  But the arrogant pig had pushed her, tested her when she was weak.  He deserved it, she thought, recalling the encounter.  She spit on the ground and wiped her mouth absently.  Poe hoped the Sister would not find out. "We are not to judge mankind," the old woman had said many times.  "We are very much a part of the whole.  Understand who people are and why they act as they do." This time Poe felt righteous in her judgment.  Had she not been who she was, what she was, the bastard would have probably raped and killed her in the alley.  This time was justified.  Poe believed that even the Sister would agree.  The Sister was incredibly compassionate, but once convinced of a wrong, she could be vengeance itself. There were more urgent things to discuss with the Sister tonight.  The man she fought on the rooftop, for one.  She had a feeling she had not seen the last of him. The Sister rested in her usual chair by the fireplace, her foot pumping a steady clacking rhythm on the treadle of an 18th century Canadian spinning wheel.  The wheel's black enameled spokes flashed in the soft firelight.  A bright red double drive band linked the wheel to a flyer.  The spool inside it neared the halfway mark of a single-spun merino wool. "Welcome home."  She smiled from behind the wheel as Poe entered the study. Poe watched the wheel, mesmerized by the flashes of light from its enameled surface. She closed the door softly and took the seat furthest from the fire. "There is a werewolf in the city," Poe stated without inflection.  The Sister slapped a hand on the top of the wheel, bringing it to a sudden stop.  She peered intently at Poe. "You are certain?" Before Poe could answer, the study door flung open.  A wild-eyed man stomped into the room unbidden. "Asher!" Poe and the Sister gasped in unison. "Why the hell..." he paused for breath, "...why the hell is one of your freaks trying to kill me?!"© 2003 Austin Hale</blockquote>

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