Chapter One
Riverfront Park
September 17, 3:25 AM
A young woman in her early twenties appeared from behind a small row of trees at the northwest corner of the park, moving at a hurried pace. She had only narrowly avoided being seen by a police cruiser exiting from the parking area a moment earlier.
She spotted the cruiser a second time as it took a slow right opposite of where she stood. Though she was mostly certain she hadn’t been seen — or the officer was uninterested in stopping for a transient — she dropped to her knees to reduce the chances of being noticed until the tail lights faded from her vision.
The park was empty and silent save for the gentle lapping sound of the Neches coming into contact with the river walk to her back. She stayed crouched a moment longer to be safe, straining her hearing to make sure she was completely alone.
She padded softly towards the river walk where the space opened up around her. The interstate was in front of her and she could occasionally make out the whisper of distant traffic.
It was a cool, dry night. The threat of rain was unlikely. There were several benches from which to choose; she picked one that had no vantage from the street and shrugged off her backpack, which she would use as a makeshift pillow.
Pulling the hood of the jacket up to cover her face, Raye positioned herself across the bench accordingly, and set an alarm for 5:30 on her wristwatch.
As she listened to the distant echoes of passing cars behind her and the river directly parallel to her, she drifted off quickly into sleep.
—
She awoke to a sound unlike any she had heard before. As someone who had been on her own since the age of 18, it wasn’t unusual for her sleep to be disrupted by unpleasant and unsavory situations: cops, nearby shootings, drug deals, even an attempted rape. For all of these, she was mentally prepared to deal with, and equipped: she kept a butterfly knife on her person at all times.
But the sound she now heard froze her completely, in part due to the close proximity — and in part to attempt to distinguish its source.
It was not dissimilar to the low rumble of a gator, which she had heard at least one time before — but the direction from whence it came was located somewhere at a higher elevation than the bench, which didn’t make sense, unless gators could fly or climb trees.
The rumble came again, closer, followed by the clamor of swiftly pounding footfalls against grass. Raye’s eyes shot open and she found her feet in time as the attacker collided with the bench.
She spun to face it, uncertain of the origin of the creature that flailed on the ground in front of her. It had the arrow shaped head of a dog, a barrel chest, digitrade legs and forelimbs like a primate’s. The creature was stunned and struggling to find its footing, which gave her opportunity to flee.
It rose with an angry roar and pounced after the woman as she hurtled herself towards the street a couple hundred yards away. The beast was injured from the momentum of its own attack, which allowed Raye a decent head start.
The lead she received from the initial impact was short lived, however. Four limbs outpaced two, in spite of the injury, and she was within the monster’s grasp by the time she reached the parking lot. It reached forward and swiped across Raye’s legs, toppling her easily. Her face connected with the asphalt, and she cried out as the beast bore down upon her.
“Heeeeelp!” she screamed, spinning to kick at the maw of the creature. The kick landed true, but was ineffective. The beast took her foot into its frothing mouth and with a single bite, severed it completely.
The pain was so unbearable she couldn’t manage to find her voice again. The sudden loss of blood coupled with a wave of endorphins that were trying to block the pain had already begun coloring the world black. Blood sprayed from the wound in a cascade that coated the beast’s dark fur in crimson.
As the monster straddled Raye to prepare for the final and fatal dismemberment of its prey, multiple gun shots rang out and hit the beast with three audible wet thumps as each bullet landed their target. Two of the bullets punched through the creature’s chest and the third bored a hole through its neck.
The beast recoiled and let out an agonizing yowl that was a combination of human rage and animalistic pain. It turned to face its assailant. Before it could pounce, the dark figure fired off two more rounds, one of which hit the monstrous wolf square in the middle of its broad skull. With a loud groan and shudder, the wolf dropped.
—
Officer Huntman holstered his gun and called for medical assistance and backup over the com. “We have one critically wounded civilian and one dead dog at the Riverfront Park,” he said. Confirmation came through from dispatch a moment later.
Huntman visually assessed Raye’s condition; she was non-responsive and losing blood rapidly. She likely wouldn’t last until the ambulance’s arrival, so he removed his belt and looped it around the wounded leg to act as a tourniquet.
Prodding at her neck with his fingers, he found her pulse and could feel a weak heart beat.
“Come on sweetheart. Stay with me,” he whispered, tightening the tourniquet. Distant wails of sirens were beginning to fill the air. All else was deathly silent.
—
Patrick was convinced he saw an animal — not a human man, but a large canine animal — attack the young woman. He explained to the detective that the damn thing had more mass than a breeding sow. It wasn’t human. Something that could sever a foot clean off a body without a weapon couldn’t be human.
What lay before him now was a naked Caucasian male with shaggy red hair and four fatal gunshot wounds. The area stunk of fresh blood and death.
“You musta shot the dog’s owner on accident and scared the dog away,” Detective Brauer explained. He shook his head in resignation, followed by a chuckle. “Why he was naked is another mystery.”
The sun was just cresting above the river. Two coroners were snapping photos of the body while paramedics stood by, drinking coffee and smoking.
Patrick was nauseous. He was positive he put an animal down. He had never shot a human before — never even unholstered or fired his weapon outside of training.
Brauer placed a hand on Patrick Huntman’s shoulder. “Come on, son. We need you to make a statement at the station and fill out some paperwork.”
Patrick nodded, taking a final look over the grisly scene. The young woman’s blood was already soaking into the earth. There was a slight indentation in the grass where her foot had been before paramedics removed it.
It was a miracle she was still alive having lost that much blood in such a short space of time. He knew Brauer would give him some down time following the incident. If the young woman ever regained consciousness, Patrick wanted to question her himself. She would know her attacker better than anyone.
—
Baptist Hospital
September 17, 1:45 PM
“She was what?” Patrick asked, dismayed.
“Raye Jenkins was discharged a few moments ago,” the RN responded.
Patrick refused to believe what he was hearing. While he would not have been shocked to find Raye had no insurance, an ethical hospital would not release a patient that had just severed a body part and lost that much blood only a few hours earlier.
“Please look again. She arrived with a detached foot this morning around 4:00 AM…”
The nurse shook her head and rotated the computer monitor around so that Patrick could discern the info. It reflected what she had just told him. Regardless, he still memorized the room number in order to sate his curiosity.
The room was on the same floor and he found it less than two minutes after leaving the nurse’s station. A couple of young nurses were chatting idly and stripping the bed sheets as he arrived.
“Can I help you, sir?” one of them asked.
“No thanks, I’m good,” Patrick replied, and turned to exit the hospital. The woman couldn’t have gotten far.
Or anywhere.
—
College Street
September 17, 2:20 PM
To his befuddlement, she had gotten a bit further than he anticipated.
He found her leaning against the outer wall of the H-E-B Grocery adjacent to the hospital. She was dressed in articles of clothing that were mismatched and slightly over or undersized. Obviously hospital donations.
He pulled up in his Chevy Cruze about 10 feet away.
Raye’s belongings were currently at Beaumont Police Department which meant she had left the hospital with nothing but the clothes on her back — which weren’t even hers to begin with.
There was a cane looped around her lower arm. Aside from that, she didn’t seem like a person who had just been through a horrible trauma.
Patrick studied her for a moment. She was surprisingly fair of complexion for someone who he guessed spent most of their time outdoors. Her hair was shoulder length and a natural hue of strawberry blonde.
Suddenly, Raye’s head shot up and her eyes began darting around. Her nostrils flared like little saucers as if she had caught a familiar scent. That’s when her gaze found Patrick’s. Patrick tried to play it off like he was waiting on someone and smiled politely, raising a hand to wave.
She bolted. At a speed faster than an injured human should be able to travel, she disappeared quickly down the backside of the grocery store.
Patrick’s police instincts suddenly took hold. He leapt from the vehicle, only his keys in hand, and followed in pursuit. He wasn’t sure what would happen when he caught up to her. He only knew he needed answers.
It didn’t take long to match her pace. She had abandoned the cane already, which was rolling down the loading dock, and had broken into a full — albeit limping — sprint.
“Miss!” Patrick called out. Her stride quickened.
However, Patrick had longer legs and was uninjured. He caught up so that he was near enough that if he wanted to he could grab her, but he knew that would only spook her more than she already was. He tried a different tactic instead.
“I’m the cop who rescued you last night! Miss!” was all he could manage to blurt out. She abruptly came to a halt, forcing Patrick to stop just as abruptly, lest he bowl her over.
“Why should I trust you?” she asked without preamble. Her chest rose and fell in slow successions as she found her breath.
“I can get your things back to you,” he said. She twisted her neck so she could eye him over her shoulder.
Patrick introduced himself and politely said, “All I want is to chat.” He looked around. “But not here. Would you like a coffee?”
—
Rao’s Bakery
September 17, 2:45 PM
The cafe, which was located about a mile up the street, had an outdoor seating area where they could talk without interference. Patrick ordered a plain latte and sugar cookie while Raye ordered a cafe mocha and vanilla cupcake.
They sat facing each other across one of the small tables on the patio. Raye felt nervous. She wasn’t used to cops being so benevolent towards her.
Patrick took a swig of his latte. “How are you feeling?” he asked.
Raye shrugged. “Surprisingly okay. Just a little sore…like when you have a bruise.”
He nodded and pursed his lips. He wasn’t a medical professional, but he was pretty certain that the rate of healing she was describing wasn’t common, if she was telling the truth. Since he had witnessed her take off at a good clip only a few minutes earlier, he didn’t have any reason to doubt her.
“Why did you leave the hospital?” he asked next.
“I had no reason to stay. They wanted to transfer me to the orthopedic hospital down the street so the doctors there could take a look since what they were seeing wasn’t…typical,” Raye explained. “So I decided to leave.” She shrugged again and took a bite of cupcake.
“Can I see the injury?” Patrick asked.
Raye tugged up the pants leg on her left side, which exposed the site of the dismemberment — or where it should be, which was about two inches above the Achilles tendon. She then placed her foot on the empty chair between her and Patrick.
“Holy shit!” Raye exclaimed. The skin which had been sewn back together only several hours earlier had already started to grow over the stitches and push them out.
“I… it was still red and slightly oozy when I left the hospital,” Raye said, unsure of what else to say.
Patrick couldn’t believe what he was seeing either. He reached over and softly grazed the stitches with the tips of his fingers. It felt as healed as it looked. Raye flinched at his touch — not because it hurt, but because she didn’t appreciate a stranger touching her — and moved her foot back.
“Sorry,” he said, clearing his throat.
“So did you get a look at the thing that attacked me?” Raye asked, having her own questions now.
“Yes. And what I saw makes no fucking sense,” he responded. “What I saw afterwards makes even less sense.”
“What did you see?” she asked.
“After you passed out, before the paramedics arrived, I went to take another look at it. And it wasn’t an animal anymore. It was a naked man,” Patrick explained.
“A man?” Raye asked. “What was it before that?”
“I’m not sure. Some sort of animal. A dog, maybe… or a wolf. But it was much larger than both.” Patrick paused, then asked, “Does that sound congruent to what you witnessed?”
Raye nodded in agreement, but her face had gone stark white as comprehension settled in.
“The detective on the scene seems to believe I accidentally shot the owner of a dog that was attacking you and that the dog simply ran off.”
“Do you believe that?” Raye asked.
“I don’t,” Patrick confessed.
“So the only logical explanation…” — Raye did air quotes to put emphasis on the word logical — “…is that I was bitten by a werewolf and I’m now a werewolf myself?” she asked, her voice quivering.
Patrick remained stoic. “That’s what all the signs are pointing to,” he said.
There was a brief pause and then he continued: “I would be willing to accept that I misidentified a large dog for a mythical creature. It happens all the time during circumstances of great duress.” He took a sip of his coffee to carefully consider his words. “But what we can’t explain is how rapidly your detached foot seems to be healing,” he finished.
Raye nodded in agreement, then began to shake uncontrollably. She no longer had any interest in finishing her coffee or cupcake. All of the color had drained from her face. She couldn’t speak.
Patrick knew what he needed to do but he wasn’t sure how she would react. Young transients usually don’t have a great deal of tolerance for police officers.
“Are you okay?” he asked, leaning across the table to gently pat her forearm. She pulled away.
“You said you had my stuff?” she asked, gnawing tensely at her lower lip.
He nodded. “At the station. I can pick it up for you tomorrow, but I need to know where you’ll be…” he trailed off.
Raye arched a brow.
“I think it would be safer if you crashed at my house until we get this figured out,” he said.
To his surprise, she didn’t instantly reject the offer. He didn’t know how long she had been without a consistent roof over her head, but whether it was two weeks or two years, having secure shelter was always welcomed by the majority of homeless people he had encountered in the past.
“I guess we can do that,” Raye agreed.
A moment later they were in the car again, headed to Patrick’s house.
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