Werewolf Biker

Chapter Seven: Garrett Meets the Wolfman

Two weeks had passed since the grisly murders in Torrance, and Santee. The official reports by
the respective law enforcement agency's were inconclusive. No one was officially willing to admit that
there was a werewolf running around southern California. It had been attributed to gang related violence as far as the press releases went, and stories leaked to the press of half eaten corpses were
denied by officials. An arrest warrant was issued for Weylin Hemming, but no one except Queenie
Dixon had seen him and lived long enough to describe him to anybody, and she wasn't talking. Not
even to her own friends. The case grew cold.
J.D. Garrett had returned to Washington D.C., and in the last ten days, had compiled a
comprehensive report on the incidents of two weeks ago. He would turn the report into his bosses in
the morning, but unlike the local law enforcement in California, he left out no details, and substantiated
the facts with all of his other evidence. There would be no way that the existence of a werewolf would
be able to be denied.
One nagging problem plagued him since returning home. He was suffering from Post traumatic
stress. He was unable to sleep, and the trauma of the events he had experienced were causing him to
have nightmares, and even panic attacks during the daytime. The Doctor had prescribed a powerful
sleep aid, and with that he had actually been able to sleep for the last night or two.
It was two thirty in the morning. Garrett was finally sleeping soundly when he awoke with a
start. His heart was racing, and he was in a cold sweat. Trying to control his breathing, he figured he
had just had another nightmare. Then he heard it, a low grow that froze his blood. Finally, with his
mouth as dry as cotton, he whispered, "What do you want?" A deep, and menacing voice answered
from the darkness,
"I want your blood." There was a long pause. Garrett knew he'd never make it to the gun on
his desk,
"How did you find me?" He asked.
Weylin soundlessly crept closer, "How does a hound find the rabbit?"
"You tracked me twenty six hundred miles?" He asked truly amazed. There was a ironic tone in
Weylins voice,
"Garrett, you stink so bad, I could track you across the Atlantic ocean." J.D. realized that if this man had come to kill him, he would already be dead so, he took a chance with some humor.
"It's the old spice isn't it?" He heard a soft chuckle from the dark. Hearing that, J.D. breathed a
sigh of relief. "Why did you come here," he turned and sat up on the bed. He could see the figure
before him, but it was too dark to see his face.
"You have thoughts of pursuing me. You want to learn about me, perhaps even," a soft sarcastic
laughed escaped him, "capture me. So I came here to introduce myself to you." With that, Weylin
released the full aura of the beast into the mind of the poor man. Garrett cried out in terror at the vision
in his brain. He saw the great beast in all its fury, he witnessed its boundless savage rage, and
incredible power, and experienced the ecstasy it felt as it ripped its prey to shreds, and devoured them.
He saw the path of bloody destruction wrought over countless decades of time, and felt the pain and
terror of its victims. He felt the hopelessness, and despair they felt as they realized they were going to
die.
As the image faded, he found himself on the floor covering his head with his arms. When he
was finally able to speak he cried out, "Wh-what did you do? What was that?" His voice was shaking
uncontrollably, so was the rest of him.
"I wanted you to see for yourself what death will look like for you, what countless others have
seen before they died. What I am... Then in a gentle movement of air, he was gone.
Garrett lay on the floor for two hours unable to move, his face was streaked with his tears, his
eyes swollen. An almost unbearable sadness filled his entire being until the weight of it felt as though it
would smother him. Finally as dawn slowly began to cast its dim light into the room he forced himself
up, and fumbled for the light switch.
Blinking at the sudden brightness he turned, his gaze falling on the report lying on his
nightstand, the report that contained enough evidence to convince at least some, that the werewolf was
real.

He stared at it for a while, then turned off the light and left the room.