The New Job

Jordan moves into Carl's estate, and discovers the job is fantastic, but not in a good way. Carl turns into a wolf before his eyes, and suddenly he's thrown into a desperate battle to keep Carl alive

Three weeks later, Jordan sat on a city bus, staring out the window at the freeway as it rushed past. There was sun over the water of the Puget Sound, but a damp mist fell on the buildings. After taking two days to get from Los Angeles to Seattle, he was getting tired of buses, whether greyhound or city transit. Carl’s deadline had left him four days at home with his mother, as well as his sister, who was thirteen and growing fast, but he had been exhausted during their time together, considering work and personal arrangements. He should have taken Carl's offer of a plane ticket, but there was less leg room on a plane than a bus, and he knew bus stations, not airports. Travelling by bus also gave him transition time. The thought of stepping on a plane in one part of his life, and stepping off it a few hours later in another part, was slightly unnerving to him. He still wasn't sure he'd made the right choice about accepting the position, but he'd given his word and he couldn't go back now.

Aside from the few clothes he had in his pack and his two handguns, including a semi-automatic pistol he had in a shoulder holster under his windbreaker, his belongings had been shipped ahead of him. They consisted of a dozen or so large pillows he slept on when he had kinks in his muscles, (the mattress he'd been using was borrowed), some clothes, some weights, and a guitar and amplifier given him by the family of a friend. He'd rather have kept the friend, but death was a cruel negotiator.

The bus pulled off the freeway in downtown Seattle. He'd watched the misty skyline as they came in, but he couldn't see the Space Needle from here. Someone had told him once that if Seattle had a major earthquake, that iconic structure would be the last thing to fall. He found that hard to believe, it looked so spindly compared with the rock-solid obsidian face of the Columbia Tower or any of the other familiar buildings of the Seattle skyline.

He pulled his bag out from under the seat and got ready to be elbowed. It only happened when people didn't see him. When they turned around to apologize, their jaws would drop in dismay at his size. They cowered away from him as if he would crush their skulls for putting an elbow in his ribs by accident.

He thought of his mother and sister again, in the same house he'd grown up in. It sat in a subdivision called Rainier, a dismal namesake of the beautiful mountain visible from the bustling city on the rare days the sky was clear. The neighborhood was still going steadily downhill. The assistant he'd hired for his mother recently was apparently doing a good job at helping her get around. Maybe, with the extra money he'd have when he started getting paid by Carl, he'd be able to hire an RN. Even after seven years, his mother still had a lot of pain, and spent too much time at her doctor's office. He'd told her it would be better if she simply moved to a wheelchair-efficient home, but she refused. It would cost too much. He wanted her out of there, along with his little sister Kira, too. He didn't care to visit that house; too many memories, and too easy for his violent father to find.

He saw Carl's car from the window as the bus pulled into the slot reserved for it at the corner. Amazing. Parking downtown was a major undertaking. Jordan wondered how much Carl paid the previous occupant for the metered parking spot. Stepping through the automatic door, Jordan alighted, stood aside, and stretched in the lightly falling mist. Carl jogged over, slightly damp.

"Come on, mate, we've got to hustle," Carl said in his soft British accent. "I've only got three months of data, shows me losing it tonight around 7:00 p.m. or so. I'd rather be at home well before this happens. This it? You travel light. Quickly now, you'll have to drive. If I lose it on the highway we'll become a traffic jam, and the ticket for that is horrific. Over there," Carl was directing him the whole time he spoke, though it was obvious to Jordan where he was going. Carl was wearing a pair of sun-sensitive, wire-rimmed glasses.

Jordan made a point of standing solidly at the corner and waiting for the light to change. Carl looked like he was going to jaywalk and dodge the cars, and Jordan didn't want his new job to start in the emergency room. When the light changed they crossed to the car, Carl opened the trunk and quickly took Jordan's bag from him.

"Good thing I travel light," Jordan stated, looking at the lack of trunk space.

“It's got a bit of room behind the seats as well," Carl answered, handing him the keys. Jordan unlocked the doors, slid down into the seat, and started the car. As the systems in the vehicle powered on, he found the stereo tuned to a classical station and a blare of violins assaulted his ears. He turned the noise off, and heard the car purring as if it had missed him. Checking his rearview, he pulled out into traffic and up to the light, remembering how the car had responded before. His memory hadn't done it justice. It handled like a dream.

Stopping at a red light, Jordan looked down one of Seattle's many commercialized alleyways. A memory of new age, ethnic restaurants fronted on neon-gothic alleys flooded over him.

"Is I-5 the best way?" Jordan asked, turning to Carl.

"You could cross the lake and take 405, but at this hour you wouldn't gain anything. Traffic is surprisingly light right now. We'll be taking Highway 2, which begins after the two converge up north."

Jordan checked his controls briefly, then shifted into first again as the light turned green. He'd need to turn left within two blocks. Driving with a manual transmission downtown was usually a hassle because of the steep hills, but the well-adjusted clutch on the Jaguar made it seem as smooth as a highway. Turning onto the entrance ramp, Jordan considered taking it to its limit on a familiar freeway, but thought better of it with a glance at Carl, who was engrossed in his phone. He was charting his temperature with a temporal thermometer every few minutes, alternating with a blood pressure cuff, recording all of it in the notes app on his phone. Leave it to Carl to have exactly the right equipment everywhere he went.

"Anything?" Jordan asked a short while later, looking across the bridge toward the University of Washington campus and thinking about the cherry blossoms that lined a pathway between the old brick buildings called "The Quad.” All through high school, he had dreamed of walking through them on his way to class, books under his arm. He still dreamed of it.

He realized Carl had answered his question. What was it he'd said? Slow rise?

"Temperature or blood pressure?" They were past the Huskies stadium. He had missed seeing the Space Needle again while transferring lanes repeatedly through the downtown area.

"Temperature is increasing slightly. That's likely to be nerves. Blood pressure just lowers on following mornings, but I thought I'd check."

"What's your resting pulse rate now?" he checked the rearview and shifted lanes.

"Seventy," Carl answered, jotting more notes on the page.

Jordan mouthed ‘seventy’ before saying anything. "What happened to you?"

"Classes, books… this infernal illness."

"Whatever happened to walking between classes?"

"Classes all in the same place," came the terse reply.

Jordan made a mental note to himself to take a wide variety of classes each semester, if he ever got the chance. Then he shook his head. "You had a resting pulse rate of forty-five in high school."

"I was running every day in high school, and I drank a great deal less coffee."

"How much has this... this condition affected your resting pulse rate?"

"Eh…" Carl answered, then looked up at the windshield, thinking. "My resting pulse rate was lower early on, but it's back up now. A little higher, actually."

Carl appeared more interested in his measurements than their conversation, so Jordan left him alone for the rest of the trip, except to get directions every half hour or so. They began to climb steadily up into the mountains as the mist gave way to sunshine, and Jordan looked up at the deep blue peaks, the emerald fir trees, and the rivers, so clear you could see the rocks at the bottom as if through warped glass. He could almost taste the ice-cold water, and he rolled the window down to smell the evergreen trees.  It was quite a bit cooler up here than downtown.

Carl directed him to a winding road on the left, and they followed a river higher still. Jordan could see the timberline high above them, where the trees just dwindled to shrubs, then to grass, and finally to bare gray rock with patches of snow on the shaded north slopes. He had to pay too much attention to the road to see if there were any goats visible.  If they were up there, it would take a great deal of patience to spot them. They would look like pale rocks, or small patches of snow, until one moved. He watched the river dance along beside him, rushing in the other direction. Once Carl was hospitalized for his delusions, Jordan would to take his severance, and spend a few weeks up here (thank God he had that in ink, and with bodyguard duty removed, too.) The beauty of the place always took his breath away. And scaling the peaks was a hell of a good workout, if you did it right.

Twenty minutes later, after passing a quaint combination café, lounge and tiny grocery store, Carl motioned him to turn off onto an oiled dirt road. He slowed down rapidly to avoid the ruts and the washboard marks made by logging trucks coming down with heavy loads.

Carl barely spoke, only gesturing instructions for the route with a loose wave here or there. After several turns, the road took them to a huge grassy field, the top of which was adorned by a castle of a house Carl had referred to as a "cabin.” The huge structure was made of gray stone on the lower half, with enormous wood timbers holding up a slate roof with sharp, steep lines, and a vast triangle of windows between diagonal roof braces. It was set against a backdrop of granite peaks that jutted skyward like fists raised in defiance of gravity. Jordan half expected to see a moat below the wide basalt steps that led up to solid mahogany doors. There was also an entrance on the side, covered, where a car could pull up and dispense passengers beneath a rain canopy. The driveway led past the canopy and around back. Roughing it, Jordan thought sardonically.

Carl had the thermometer in his mouth again, and was thumbing the data into his phone furiously. Jordan pulled up to the garage in the back. A short, covered walkway bridged the short distance to the house, which was nestled against a rise of stone at the northern edge of the clearing.  Carl jumped out of the car, motioning for Jordan to do the same. Jordan looked at his watch. It was 6:45 p.m. The sun was well behind the tall peaks, though the sky was still clear blue. The valley where the house was situated would have given a view of the sunrise, if it weren’t for the tall peaks beyond. Carl shoved the notebook into Jordan's hands, having taken the last reading.

"The contractor just finished reinforcing the storage room this morning. I'll need to have you watch me closely and record everything that occurs."

"Reinforcing?"

"Steel reinforcement. I'll be locking myself in. There are bars on the windows, all that, so I don't crash through and tear my skin like I've done before. I’m tired of having to find my way home every morning, and then having to bandage myself."

Jordan looked for scars on Carl's hands and arms, but there weren't any. He was angry that Carl hadn't mentioned this sooner, but he followed him in after plucking his bag out of the trunk, not sure yet whether he would be sleeping tonight. Carl was jogging into the covered walkway that led between the garage and through one of two back doors, the only doors Jordan had seen without stairs. It looked like a servant's entrance.

Carl stopped in the doorway and waved at the bright, airy kitchen with a series of brushed-nickel appliances. "Kitchen with stocked pantry. It's all yours; restock it as you need. I have accounts with the companies listed on the inside of the cupboard by the telephone, and I've already added you to several, including Rosie's down in Baring." He jogged down a short hallway toward the front of the house, then up a broad curved mahogany staircase that led up from the opulent wooden doors of the front entrance.

Jordan studied the astounding architecture and huge slate floor tiles while following Carl up the curved staircase. Once he’d left the brightly lit kitchen area, it was like some European "Tara," only darker. Carl turned left, then showed him a door that led to a bedroom.  "Your boxes are in there, or at least three of them are. If you own any more, they haven't arrived.  There are intercoms hooked up to the sound system in the living room downstairs, where there’s also a library of music on the computer and tablet, mostly retro-pop. The bath is down the hall."

Jordan stopped him. "Have you ever used a gun?"

Carl looked at him quizzically. "No. Why would I?"

Jordan dropped his bag and reached into the vest of the light jacket he wore, pulling out his pistol. "Smith and Wesson nine-millimeter. I keep it by the front door wherever I live so I can get to it quickly.” He didn’t mention the one he’d be keeping at his bedside. “You got a closet by the front door?"

Carl was staring at the gun.  "Ah, no... why don't you keep it in your own room?"

"Not much good there if I’m downstairs when someone comes up to the door."

"Are you expecting someone?" Carl asked quietly.

Jordan stared at him for several seconds. "How about the back door?"

"There's a closet there, but--"

"The gun goes in the closet. Don't touch the gun until I've shown you how to use it. This thing'll blow your hand off with the type of bullets I have in it. They're not commercially available."

"I'd rather not have it in the house."

"You get me, you get the gun. Live with it." Jordan put the gun back in its holster.

Carl frowned. "You work for me."

"And you live with me," Jordan repeated, meeting Carl's eyes.

Carl nodded warily. "I'd like to complete the tour, but I'm a bit pressed for time--" he halted abruptly, and Jordan heard the hiss of breath that was all a person ever heard of pain from Carl. He might be pampered, but he was never a coward. Carl dropped into a crouch, holding his rib cage. He finally crumpled to the floor. His flesh went pale, then he stumbled back up into a wide-legged stance, pulling his glasses off and tossing them onto a rug. "Mark the time, Jordan, and stay on my heels here. Your assignment has just begun."

Carl ran down the hallway, talking over his shoulder. “Keep a record of everything you see, and check the time at which you see it. Every move I make, every sound, the way I breath--" Carl stopped to clutch his arms and hunch over. Jordan checked his watch, then ran to catch Carl, supporting him as he slowed. Carl stepped down the staircase gingerly with Jordan's aid.

They went swiftly through a hallway and down another set of stairs. Carl seemed to be losing control of himself rapidly. He dodged into a room just off the base of the stairs and slammed a steel-barred door shut between himself and Jordan. Jordan heard the solid clink of an automatic locking mechanism, then watched through the bars as Carl dropped to the floor and immediately pulled his clothes off. Jordan was about ready to walk out when he saw Carl convulse, then stretch taut like a wire. Jordan started recording a video on his phone to capture what was happening, since he didn’t trust his senses.

Carl's arms began to shorten slowly and he shook his head, curly blond locks of hair flying away in large clumps. The palms of his hands sprouted thick pads as the fingers shrank to short stubs. The fingernails fell off and heavy claws gradually emerged. Carl's legs transformed more rapidly, shrinking in toward his body and seeming almost to bend backwards as his feet elongated to become part of his legs. His chest became deeper and narrower. His face twisted in a grimace of agony and his ears rose tall and triangular as they migrated like living creatures up to the top of his skull, which became narrow and flat. His jaw, upper and lower, stretched outward, and his nose turned flat and wet as it was carried forward on his lips, which spread wide and black as if splitting his face in two.

Jordan felt his stomach turn, then something at the other end of the creature caught his attention and he watched in horror as the monster's spine extended like a telescope. Throughout the process, Carl's skin appeared to be slowly turning gray as thick fur grew from every follicle.  The tail was the last to be covered with fur, which shot out to several inches in length.  Once the scene played out, it took several moments for Jordan to realize that there was nothing left of Carl. In his place lay a large gray wolf, panting as if exhausted.

Unable to think of an appropriate response to the situation, Jordan went with his last orders as he tried to catch his breath. It seemed like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the air. He breathed hard for several minutes, trying to get enough air, then checked the time and wrote it down, trying to hold the phone’s camera steady as he jotted down the pertinent details in a notebook, always returning his gaze to the wolf. What the hell had just happened? Carl was gone. There was a wolf in his place. Jordan had watched the change occur, and he didn’t trust his senses, but he had it on video. He’d have to review what the camera captured to see if it matched what he thought he just saw.

They stared at each other until the wolf pulled its lips back to growl, then leapt abruptly at the barred metal door. The notebook flew as Jordan jumped back in fear for his life, or his soul. The wolf shoved its paw between the bars, reaching out for him as it tried to chew on the metal. It wasn't long before the gnawing stopped.

The wolf stared again at Jordan, then appeared to dismiss him. It pulled its leg back in and rose to inspect its prison, pacing along the walls and sniffing carefully.  The walls were covered with vertical bars of steel, and there was a cage around the light in the ceiling as well as the small window in the top of the far wall. It proceeded to sniff the floor and walls, stopping in several places to test the metal with teeth and claws. It stood up on its hind legs to place its front paws on the wall, checking the high, short window, then paced back and forth a few times, and stood up on its hindquarters to scratch higher on the door, before turning around to sit, staring at Jordan with eerily human blue eyes. Jordan hadn't moved or blinked since he had marked the time, and he wasn’t inclined to, aside from blinking to quell the stinging in his eyes. He sat down, motionless. It was more than an hour later when he finally moved, his muscles protesting the tense inactivity. He pulled his pistol from the holster. He flicked the safety off, pulled the slide back to load it, and set it down next to him, still eyeing the wolf.

"Carl?" Jordan whispered. The wolf's ears swiveled to the front. "Carl," Jordan said, more loudly. The wolf showed no sign of comprehension. "Carl, if that's you, give me a sign." The wolf remained still, watching him. Jordan shuddered as he considered what he might do if the wolf attacked him. His fear of the supernormal creature before him warred with his need to protect Carl from this thing that had taken over his body. His mind shifted erratically from the belief that this was Carl who sat before him, to the idea that this was a monster superficially resembling a wild animal and that Carl wasn't any part of the shaggy grey form behind the bars.

Through the rest of the night, he and the wolf stared at each other, the beast moving just once to drop to its belly and rest its head on its paws.

After what seemed like days to Jordan, one of the wolf’s hind legs twitched. Jordan's eyes were stinging again, so he blinked, then quickly glanced at his watch. It was nearly 7:00 am. He stared at the wolf, wishing he could press his eyes closed for a few moments, but he'd let them burn forever if the wolf would become Carl -- or any human at all -- again. Less than a minute later, there was another twitch, more violent in the forequarters, and the wolf twisted to bite at its flanks. It was completely still for another minute or two before it arched its back suddenly and began to drool. Expecting something just as shocking as before, Jordan took out his phone to document the incident with the camera on his phone. The melting, shifting process began again, in reverse, but the fur and claws remained behind, falling out in patches all over the body of the transforming creature. The tail telescoped back in as the face flattened inward, the arms and legs lengthened, feet shortened, and paws resolved themselves into fingers while claws fell out and nails grew into place. The wolf became Carl, and Jordan was desperately gasping for air again. His vision began to fade, and he blacked out.

When Jordan came around, he saw Carl lying motionless, curled in on himself and naked in the incandescent light. Bits of fur still clung to his damp skin. Jordan was half inclined to go in and cover him; Carl had to be cold in the chilled air of the basement. Carl whimpered, then was still. His head was tucked in, so Jordan couldn't tell if he was conscious or not. Ten minutes later, nothing had changed.

"Carl," Jordan whispered desperately. Carl's flesh was covered with goosebumps, but he didn't shiver. What if he was dead? The loss of air had to have affected him as well. What had happened to the air? Had the transformation somehow sucked all the oxygen out of the room?  "Carl!" Jordan nearly shouted. Carl finally shuddered, then uncurled slowly. His skin was pale, almost translucent. Carl sighed, hardly looking at Jordan. His eyes were unfocused. He shivered again.

"Carl… You okay?" Jordan asked, not really wanting to open the door and check, but not willing to see Carl die, if that was what was happening. Carl watched Jordan's form as Jordan walked up to the bars.

"I’m conscious," Carl breathed, his drive to submit scientific observations taking over.

Jordan looked at his motionless body. What would a butler do? "Can I get you a blanket, a robe, something?"

Carl was still for a moment, then answered, "A blanket."

"Where?"

It took Carl a while to answer. He was staring at the wall. "Hall closet, top of the stairs, by your room."

Jordan yawned. He hadn't slept in twenty-four hours, and he was beyond exhausted. He jogged up to get the blanket, came back downstairs with a down comforter, found the release on the metal door and pressed it, watching the door open. Carl was still staring at the wall when Jordan moved forward to kneel and drape the comforter over him.

Jordan sat back on the heels of his black street boots. "How do you feel?" he asked. After quite some time, Jordan decided Carl wasn't going to answer, then a wispy voice filtered through the quilt.

"Fine."

Jordan swore. "The hell you do! You're tired... lethargic... apathetic or... something…” Calling Carl out made the situation hit home for Jordan, and he felt as if the entire world tilted under his feet for a moment. Looking at Carl, who was currently human, Jordan managed, “Are you hungry?"

Carl paused before nodding.

Jordan could see he wasn't going to get much out of Carl, so he went up to the kitchen to get some food. He found bread and a leftover Cornish game hen, still prepackaged the way the gourmet stores sold them; pre-stuffed, precooked, just heat and serve. What Carl meant when he said the kitchen was stocked Jordan didn't know, but right now he didn't want to take time to find out. He took both the bread and the hen down. If Carl was anywhere near as hungry as Jordan was, he'd eat both.

But Carl wasn't in the room when Jordan returned, only the comforter was. Carl's clothes were still strewn across the floor.

Jordan heard a click down the hall, and strode down the corridor with the food. He found a laboratory of sorts and Carl, stark naked, was pulling a scalpel out of a drawer. Jordan watched in silence, until Carl placed the scalpel against his wrist. Jordan dropped the food and lunged at him, grabbing his arms from behind and prying them apart. He felt something wet and warm against his hands, and prayed he wasn't too late. Wrestling Carl over, he knelt on Carl's chest, binding his right hand to his side, yanking the tiny, razor-sharp blade from Carl's hand. Carl fought like a beast, then collapsed, panting. Jordan was glad for his own wrestling experience. Carl was covered with sweat and blood, and stronger than he looked. Jordan checked Carl's wrists. They were fine. So where had the blood come from? He started methodically checking Carl's body. Carl gave no further resistance. There was blood spattered everywhere, but he quickly found the wound on Carl's belly, where Carl's hand had been when Jordan had grabbed for the blade. Jordan blanched as he saw how low on the abdomen the cut was. That swipe could easily have done damage to what most men considered a very important part of their anatomy.

"Leave me the bloody hell alone," Carl hissed, staring at the wall.

"That's not you talking, Carl," Jordan answered, holding Carl down with one hand as he looked around for something to stanch the bleeding.

"I haven't been myself for months. Just… Let. Me. Die."

"If you meant to die, you wouldn't have hired me. I intend to understand this before I let you go making permanent plans for a temporary mood. You’re going to take at least a few days to think it through, and I’m going to spend that time figuring out why you feel this way."

Carl didn't speak for a while. "I'm tired of it all, Jordan," he murmured finally. "I just want to get it over with.”

"If you die, I'll have to hire a lawyer to get my pay. Plan on living, if I have to chain you up."

"No!" Carl yelped, and wrenched free of Jordan's tight grip. Jordan grabbed Carl's arm and twisted it behind Carl's back.

"Agh!” Carl exclaimed. “Jordan, let me go! Set me free. I can't stand this. I feel -- trapped."

Jordan assessed Carl thoughtfully. "So, this is about being caged?  Have you felt this way before?"

Carl glared at the wall, his blue eyes fierce in the harsh laboratory lights.  "I've never been insane before!" he gritted through his clenched teeth.

“Have you ever been caged before?” Jordan asked. He could make no sense of the physical transformation, but he’d seen it twice now, once in each direction, so he had to accept it until he found a better explanation for what he’d seen. The man, however, he was sure he could figure out. And he’d better figure him out, his life might depend on it. "You're not insane, Carl, or we both are, despite your promises that it's not contagious."

Carl continued to glare.

"You're… a,” Jordan whispered, “… a werewolf," Jordan shuddered as he heard the nonsensical words fall out of his mouth.

"Bullshit!" Carl shot back at him, with a look of revulsion. Jordan wondered if Carl was possessed. It seemed just as likely as watching him become a wolf. Carl had never been violent before, even on the football field. His classmates called him ‘The Earl,’ with his British accent and civilized way of handling the game. The Carl he had known had been a calm, gracious person, if somewhat ignorant about other lifestyles.

"I watched you. You changed into a... a wolf," Jordan said while fumbling for his phone in his back pocket. He paused to fight down his own revulsion at the same time he retreated logically into a more academic view of the incident.

"Do you know how many different cultures have myths about shape-changers?” Jordan remarked slowly, hoping to calm Carl. “I used to wonder why.” Carl continued to stare him right in the eyes. Not like a lunatic, not like a demon, more like an angry young man, a side of Carl he’d never seen in several years of shadowing him in the school halls and the football field. "Apparently… there's some truth to it… and you're the proof. Whatever happened last night, it's no excuse for dying," Jordan paused, thinking for a moment that, actually, it might be. "Not until you know why. If you can't stand it, cure it.  And tonight, you might not want to stay in the room."  Jordan saw a hint of relief in Carl's eyes, confirming his suspicions. Jordan recalled hearing somewhere that a wolf denied its freedom would die. Maybe it was true.

Carl hadn't struggled for a while now, and the bleeding seemed to have stopped. He was still naked, which Jordan found disconcerting, as Jordan had never cared to be seen naked at all, by anyone. He had very little lighting in his bedroom for that reason. The closet he’d lived in under the stairs in L.A. had been ideal.

"Are you actually hungry, or was that just a ruse?" Jordan asked.

"I'm hungry �" starving, really. I'm always ravenous on these mornings. Except at times when I wake up with the taste of... blood... in my mouth and bits of... something like fur on my face." Carl looked sick.

Jordan felt his gorge rise, but he kept a straight face for Carl's sake. "Let me take care of this cut, then I'm going up to the kitchen and you're going with me. And for Christ’s sake, you're putting some clothes on!"  Jordan lifted Carl to his feet. Carl wobbled. "You have a first aid kit here somewhere?"

Carl pointed to a drawer, and Jordan found it stocked with alcohol, swabs, gauze and tape. Jordan swabbed the cut with alcohol, and Carl's abdomen tightened in shock. Jordan noted the apparent tone of Carl's muscles, and he began to devise a workout plan for upper body as he folded gauze and taped it down. "That'll hurt when you rip it off," he remarked.

"It's only fuzz -- it comes out a great deal easier than the hair on my legs." Carl was leaning against the counter, his legs trembling. Jordan helped him to the steel room, which Carl refused to go into. Carl stopped to grab the hen off the floor in the hallway while Jordan picked up the quilt. They went upstairs, and Carl began to rip hunks of meat off the bird, chewing briefly before swallowing.  Disgusted, Jordan wondered if Carl would choke, but it didn't happen. This was not the fastidious Carl he knew from the high school cafeteria. After devouring the meal, Carl turned to go up the next set of stairs, yawning. Jordan grabbed a loaf of French bread and followed him up to his bedroom where Carl collapsed, immediately falling asleep. An exhausted Jordan remained to watch him, cramping himself into an uncomfortable position so that he wouldn't fall asleep himself, ripping chunks off the loaf of bread and chewing. He felt himself drifting off soon after, and stood to pace back and forth. He finally decided to lean up against Carl's bed and sleep.

The next thing Jordan knew, something had moved and he was on his feet, whirling around in a crouch. Carl was awake, and rolling over to put on a robe. "Where you going?" Jordan growled.

"I'm going to the john. Is that all right with you?"

"I'll go with you."

"Have it your way, then."

Carl made no attempt to take his life with Jordan watching him closely, but he didn’t make any apologies either, and his mood hadn't improved. He went to a room on the main floor which had a two-story curved wall covered with ornate, wooden bookshelves and a ladder on wheels. Carl sat down in a recliner. Jordan sat in another. Carl pulled out a remote control, and a modern, roll-top, mahogany door on one of the flat walls slid away to reveal a large television. Carl flipped through hundreds of channels three times before Jordan reached over and took the remote control away.

"Are you interested in my notes? Or the video I took?"  Jordan asked.  Carl shook his head. Jordan was sure, now, that this was a sudden difference. Last night Carl had hardly been aware of the world for his interest in his notes, but his attitude had changed since the transformation. Jordan flicked the channel switch a few times and landed on a Three Stooges show. He hadn’t even had a chance to settle in before the horrific events of last night interrupted the tour Carl was giving him. He wanted to check out the house, unpack, look at supplies, start writing lists. Looking over at Carl, he sighed inwardly. Jordan wasn't going anywhere until Carl's eyes focused again. Of course, since Carl wasn’t wearing his glasses, he probably couldn't see very well. The screen was most likely a blur.

Jordan looked around to see if there was anything Carl could use to hurt himself with here. Carl had only slept for two hours and Jordan was still utterly exhausted.  He had to sleep even if Carl didn't. He noticed a tiny sword on a small figure in the bookcase and got up to look at it. It was a letter opener. He took the sword from the scabbard and tucked it into his pocket sideways, so it wouldn't stab him when he sat down. He found no other obvious hazards, and went to lie down against the door and fall asleep.

Four hours later, something suddenly dug into his back. He sprang up, knocking Carl against the wall behind them in the process. Carl must have been trying to open the door. Jordan grabbed Carl’s shoulder, pinning him against the wall. "You could ask," he hissed, his face barely six inches from Carl's. Jordan stepped back, exhaled, and decided he was done trying to sleep for the day. Carl walked through the doorway, down the hall, and out the front door. Jordan followed. Rain was falling softly, shrouding the trees in gray, and turning the rich lawn into a diamond-studded emerald carpet.  It was impossible to tell the direction of the sun in the overcast sky. Carl stepped down the staircase and headed toward the tree line.

Jordan wished he had left the sword in the library before following Carl.  It had slid down in his pocket and was now jabbing his thigh.  He caught up with Carl at the edge of the forest and found him leaning into a tree, his forehead against his arm. From the shaking of his shoulders, he must be crying. Jordan hadn't the faintest idea what to do about that since he himself couldn’t remember crying more than twice in the past twenty years. Not publicly, not even in front of his own mother. It made him uncomfortable to watch Carl like this, but he couldn’t leave him by himself. He wasn't ready to trust the young man with his own life yet.

The rest of the day was just as disturbing. Carl wandered listlessly in the rain, resisting Jordan's attempts to get him inside where he'd be dry. At six o'clock that evening, Jordan stood in the front doorway and looked over at Carl, who sat at the base of the front steps getting wet. Jordan had thrown a jacket over his shoulders again, and it hadn't fallen off yet.

"Carl, you're not staying in the room tonight," Jordan stated.

Carl nodded.

"That means you could be anywhere when you wake up."

No response.

"There aren't any phones out there."

No response.

Jordan cursed under his breath. Carl was not interested in helping, obviously. How could Carl let Jordan know where he was? It’s not like he could take an air horn with him as a wolf. But, if he howled... Jordan would have to stay up all night again, listening. And if Carl didn't howl, well…

"Carl?" There was no response, but by now Jordan didn't expect one. "Think about howling up there, so I can find you in the morning."

Of course, if Carl's mood didn't change by then, it probably wouldn't matter.

Carl was still on the front steps at 6:45 p.m. that evening, and Jordan was getting nervous. He started edging toward the front door, ready to dodge behind it and slam it shut if Carl suddenly turned into that damnable creature of the night before.

It was 7:04 p.m., by Jordan's watch, when Carl shuddered violently, then clutched his gut and bent over his knees in anguish. As soon as Carl's features began to change Jordan dashed for the front door, slamming it behind himself and throwing the deadbolt. He felt his arms shake as he braced himself against the door. He hoped the residual depression, if that's what it was, wouldn't affect the wolf... Carl. He watched what little he could see from the edge of the window, lights off inside with a bright floodlight shining across the yards outside.

Carl hadn't taken his clothes off, so all Jordan saw was writhing under the material. He focused on Carl’s face as it gradually extended into the wide-mouthed, long-nosed creature with black lips that had taken Carl's place just before the wolf took over.  Jordan's attention was on Carl's face, but it was turned to the side this time so he saw the profile of the forehead flattening out, and it swiveled on the neck so that the neck was coming straight out the back of the head, like a wolf's might. In a few minutes, there was a wolf in Carl's clothes. It tore the clothing off in a frenzy of shredded shirt and faded denim that gave Jordan a great deal of respect for the power of those teeth. Then, the wolf looked back at the house briefly before bounding toward the forest with several high leaps, like a puppy.

 

*     *     *

 

During the night, Jordan wrote up his notes on the events he’d witnessed the previous night. He found Carl's journal on a printout beside a computer in what appeared to be a den he discovered by walking through a set of sliding doors in the library. Another set of doors led to the living room. According to the diary he found, Carl had noticed some strange abilities in himself early on, such as rapid healing and heightened sensual perception -- these abilities were noted on files that had a later date at the top. He apparently hadn't considered them part of the same illness until just recently. After the first month, however, there was a steady degradation, showing the loss of those abilities he had just gained, as well as loss of weight in a steady, downward curve. The graphs attached to the diary showed several things, but what caught Jordan's eye was the projected weight loss graph. There was a red line drawn straight across the graph at one hundred and thirty pounds. The line was labeled "critical weight -- damage to internal organs begins." This line intersected the weight line on August 28^th, a month from now.

Jordan put the pages down for a moment, overwhelmed. His first job, it appeared, was simply to keep Carl alive long enough to figure this thing out, and to do this mostly by helping Carl gain weight.

Why hadn't Carl taken this to his father? The man was a distinguished surgeon who had pioneered research on several obscure diseases long before he started acquiring hospitals, and the money he had invested in those hospitals had come from that career. So why didn't Carl want him to know? And Jordan was sure Carl didn't want his father to know.

Jordan shuffled through the stack of documentation. He found a penned list, or at least the start of one. It was titled, "Possible Initiating Events" and there was only one entry: "Wolf bite, May 7.” Down below, there was a note, crossed out: "No known transferal of similar illness between wolf and man. No known illness involving predictable memory loss. Prognosis: Mental illness." Was this why Carl didn't want to tell his father about it? Below these crossed out lines was the message, "Yellow amoebic cells in blood sample. Unable to determine nature. Virus? Too large. Blood sample sent July 18."

Jordan put the paper down and rubbed his eyes, which were getting heavy from lack of sleep. He switched the computer on and it automatically brought up a window showing pictures of gates. Below each gate was a label, many of which ended in "website", but another caught his eye. It read "library”. His fingers struck the table as he snatched the mouse from its place on the mousepad, he was soon tapping keywords for the computer to look up in a search bar, including "werewolf".  He was disappointed to learn that most of the books he needed were unavailable electronically. Carl’s library gate was primarily a list of the names of books on the subject, what library they were normally hosted in, and whether they were currently checked out or not. "Guess money only goes so far," he muttered. He wrote the names of several books on a piece of paper and jotted the address of the nearest library next to them, along with several phone numbers.

After checking to see what else the computer had on it, much of which amazed him though little truly surprised him, he stopped to look at the piece of paper that read "Prognosis: Mental Illness."  He turned the computer off and went to the kitchen to make coffee. He hadn't had coffee for years, out of a distaste for artificial alteration of the body's natural capacity.

So, Carl considered the possibility of insanity before. Jordan had witnessed the transformation twice now, and he still questioned his own sanity, but the only way to deal with this situation was to assume that what he saw was real. If it wasn't real, it didn't matter, and if it was, he needed to be prepared. Once he had a cup of coffee, he went back to the den and started another list.

                  1. Neck pack for blanket and cell phone (& Food? Size?)

                  2. Signaling method? Check GPS signal in various locations.

                  3. Blaze trees? 

                  4. Buy groceries.

                  5. BAR WINDOWS!!! (steel rebar, MIG welder, torch)

 

*     *     *

 

By 6:00 a.m. the next morning, Jordan was pacing the field outside the house, several layers of clothes bundled on, adrenaline pumping from nerves and the coffee he'd taken after he woke up. He was afraid to fall asleep in case Carl howled, which he hadn't. It wasn't until 7:15 a.m. that he heard the howl -- a drawn out, chilling sound. He looked up at the peaks from where it seemed to be coming, made a point of checking the landmarks to either side for bearings, and headed in that direction.

There were trails most of the way, making travel rapid until he had to go a different direction. Two hours later, he heard another howl and came to a halt, checking his holster to assure himself that his gun was there. Carl should be Carl by now. The hell if Jordan was going to come face to face with a wolf, natural or supernatural. He said a quick prayer, not to any god, but to whatever force watched over fools who tried to help others. Jordan hadn't believed in a benevolent god since he was six.

It was taking too long to hike, even at the rapid pace his legs could lift him up the sections of the trail he found. Jordan decided to start taking shortcuts straight up through the switchbacks, where the trails zigzagged because the slope was too steep. He ended up panting heavily, nearly twisted his ankle twice, and slid down a less than solid embankment for twenty feet before grabbing a tree and reconsidering his options. He chose the trail whenever he could. Fifteen minutes later, the point was moot. The trail clearly went the opposite direction, even after accounting for switchbacks.  He heard another howl, this one rather weak, but closer, and he aimed straight for it, gun in hand. It still took him another full thirty minutes before he arrived at a rockslide where Carl sat naked, just above a path that cut through the precarious slope. Jordan re-holstered the gun while Carl disappeared into the forest after giving Jordan a brief wave. Carl appeared on the trail below, limping slightly. There was a trace of something brown and dry around his mouth that left Jordan disinclined to ask questions.

"Thanks so much, mate. I was considering the trail, but I eventually didn't know in which direction to go, and I didn't want to run into some poor hiker looking like this." 

Jordan pulled his coat off and handed it to Carl, then nodded, turning to lead the way back.

Carl stopped him with a hand. "And for yesterday… thanks… for putting up with me, and… for saving my life."

Jordan looked back at Carl, who was covering his naked form with the coat, then shook his head. "Don't get used to it. It wasn't in the job description."

Carl gave him a questioning look, and Jordan turned away. He'd told Carl he wasn't taking the job as a friend. He didn't need another friend. Especially not one whose life expectancy was in question.

Over the next few months, Jordan and Carl worked out a method for dealing with the transformation. By the time they were six months into the contract, they had remodeled the garage as a stable, bought a sturdy horse, and roughed out a routine. They also came to an understanding: Jordan did his job and Carl kept his distance. It took Carl some time to stop making overtures of friendship, but Jordan aided the process by being as difficult as possible. 

Author's Note

These are not your mother's werewolves; Carl is a human that turns into a wolf, then turns back into a human. There's no monster, no horror. There will be no dom/sub theme. These are sci-fi hybrids, as will become more apparent later.