Lycanthrope Ch. 02

"Got any gum?" she asked Eve, who now sat behind the receptionists desk with a broad smile on her pretty face.

"Yes I do," she replied and fished into the pocket of her jeans. After a moment she pulled out a package of Dentyne Ice, the Arctic Chill variety. She opened the small foil bubble and handed one of the small white tablets to the doctor. Eve leaned back in the dark, rolling office chair and put her hands behind her head, "So... I'm assuming the party went well?"

Cat tried to suppress a smile as she chewed the gum, hoping it would be strong enough to hide any morning halitosis. After all, she had been drinking and performing an assortment of sexual pleasantries all night long. She wondered if swallowing semen would cause rank breath? As the potent flavor of the gum spread through her mouth like a heat bloom, making her eyes water a little, she figured it didn't matter. She said, "Damn, this stuff is strong."

"Yep," Eve agreed, her eyes dancing with curiosity, "Oh come on now. Tell me what happened?"

"Eve," she shied away, "A good girl never kisses and tells."

"You fucked Travis Goldsmith last night," Eve laughed, "Good girl my ass."

Cat laughed, genuinely feeling good. She had to pause for a moment to accept that small detail. She actually felt good, no more than that she felt alive and for the first time in years, she felt satisfied. After a moment, she said, "The party was a bore, but Travis was so..."

"Perfect?"

"Oh yes," Cat said as she leaned against the front desk, her hands in her lab coat, the memories of the previous still fresh and hot in her memory. If only Travis hadn't had to leave so quickly... and if only Eve had decided to not come in for work this morning... "We danced together outside in the dark, where no one could see us. It was insane, Eve. I knew what I was doing was wrong, but I couldn't help it. It felt so right."

"It always does," her assistant nodded, "So who kissed who first?"

"He kissed me," the doctor said, "It was a perfect moment, Eve."

"Nice," Eve leaned forward, her chin resting on her knuckles, "He is a good kisser."

"And then my car wouldn't start, so he drove me home but we-" Cat stopped, remembering the animal they had hit on the way home. That memory fell like a shadow over her good mood and she felt herself withdraw from the moment she was sharing with Eve. The memory of the incident was almost as unnerving as the creature itself had been. Travis had sworn it was a werewolf. Cat shook her head and pushed that part of it, determined not to lose herself in the queasy uncertainty gripping her heart.

"And?"

"And we hit a bear out on the old highway," she continued, "We both got a little banged up so we came here. The snow was falling so bad by then that we had no choice but to stay the night."

"Very nice," Eve grinned devilishly, but to herself she thought, 'A bear? Don't they hibernate this time of year?'

"We took off our clothes to get dry and while we were sitting in the lounge, one thing led to another and before I knew it we were kissing and then we were, well, you know..."

"How Cat Hughes got her groove back," Eve said, "I love it. Was he good?"

"Eve," she laughed.

"Seriously," she insisted, "I dated him back in high school, and he was good then. Has he improved?"

Cat looked thoughtfully at the ceiling and let out a satisfied sigh, "Let me put it to you this way: I orgasmed eight times last night, and I didn't have anything to do with it."

"He's that good?" she whispered, her voice lowered conspiratorially.

"Oh yes," Cat nodded solemnly, though deep down she knew that the reality of it was they were just that good together. It had been both of them working together that created such a pleasurable and memorable experience. And how they had worked together, every thrust, every caress and every slide of the hips a small yet crucial element to a larger sexual equation neither of them could have foreseen yesterday afternoon when they had shaken hands over one sick dog.

"Hello?"

Cat and Eve turned to see the main doors open and a woman holding gray peppered black cat in her arms in the entry. She was a strikingly gorgeous woman, her skin olive toned and her hair dark, filled with waves and curls that cascaded down to her red ski jacket. Tight thermal pants, as dark as her hair, fit snugly to her shapely legs, disappearing into stylish matching boots. The woman took off her sunglasses with one gloved hand and looked to the two with large, black obsidian eyes. She asked, "Are you open today?"

Cat felt the fine hair on the back of her neck prickle and rise as Sheryl Chirique stood in the doorway of her clinic, letting the warmed air from the heaters bleed out into the December afternoon. Eve stood up, almost defensively as Sheryl let the door slowly close behind her, her boots tracking slush across the light blue carpet. The cat she held eyed both the doctor and Eve impassively, possessed of an arrogant superiority that was all too common to her master.

"Yes, Sheryl," Catalina said quietly, her good mood slipping away as quickly as her inhibitions had last night. She clenched her jaw as the woman her husband had left her for strolled up to the counter and sat her feline down. The cat stretched, arching its back and then sat obediently next to her master like some caricatured pet in a Disney cartoon. The doctor put her glasses on and straightened to her full height, "How can we help you?"

"Princess isn't feeling well," Sheryl looked down that the well-groomed Persian, "Walter was supposed to bring her in last week but he had to go out of town. I've been so busy that today was the first chance I've had."

The casual mention of her ex-husband's name cut deep into Catalina, but she maintained her poker face. Sheryl was here more for the gloating than the welfare of this pompous little feline sitting on the counter, watching them all with piercing yellow eyes. This was a reminder that Sheryl had taken what was once Cat's, and there wasn't anything she could do about. Cat nodded and swallowed the barrage of obscenities she wanted to throw at the Greek real estate broker.

"What's wrong with Princess?" Catalina smiled genially.

"I think her stomach's upset," Sheryl said and stroked the cat's head gingerly, "She's been having potty trouble."

"Animal's do get the runs from time to time," Eve said bluntly, making no effort to hide her disdain, "After all, they do lick their own asses."

Sheryl looked at Eve, her mouth open and eyes wide with offense, "Excuse me?"

"Eve," Cat put her hand up, still standing toe to toe with Sheryl, "What my assistant means is that diarrhea is a common ailment with cats and dogs for a variety of reasons. I'm sure there's nothing to worry about, but we'll take a look anyway."

"You might want to consider teaching your 'assistant' some manners," Sheryl ignored Eve completely and then nuzzled Princess, "After all, even the lowest of us has to have manners, yes precious?"

As Sheryl bathed her cat in affection Eve soaked in the backhanded comment with all the grace of Korean kick boxer. She cracked her knuckles and bit her lip, ready to slug the slut right in the jaw. Had it not been for the look in Catalina's eye, she would have too. But the doctor looked at her and motioned for her to step away and prepare the exam room. Eve nodded and walked away, her eyes fixed on Sheryl like two lasers ready to fire and burn the woman's brain right out of her skull.

'Bitch,' Eve thought sourly, 'If I had my way...'

Once Eve was gone, Cat looked back at Sheryl and then noticed the dark circles under her rival's eyes. Sheryl always looked impossible perfected, and yet here she was carrying two extra bags under her vibrant peepers. Cat asked, "Lost night?"

Sheryl regarded her coolly for a moment, and then, "Sometimes we all have a little insomnia."

"Is that why you're here?"

Sheryl graced her with a patronizing smile.

"Seriously, what are you doing here?"

"I thought I made that clear," Sheryl replied innocently, "My cat is sick... understand, Cat?"

"You can call me Dr. Hughes," Cat said evenly, "We're not friends and we're not anywhere near being sociable, alright?"

"Are you refusing to examine my cat?"

"No," Catalina shook her head, "But we both know there's nothing wrong with Princess here."

Sheryl smiled and rolled her eyes. She lowered her voice confidentially, "Look, Walter picked me over you, Catalina. There's nothing I can do about that."

"You could have kept your legs closed," Cat replied.

"And that would have solved what?" she asked, her eyes filled with sarcasm and genuine amusement, "Walter was done with you long before I came along. We all know that. If it hadn't been me, it would have been someone else."

Cat wanted to argue, but she knew Sheryl was right. She said, "That's no justification."

"But it is an explanation," the woman said, "Look, he made the choice, not me. I told him either it was you or me. He wanted me, and I wanted him. That's it."

"Pretty cut and dried, huh?" Cat felt like laughing, maybe even laughing until she cried. It wasn't that she wanted Walter back, and it wasn't that she missed him. She realized that it was because he had betrayed so easily. She wanted him to be exposed for the fraud he was. She wanted Sheryl and Walter to have their comeuppance for such a horrible deed.

"It helps if you think of it like a game," Sheryl said, "Every game has a winner, and every game has a loser."

Cat looked up from her shoes, a sudden rush of anger flushing her cheeks.

"Okay?" Sheryl patted her hand.

Later, when she had to time to think about it, Cat would realize that it wasn't entirely her fault that she raised her hand against Sheryl Chirique. She figured it might have been the stress of her failed marriage; the sense of betrayal and the overwhelming purpose she had found from her time with Travis combined that allowed her to strike Sheryl. She even thought maybe she was still frightened out of her wits from the thing that had attacked her the night before. Either way, when her closed fist connected with Sheryl's jaw it hit hard and fast.

The cat jumped from the countertop, its claws scraping the slick surface for purchase to leap as Sheryl was forced backwards. Her arms flew out to catch her self but failed. She landed flat on her back, spread-eagled and hair fanned out behind her. Her dark eyes seemed to roll in their sockets as she groaned and sat up, her face white with shock. The doors to the exam room burst open and Eve hurried into the lounge, her eyes wide and mouth open. She looked at Catalina and then down to Sheryl, who was slowly recovering on the floor.

"Holy shit," Eve breathed, her lips twisting into an amazed grin, "What'd you do?"

Cat looked down at her balled up fist and found the knuckles were lighting through her skin in a muted white rage. Her hands were shaking and her heart was thundering in her chest. She felt hot, almost uncomfortably hot to the point of breaking a sweat. Cat had to step back as the anger coursed like a viral pathogen through her blood. She took a deep breath and calmed herself, a ragged breath escaping her lips as her nipples hardened in the confines of her bra. She whispered, "I don't know."

"You hit me," Sheryl stood up, rubbing her jaw daintily, "You fucking hit me."

"Wow," Eve laughed and clapped her hands.

"My lawyer will be in touch with you, you cunt," Sheryl hissed as she gathered up her cat. Princess, for her part leapt into her masters arms and looked defiantly at Catalina, her yellow eyes spewing all sorts of silent animalistic threats. Sheryl walked to the door, the left side of her face turning red against her tanned skin as she looked back and glared at Catalina and Eve. She said, "That's the last mistake you'll ever make, Catalina. When Walter hears about this..."

"Fuck Walter," Catalina heard herself say.

"I already have," Sheryl shot back venomously, "And from what he tells me, better than you ever did."

"Better put some ice on that sweetheart," Eve said, "In an hour it'll be as bruised as your ego."

"This isn't over," Sheryl said, more to herself than to anyone, "This is not over."

The doors slammed shut in her wake and Sheryl was gone, leaving Catalina and Eve alone in the clinic. Eve hurried to the door and watched as Sheryl made her way through the snow to her red SUV, got in with a good slam of the door, pulled out of the parking lot and kicked up waves of slush under the big tires. Eve laughed and leaned against the door, her arms crossed and her eyes wide. She looked at Catalina, "What the hell was that?"

"I don't know," Cat said, still looking at her hand, "I've never punched anyone before in my life."

"Could've fooled me, Doc," Eve walked over to her, "Looks like you laid her out flat."

"That wasn't like me," she said quietly, her respirations slowing down gradually, "I don't hit people."

"She deserved it, Cat," Eve shrugged, "Don't worry about it. She had it coming."

Cat looked to her friend and then back at her hand. Slowly she opened her hand and saw that her palm was cut in four places and bleeding. Her fingernails had punctured the skin evenly across the lines of her hand. Cat looked at the blood and realized that it wasn't force of the punch that had done it. It was her anger. She had been so angry that her fist had balled to the point of driving her nails into her flesh. And she hadn't even noticed.

"Catalina," Eve gripped her shoulders. Cat closed her hand again, not wanting Eve to see the marks. Her assistant smiled reassuringly, "It's okay."

"Yeah?" she asked doubtfully.

"Yeah," Eve patted her back, and then thought, 'What the hell is wrong with you?'

Catalina took a deep breath and tried to find comfort in her words, but couldn't. As they went back into the exam room, she looked down at the four cuts on her palm. She thought, 'What the hell is wrong with me?'

***

By noon, the roads were relatively clear of snow and life in the small city returned, announced by the sounds of chained-tires sloshing through the wet mix of gravel and slush and the occasional car horn. Travis had meant to go home after leaving the clinic, but ran into Sheriff Walsh at the main street intersection. The sheriff had been directing traffic and told Travis that a town meeting was being held to organize a search party. It was a blessing really, as he had no desire to explain the night before to his parents.

So, fifteen minutes later Travis sat in the back row of the makeshift sea of aluminum rod folding chairs covering the floor of the community center. He had been one of the last to arrive, having gone home to change and shower and get his heavy snow boots on. Twenty out of the expected fifty men had showed up for Sheriff Walsh's meeting, though Travis was certain that the snow had more to do with it than a lack of community responsibility.

"So where were you last night?"

Travis looked over at Carter Carson and sighed. His friend, one of the few from his graduating class that still lived in Breystaff besides Eve Walsh and a couple others, was the son of the local sanitation company. Carson Sanitation was the backbone business in Breystaff, also serving neighboring towns to some extent with their prospects high for even more expansion. Carter had harbored high hopes for getting out of the family business after high school, his sights set as high as Harvard University with a degree in law. Instead, he had remained behind in Breystaff and carried on the family tradition.

Carter was also one of the few black men in town, his family the only splash of color in a thirty-mile radius. While racial tensions may have soared in the abroad, any of those feelings here in the small community were eased and hardly ever anything beyond mellow. While lesser minds might have scrutinized this lone black family's place amongst a town of whites, and maybe even venture the opinion that they were isolated, the Carson family was also the richest family in town.

Next to the Goldsmith clan, the Carson's were considered local royalty. This was so not only because of their good natured relations and indispensable public service, but also because like so many things in Breystaff, and small towns in general, you never bit the hand the fed you. Black or white made little difference to those standing lower on the food chain, except maybe to some of the older folk lounging about the bars with more than a chip on their shoulder or the brainwashing of yesteryear's racial propaganda.

Carter was dressed as he always was, stylish and in trend with the modern African-American male. His ball cap was clean and tipped to one side (damn near sideways if you asked Travis) and a toothpick rolling back and forth across his full lips under the machinations of his tongue. Travis shrugged and said, "My parents had a party."

"Yeah I know," Carter said as a few more people filed into the community center, "But where were you? You hate those fucking parties. I thought you were gonna hang out with me."

"I was," Travis nodded, "But there was this girl there."

"A girl?" Carter's eyes lit up, "You got some, didn't you?"

Travis looked around and then smiled, "Yeah, you could say that."

"Damn," Carter punched his friend's arm twice playfully, "You dog."

Travis felt a beam of pride at the thought of Catalina.

"So who is she?"

"Is it important?"

"Hell yes it's important," Carter insisted, "I haven't been laid in three weeks and I have to live vicariously through white mother-fuckers like you. Who?"

Travis laughed, "You sweet talker."

"Come on man," Carter said, "Okay, tell me was she at least a good fuck?"

"The best I've ever had."

"She give good head?" he lowered his voice.

"Unbelievable," Travis confirmed.

"How many times you blow it?"

"What are you, a woman?" Travis eyed him, "What's with all the intimate questions?"

"I'm dying here, man."

"I'll send a wreath to your folks."

"Okay man," Carter sat back in his chair, "I didn't want to bring this up, but when I nailed Jessica Hollingsworth junior prom, who'd I let watch?"

"Oh shit," Travis rolled his eyes, "You had me watch because you needed pictures. That doesn't count."

"Maybe not," he replied, "But who put in a good word for you with her a month later?"

"You," Travis sighed.

"And who lost his virginity to Eve Walsh because of my good word?"

"Me."

"Damn straight. Now spill it."

"I came six times, she came eight."

Carter looked at him doubtfully. "Seriously?"

"No shit."

"That's my boy," he smiled broadly, "I knew you had it in you. Who was she?"

"Can't tell."

"Can't tell?"

Travis looked apologetic. "Nope, can't."

"Don't you go tight on me," Carter warned, "Or do I have to remind you about the time I caught you putting deer shit in Mr. Pollock's box of Raisenettes on our eighth grade field trip?"

"You dared me to," Travis looked at him.

"And you was dumb enough to do it," Carter said evenly.

"No deal," Travis folded his arms, "No telling."

"I'll tell everyone you fucked Margaret Jones."

Travis turned and looked at him, wide eyed, "Dude, you promised."

Carter stood up, and in his high-pitched yell said "Margaret Jones? What?"

"Oh God," Travis gritted his teeth.

"I thought they outlawed whaling!"

Travis yanked him back down into his seat as several people turned and looked at them. "Alright alright..." Travis breathed, "It was Catalina Hughes."

"Who the hell is that?"

"The vet?"

Carter thought for a moment and then his eyes went as wide as milk saucers. He covered his mouth and pointed at Travis, "Holy shit you fucked the veterinarian?"

Travis nodded.

"The good looking vet with the red hair and big titties?"

"Yes."

"Oh goddamn I love you," Carter hugged Travis roughly and rubbed his knuckles across his scalp, "You beautiful fuck."