Scar Ch. 01

Trenton Scarborough knew nothing but bitter disappointment and wretched loneliness during his young and formative years. Raised in the Louisiana state foster care system, he suffered neglect and abuse from the endless cycle of so-called "foster parents" only interested in the subsidy paychecks they received each month to support their addiction to drugs or alcohol; or both.

When unceremoniously dumped on the streets of New Orleans at age eighteen, he struggled to find a place in the squalor and ruthless dregs of society, ultimately finding a rudimentary means of existence in the criminal underworld. From one despicable job to the next, he slowly gained the hard-earned trust of the syndicate bosses, and was brought into the organization as an enforcer; not long after, his life unexpectedly changed.

Ordered to find and eliminate a syndicate accountant skimming the books, he tracked his target to a rundown shack deep in the bayou swamps. The moon shone briefly between the scattered clouds as he quietly approached the shack; his weapon of choice, a 9 mm Glock clutched in his hand.

Twenty to twenty-five yards remaining; the door to the shack shattered outward as an enormous creature charged toward him. Muscle memory, reflex or instinct, call it what you will, the Glock fired repeatedly until the monstrous beast was upon him.

Its deadly jaws clamped around his shoulder; fangs tore flesh from bone as it shook him like a wet rag as clawed hands raked his neck and chest. Believing this to be his last agonizing moments, he was surprised when the attack ended abruptly as the beast fell to the ground from its wounds, and with a low menacing growl, died where it collapsed.

Stumbling into the shack, he saw blood everywhere and his target torn to pieces. After wrapping his gaping wounds with what he could find, he grabbed a cloth bag containing cash and an accounting ledger. Torching the shack, and leaving the creatures fate to the animals of the swamp; he suppressed the pain, and walked the quarter-mile to his Jeep. Obviously, medical attention was of grave concern, and with hospitals out of the question, the only logical choice; his creole girlfriend and lover, Renée Delphine.

Jarring shock was the only way to describe the look upon her face when she answered the door. Close to collapse, his muddy and tattered clothes covered in blood, she helped him to the bathroom to clean his wounds, and exclaimed, "My God! Trent, what happened?"

"Animal attack," he managed to say.

Cutting away what was left of his shirt, and seeing the gaping wounds, she said with concern, "I'm calling an ambulance, you're going to the hospital."

"No! No hospitals; I was poaching on protected swamp land when attacked," he lied, and then continued, "Just patch me up as best you can, and please, keep this just between us. Louisiana poaching laws guarantee heavy fines with months of probation, including possible jail time."

In love with the man, and unable to deny his pleading, she relented by saying, "Your wounds require stitches, and there's only ibuprofen for the pain. So, man up, grit your teeth, and tell me about what attacked you while I close these wounds."

Between the painful pricks as she worked, he said with dread in his voice and a haunted look, "At first, I thought it was a black bear, but soon realized, that whatever this was; it wasn't any bear. As it charged, I emptied my weapon into this massive upright thing and it still kept coming straight for me; it's body, covered in coarse dark hair, was very muscular, like a gym addicted man; it had a huge dog-like head with menacing amber orange eyes."

By this time, Renée quit stitching, listening nervously with growing recognition of a familiar story believed to be a mythical legend. Trent stared at nothing, as though in a trance and reliving the hellish experience, "It's fangs clamped down on my shoulder and shook me with such force. instantly going numb, yet, flailing wildly about me, I thought my limbs had torn from my body. It was a come-to-Jesus moment; I was totally and utterly helpless."

Looking down at his upturned and curled fingers, he continued, "It had huge hands with long claws; not the round kind of bear paws you see on TV, but wickedly clawed human-shaped hands that ripped and tore my flesh mercilessly. I believed I was going to die at any moment, when suddenly, it dropped me to the ground and fell almost on top of me; Flat of my back, 3 feet away, but I watched it die; emitting a last bone-chilling growl, angrily cursing the gods because of a missed evil opportunity."

Shaking his head to escape the nightmare, he concluded, while fudging the truth, "Finding some rags in my Jeep, I wrapped my wounds as best I could, and drove straight here."

Noticing the look of fear on her face, he simply asked, "What?"

Confirming his own suspicions, she whispered, "The Rougarou!"

~~~

The following week, his left arm in a sling, and a visible roughly stitched wound running from his jaw halfway down his neck, Trent delivered the cash and ledger to his syndicate superior, reporting that the deed was done. When asked what happened to him, he simply answered, "A recently pissed off, and now, very dead bear."

"Did you look at the ledger?"

"Only long enough to confirm it was what you wanted. The rest is none of my business," he answered.

Looking at the cash in the bag, his boss tossed a couple of stacks on the desk, and said, "Take Renée on vacation, someplace romantic and out of the way; time to heal. Report back in a couple of months."

Taking the cash, and putting it inside his jacket breast pocket, Trent answered, "Thank you, Mister Marcelo, I'll do that."

~~~

The following two weeks, with ever quickening speed, his wounds were healing nicely; he began noticing heightened senses, exceptional strength and stamina, quickening reflexes with improved hearing and uncanny mental awareness.

He shared these experiences with Renée, reassuring her of his love and devotion. Together, they researched any information regarding the mythical rougarou, dogman or werewolf creatures. Their agreed conclusion; an isolated spot would be needed, because the next full moon would confirm or disprove their suspicions.

~~~

Leaning back against his chest, his arms wrapped around her; the secluded and luxurious rustic cabin provided the ideal location while offering breathtaking visual vistas from the lake below to the surrounding snow topped mountains across the forested valley.

"This is amazingly beautiful," Renée sighed, and then asked, "How did you find such a place?"

"A friend of a client was persuaded with a boatload of cash," pausing briefly, he added, "and a small amount of bodily harm," Trent concluded chuckling.

Knowing he was a dangerous man, she asked coyly, "Sir! Are you always so violent?"

"Oh, I can be playful ..., when it suits my needs," he said, causing her to nearly melt while nibbling her ear.

Suddenly spinning in his arms; crushing herself against him, she cried with deep emotion, "I'm so afraid; I don't want to lose you to this unspeakable madness!"

Unsure how to answer, and suppressing the ever-growing beast raging within him, he pulled her tighter, laying his head atop her own, and all the while thinking; come tomorrow night, the truth will be known.

~~~~

As planned, the outside surveillance system recorded Renée chaining a naked Trent to a large tree; satisfied he was secure, she kissed him and moved off camera. Deep inside a locked control room, she fearfully watched the bank of monitors, focusing on two in particular. Observing the moon peeking above the horizon on one, she noticed Trent becoming increasingly agitated on the other.

With each passing moment, violently shaking his head from side to side, sinew and muscle bulged while he struggled against his restraints. His breathing became deep rapid gasps, and his teeth grew into sharp fangs as his face stretched into a canine snout and ears elongated into triangular points. With knees snapping painfully backwards and feet morphing into large paws, his screams of agony slowly turned into terrifying guttural growls. As each bone splintered and broke, the transformation reshaped his body into a powerfully muscled and massive creature covered in coarse black hair.

Breaking the chains with clawed hands, the beast took several steps forward, raised its head, and triumphantly howled into the night sky; Renée listened in terrified silence as nearby answering calls joined his through the systems audio speakers. Lowering its head, and looking directly at the camera with eyes, glowing amber and a menacing fanged snarl, it turned and quickly disappeared into the forest.

~~~

Unable to sleep, Renée roamed the cabin, checking each shuttered window and locked door many times over while anxiously hoping Trent would return as the man she loved so dearly.

In the predawn darkness, a thump at the door caused her to jump with gut wrenching terror, scrambling to the safety of the control room. To her relief, the smiling face of her lover appeared on the front porch monitor, blowing her a playful kiss. Screaming his name as she ran to the door, she managed to open it after fumbling with the locks, and with tears streaming down her face, leapt into his arms.

Carrying her inside and kicking the door shut, she wrapped her legs around him while he kissed her passionately. Reluctantly breaking the kiss and tilting his head slightly, he smiled his handsome smile, and then asked, "Did you miss me?"

Her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open at his surprising audacity to make light of the events she had just witnessed. Her face turning to a frown, she beat upon his chest and yelled, "You bastard! I should kick your ass for putting me through this! I watched your insane transformation into a monster only the darkest nightmares can conjure. And worst of all, when you ran into the woods, all I could think about was how horrifying it must have been for you."

Carrying her to the sofa, he sat with her straddling his lap. Looking at her tear-streaked face, he apologized saying, "I'm sorry; please forgive me. I wasn't thinking about how you must have felt during all this." Pulling her soft body to him, she wept for untold minutes, until exhaustion claiming both, they fell asleep.

Leg cramps woke Renée first, followed closely by Trent as she slid her luscious body across to his chest, moving to his side, and cuddling his arm. "Are you hungry," she asked?

"Famished," he replied, "but first, I desperately need a shower."

Entering the kitchen while drying his hair, he said, "Look at me; notice anything different?"

Turning from the stove, Renée scanned his nude body from head to toe while walking toward him, then with an evil grin, and hefting its weight, said, "Yeah, I think your dick's bigger."

With a chuckle, he replied, "We can test that observation later, but in the meantime, anything else?

Studying him closer, still holding him firmly, she replied, "Your muscles are more defined, your hair thicker, and maybe your eyes a little bluer," smiling once again and giving him a squeeze, she added, "Yep, your dick's definitely bigger!"

"Keep that up, and you'll ruin breakfast."

Glancing back at the stove, she asked, "Who said I wanted that for breakfast?"

Removing her hand from his quickly growing member, and spinning her by her shoulders, he pushed her toward the stove, and said through his laughter, "You're an evil winch! Fix me four eggs, I'm starving."

When he returned wearing sweat pants and T-shirt, he helped set the table and poured the coffee. He ate greedily for a minute or two before saying, "After we eat; if it's all right with you, I want to watch the recording." Looking down at her plate, she nodded her head quietly, and they continued the meal in silence.

Pausing playback when the creature stared menacingly into the camera, Trent said, "I remember everything as though it was only seconds ago; every bone crack and pop, the unimaginable pain as tissue tore and reshaped, the insane animalistic rage coursing through my veins; then all of it abruptly stopped. Like turning a switch, my human mind was back.

Don't get me wrong, I felt the wolf inside, but this," he said pointing at the screen, "this was when clarity of mind returned. I knew who, and what I was; a sentient being, capable of rational thought and actions!"

Pulling Renée onto his lap, and pointing to the screen once again, he continued, "This terrifying snarl was intended to be a grin of recognition," and with a smirk, he added, "guess I need to work on that," and as an afterthought, said, while patting his chest, "I should have winked to let you know I was in control, here inside."

Returning his gaze to the screen, and gingerly running his fingers across the image, he said with whispered wonder, "I was so excited; yet, understanding why you'd never open the door, I didn't know what else to do but let the wolf run. The wind in my face, weaving through the forest trees at an amazing speed, jumping great distances over logs and streams; the keen smells, the intense sounds, the astounding vision, and the unbelievably immense power; it was incredible! Words could never do it justice."

~~~

Over the next several days, they enjoyed the wilderness; hiking, canoeing, swimming, picnics, reading quietly. Their constant companionship with serious to hilarious conversations, holding hands, looks of endearment, cuddling by the fire, and making passionate love reassured an unbreakable bond that would last a lifetime; a rare thing, and knowing your lucky when you find it.

As the full moon approached, Renée found an interesting article while researching online, and showed it to Trent.

It reads as follows:

The term "human werewolf syndrome" refers to the condition wherein a werewolf, while in wolf form, maintains its human consciousness.

Human Werewolf Syndrome is an extremely rare condition. It is a genetic abnormality caused by a mutation in the werewolf gene. This mutation occurs rarely and randomly in certain cases where two werewolves copulate to give birth to a werewolf child.

Werewolves (in wolf form) with this affliction are easy to spot. The mutation of the gene causes a distortion of the coat color of the affected werewolf. This distortion causes the fur to be all black or all white, rather than the usual mixes of browns, grays, and black of the common werewolf.

Thus, black and white werewolves are able to maintain the same ability to think consciously and reasonably as a regular human being, no matter what form they take physically. The two variants of the species do differ significantly from one another though in that white werewolves never take human form, even from birth.

[Partial reference from: Gods and Monsters.Com]

~~~

Beneath the light of a full moon and feeling that something was terribly wrong; Scars' black hair whipped in the night air as powerful muscles propelled him forward with blinding speed; acrid smoke assaulted his nostrils as he neared the cabin, then he heard the pleading, followed by a gunshot.

The burning cabin illuminated four men standing around the lifeless body of Renée. Before they could raise their weapons, three of the men died where they stood; the fourth, stripped of his weapon and hanging by his neck in the massive clawed hand. He tried to scream, but found himself emptying his bowels under the crushing pressure.

Scar slammed him to the ground, and while slowly raking his free hand across the man's chest, tearing deep gashes; leaned in close, and asked in a terrifying guttural voice, saliva dripping from its jaws, "Who sent you, and why?"

"Marcelo, you saw the ledger," he groaned before being disemboweled.

Cradling Renée in his massive arms; grieving and soul crushing howls echoed throughout the forest until only a raw and consuming vengeance burned within him.

~~~

Savagely mutilated bodies littered the exquisitely manicured lawn as a dark and shadowy creature leapt to the second-floor balcony allowing easy access to the inner reaches of the Marcelo mansion. Interior guards dropped like flies during the subsequent chaos; horrified screams ending in gurgling gasps as throats were viciously torn out; severed heads and limbs sprayed the walls red while tiled marble floors ran thick with blood.

With the opposition vanquished, Scars heavy breathing could be heard in the disquieting silence. Raising his muzzle, and momentarily sniffing the air, the unmistakable smell of fear led him to a darkened room. There he found a cowering Marcelo, justifiably whimpering with uncontrollable, mind-bending, terror.

The syndicate boss covered his head and eyes as heavy footsteps thudded closer, and then shrieking with fright when an evil voice threatened menacingly in his ear, "You'll never escape the atrocious beast you've awoken. Everyone you love shall die screaming; everything you desire shattered into dust; each grotesque and repulsive act will be laid bare and exposed; however, you, dear unfortunate Marcelo, I'll save you for last."

Grabbing the ledger from a drawer in Marcelo's desk, Scar, howling triumphantly, bolted from the room.

~~~

While waiting for forensics to finish inside, Detective Celeste Navarro surveyed the carnage found on the lawn. Sixteen viciously decimated bodies, and told that eleven more were inside the Marcelo mansion. "What in God's name could have done this," a uniformed officer asked.

"From the look of things, God had absolutely nothing to do with this," Detective Navarro answered, and then added sarcastically, "But on this one, everybody's going to need an alibi."

Having received the okay, she was cautiously led through the house to the second-floor balcony where the lead forensic technician waited.

Pointing toward the lawn, he said, "The tracks lead to this balcony; it's the point of entry, and judging by the bloody prints, also it's exit; moving up and across the roof toward the back, it disappeared into the woods," he said with experienced certainty, and then added with concern, "They appear to be dog or wolf tracks; I've hunted around this state for years, seen every kind of track imaginable, but nothing like this; these are enormous, suggesting it's huge."

Looking toward the front gate, she noticed news vans clogging the narrow street while video crews filmed ambitious reporters sensationalizing the gruesome scene; the coming media frenzy would create an investigative nightmare. The only survivor, Giovanni Marcelo, found shaken to the core and babbling incoherently, was secretly taken to a nearby mental facility for questioning and observation.

~~~

"Are you out of your fucking mind," the mayor roared in anger, "there's no way in hell I'm declaring martial law! Already hanging by its balls since Katrina, this city would shut down and never recover. I'll not leave a legacy of the mayor who drove a stake through its heart!"

"Local news speculation of an unknown cryptid stalking the streets is bolstering public panic. Responding to false sightings, our forces are stretched beyond its limits, the overtime is bankrupting the budget. If we don't do something soon, there won't be a city worth saving," the police chief responded.

"Your honor," Detective Navarro interjected, "I have a suggestion, if you care to listen."

His irritation clearly visible, the mayor spat, "Make it good detective; my patience is wearing thin."

"Since the attack focused solely on known criminal elements; a carefully worded anonymous leak to the press about an internal syndicate war could divert public hysteria away from a mythical unknown cryptid," Celeste suggested, and then continued, "Although, personally, I believe the damn thing did us a favor."