The Howling III

Chapter Twenty-Three

Gradually Malcolm's pace slackened. His breathing grew laboured. He became aware of an ache in his muscles and the slap of his bare feet on the pavement. He slowed to a walk, watching behind to be sure there were no pursuers.

The shadows seemed to deepen. His listened to the tiny chirps and rustlings of the night creatures. The air was cold on his skin where the clothing was torn, and he realized that the transformation had reversed itself. Once again his appearance was that of a normal human.

He gathered the torn remains of his clothing about him and looked around to get his bearings. He saw he was on the state highway that formed the main street of Silverdale. A mile ahead he could see the scattered lights of the town. A couple of hundred yards before him was the neon sign for the motel where Holly Lang was staying. He hurried on.

There were only four cars pulled into the spaces to accomodate the twelve rooms of the motel. Curtains were pulled across the windows in the occupied rooms. In the office Malcolm could see a young oriental woman working on a crossword puzzle.

He crept along the wall to the motel room with Holly's Volkswagen parked before it. Softly he knocked.

When she opened the door Holly's shocked expression reflected the boy's dishevelled appearance.

"Malcolm, what happened to you? Are you all right?"

"Can I come in?"

"Of course." She stood aside while Malcolm entered the room. She led him to a chair, then snapped off the old movie that was playing on television.

Malcolm sat stiffly in the chair for a moment, breathing hard. Then he started to cry. At first he made an effort to hold back the tears, then gave in to them. All the pent-up sorrows, frustrations, and pains of his young life burst forth in uncontrolled sobs. Holly took a chair across the room and sat quietly, letting him cry it out.

After a while he subsided. He used the tattered sleeve of his shirt to wipe his eyes, and looked shyly over at Holly.

"I've never done that before," he said.

"Then it was about time you did. Everybody has to let the hurt come out once in a while."

"It does feel better."

"Of course it does. People shouldn't hold those things inside."

The boy's faint smile faded. "Oh, Holly, it's all over now. I've ruined everything."

"Why don't you tell me about it."

The boy spoke haltingly, glancing at Holly's face from time to time for a reaction. Mostly he kept his eyes downcast.

"Dr Pastory came to the tent tonight."

"How did he…" Holly interrupted, then caughfherself. "No, never mind. Go on."

"He… he wanted to take me back. He offered to buy me from Mr Styles. For a minute I thought Bate was going to do it, but he never would have. He told Dr Pastory to get out. Pastory grabbed him and there was a scuffle. Mr Styles choked and fell down. I was behind the curtain and heard the whole thing."

The boy paused. His gaze drifted off to a corner of the ceiling, as though seeing there again the events of the night. "I didn't want it to happen to me then, Holly. I didn't want to change. I tried to fight, but I couldn't help it. When Dr Pastory came to get me, I couldn't help myself."

"There's blood on your shirt," Holly said. "Did he hurt you?"

Malcolm shook his head. "It isn't my blood. It's his. Pastory's."

"You… attacked him?"

"I killed him, Holly."

"Oh, Malcolm, are you sure?"

"I killed him, all right. And do you want to know what else?"

"What?" Holly said quietly.

"I liked it. I hated him so much, both for what he did to me and for hurting Mr Styles, that all I wanted was for him to die. And when he did I was happy."

Holly stretched out a hand and touched him on the shoulder. "Oh, my poor, poor Malcolm."

"Then I went to Mr Styles and I saw he was dead. If I could have killed Pastory again right then, I would have. I ran out. People started coming toward the tent. I just kept running until I got here."

"I'm glad you came to me," Holly said.

"I shouldn't have. They'll be looking for me soon. I'll just get you in trouble too."

"You mustn't think that way, Malcolm. What happened was not your fault. Wayne Pastory was an evil man. Whatever happened to him I'm sure he provoked."

"But I killed him, Holly. I turned into an animal and I killed him. If they catch me, they'll lock me up."

"Not if I can do something about it," she said. "Come with me, Malcolm. Now, tonight. We'll go where there is help for you."

"Why should anyone want to help me?" he said.

"You are not to blame for what happened. You have to remember that. What you have is like a sickness. And sickness can be cured."

"But, this is… I'm… different," the boy said.

"Yes, Malcolm. And it is because you're different that you can't be held responsible."

"It could happen again," he said.

"We must see that it doesn't. You were put under unbearable stress tonight. The man you most hated attacked and killed a good friend. A lot of so-called normal people would have lost control too."

Malcolm was silent for a long minute. Then he said, "What can we do, Holly?"

"The first thing is to get out of here. I can pack in ten minutes, then we'll start back to Pinyon. There are people there we can trust."

Malcolm looked at his torn, blood-spattered clothes. "I can't go like this."

"It doesn't matter, Malcolm," Holly said. "No one but me will see you."

"I don't want to," he said, trying to cover himself.

Holly sighed. He was, after all, an adolescent boy with the normal adolescent's dread of being embarrassed. She said, "I might have something you can wrap yourself in, at least until we get to Piny on."

"I have some things in the trailer," Malcolm said. "Mr

Styles's trailer. I can go and get them."

"Do you think that would be safe?"

"I'll be careful. If there are people around, I won't go near it."

"I think you're taking a big risk just to pick up some clothes."

"They're kind of special," the boy said. "Mr Styles bought them for me. I don't have anything else to remember him by."

"All right, Malcolm, if you feel you have to. Promise me you'll be very, very careful."

"I promise," he said.

They walked together to the door. Holly looked out to be sure no one was around. Then she gave the boy a hug, and he slipped away into the night.

He stayed in the shadows of the brush at the side of the road as he made his way back towards the carnival grounds. Circling the perimiter, he saw that all normal activity had come to a stop. The lights still blazed, but the sounds of the carnival — the jangly music, the rumble of the rides, the talkers, the laughter of the people along the midway — were missing. A car from the Inyo County sheriffs department was parked near the entrance gate.

Malcolm slipped on to the grounds between the food tent and the shooting gallery. He could see a crowd milling around in front of the Animal Boy tent. A man in a sheriffs uniform stood guard out in front to keep back the curious. So far there seemed to be no one back where the trailers were parked.

As he made his way toward Bateman Styles's battered old trailer, Malcolm stopped suddenly. The breath caught in his throat. Ahead of him a man-sized shadow detached itself from the others and moved into his path.

"Hello, Malcolm."

It took a moment for him to make out the sandy-haired, mild-looking man who stood regarding him calmly. Then recognition came with a jolt.

"Derak! How did you find me?"

"We've known where you were for months," he said. "One or more of us was always nearby, waiting for you to call and tell us you were ready. Tonight you did."

"I called you?"

"We heard it from the hills. The howling."

"I didn't mean to do that," Malcolm said. "I couldn't help myself."

"I understand," Derak said. "The fact remains that you called to us. By now you have learned that you cannot live among the others as one of them. It is time for you to join us."

"H-how many of you are there?"

"More than you might think. There is a band of us now in the hills above this town. Some of them you will recognize from Drago. We're all waiting for you, Malcolm."

The boy peered into the darkness. He thought he saw movement among the shadows.

"Are there others here now with you?"

"Yes. You will meet them all when you join us. Come, let's waste no more time."

Malcolm hung back. "Derak, I–I'm not sure this is what I want to do."

The eyes of the sandy-haired man lost their mild look. They glittered, reflecting the lights of the carnival. "My son, you have no choice."

"But I do. I have a friend who says there may be a cure for me."

"Cure!" Derak snapped the word off like the crack of a whip. "Cures are for sick humans. You are not sick. And, Malcolm, you are not human. You belong with us. It is your only hope for survival."

Malcolm pulled in a deep breath. Although Derak seemed to draw him like a powerful magnet, he was determined to assert his own will.

"Dr Lang has promised to help me."

Derak snorted in contempt. "Dr Lang? That woman in the motel room? What do you think she can do for you?"

"I don't know," Malcolm admitted. "But she promised to try, and I believe her."

"You're a fool. She will only exploit you like that other doctor."

"No," Malcolm said stubbornly. "Holly is different. I trust her."

"You have much to learn," Derak said. "Not only about humans, but about yourself."

"I'm going with her," Malcolm said. "You can't stop me."

"Can't I?" Derak said darkly. "You don't know how easily

I could take you right now."

"Then you'll have to do it that way." The boy braced his feet wide apart and faced the man.

Derak made a sound deep in his chest. He took a step toward Malcolm. For a moment the light gleamed off his teeth, suddenly grown longer. Then he stepped back into the shadows.

"No, Malcolm, I will not take you by force. I want you to join us of your own choosing. I ask you once more — come with me."

Malcolm shook his head. "No. If there is a chance I might be helped, that I might live as a normal human being, I have to take it. I'm going with Dr Lang."

Derak's eyes glowed dangerously. "Very well. It is a foolish choice; one you are going to regret. However, the choise is yours to make. When you are ready to come to us, you know we will be near."

As Malcolm watched, Derak seemed to vanish into the darkness. A second shadow shaped moved too, and the boy was left alone.

He continued to Styles's trailer, relieved to see there was still no one around. He slipped inside, leaving the door ajar. For a moment he was overwhelmed by the familiar surroundings that had been his home during the happy summer months. He moved about, running his fingers lightly over the cupboard where they kept their supply of food for the butane stove, the board where the old man had been teaching him chess, the perpetually rumpled bed where Bateman slept, his own bedroll neatly tucked away under the fold-down table. Even the stale smell of Bate's Camels brought back happy memories.

Malcolm shook himself out of the mood and quickly selected a few articles of clothing. He slipped them on, taking the tattered old ones with him to dispose of along the way.

He made his way back to the highway, bouyed by the thought that in an hour he would be back with Holly. Then they could be on their way to a new life for him.

At that moment, however, someone else knocked at the door of Holly's room. Expecting Malcolm, she opened it to a surprise.