He's Not a Man Anymore, 2/?
Title: He's Not a Man Anymore (a.k.a. The Lycanthropy Case), chapter two
Fandom: Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?
Rating: T/PG-13
Word Count: 3,610
Main Characters: Fictional Rockapella (Sean, Scott, Elliott, Barry), Greg
Summary: A less-than-desirable suggestion for Elliott's behavior is offered....
Will be posted to 10_hurt_comfort upon completion.
Chapter Two
Scott cried out in alarm and surprise as Elliott attacked. He fell back against the wall, reaching to grab Elliott's wrists. The brunet had curled his fingers into claws, aiming at Scott's face and neck. Scott caught hold of the other man's wrists, gritting his teeth as he forced them up and away from him.
"El, stop!" he pleaded. "It's me! It's Scott!"
Elliott growled, fighting against him. Scott gripped tighter.
"It's Scott," he said again. "El . . ."
Elliott's eyes flickered. Suddenly he went limp, shuddering, staring at Scott in confusion. "Scott . . . ?" he whispered.
Scott nodded. "That's right," he said. "It's me."
Elliott sank to his knees, still shuddering. ". . . What did I do?" he said in anguish.
Scott knelt down by him. "You didn't do anything, El," he said firmly, letting go of Elliott's wrists. "You came out of it." He could see that Elliott was in obvious physical pain as well as emotional agony, which was another element of werewolf lore. The werewolf was usually supposed to be extremely weakened after transforming back to human form. Whoever was doing this did not miss a trick. It was outrageous!
"I did something," Elliott exclaimed. "I did something, or you wouldn't have been restraining me!"
Scott took a deep breath. "You did lunge at me," he admitted. "And . . . well, you growled. . . ." He swallowed. "But you're not a werewolf! You're you. You're El." He blinked. "I mean . . . you'd still be you even if you were a werewolf, but you're not one!"
"See here. What's going on?"
Both of them started and looked up at the sound of Dr. Fenton's voice. The older man was frowning at them from the entrance to the infirmary, adjusting his glasses.
"We have injured agents in here who need peace and quiet," he said.
Elliott's shoulders slumped. "I know, doctor. I'm sorry. . . . I . . ."
Dr. Fenton raised an eyebrow. "You!" he exclaimed. "Didn't you cause quite a lot of commotion when you came back early this morning?"
"I've heard that," Elliott said, still subdued.
Scott stood up, helping Elliott to his feet as well. The brunet stumbled, but got his balance.
"Doctor, can we see you in private?" Scott asked. They needed to take someone into their confidence, someone who might have some idea what was happening. Dr. Gregory Fenton had been with ACME for years and was very loyal. Scott trusted him.
The physician blinked in surprise. "Yes, I suppose so," he said, "as long as there's not a lot more commotion."
"I can't guarantee there won't be," Elliott mumbled glumly as they followed him into the infirmary. "That's what we want to see you about."
". . . I see." The doctor frowned as he brought them to his office. Opening the door, he allowed them inside and then shut the door behind them.
"Alright," he said. "What seems to be the problem?"
Elliott held up his injured hand. "I think this might've gotten infected," he said. "I . . . I was out last night, like you said---but I don't remember it. When I woke up this morning, I . . . I found that someone had shoved something into the cuts while I was gone. . . ."
"'Something'?" Dr. Fenton repeated in disbelief. Quickly he came over, examining the wounds under the bright light.
"Dark fur, actually," Scott put in as he stepped aside. "You see, doctor . . . based on several things that we've been putting together, it looks like someone's trying to convince poor El that he's a werewolf."
"Sean's taken the fur to the lab," Elliott said, wincing as the physician studied the gashes under the bright lights.
"A werewolf, you say?" Dr. Fenton mused, not seeming at all startled.
Elliott felt a bit sick at his reaction. "Yeah," he said. "I . . . I never believed in them, but . . ."
"Someone's done something to him, too!" Scott said, the anger creeping into his tone. "He really doesn't remember leaving his room last night. But several people reported him acting . . . well, like a wild animal, growling and shoving . . . and outside the infirmary, he . . . he did try to attack me. . . ."
Elliott looked down, obviously still sickened by what he had almost done.
"I see," Dr. Fenton said. "And what happened immediately before the attack? Anything unusual?"
"I'm not sure what you mean," Scott said. "A Gumshoe came up to us and said that El had pushed her last night. . . ."
"Were there any strange sounds or actions that stood out?" Dr. Fenton said.
Elliott shook his head. "Just the same sounds we hear every day---people talking, the coffee machine going, the computers booting up . . ."
Scott frowned, looking back and forth between Elliott and the doctor. "What would that have to do with it?" he wondered.
"Maybe nothing," was the older man's reply.
He sighed. "Come with me into an examination room and I'll get something for this wound. It doesn't look infected yet, but let's not take any chances."
With that he led the confused Scott and Elliott out of his office and into a nearby exam room. While Scott looked on, Dr. Fenton began to treat the gashes.
"Didn't I hear you boys watching some werewolf movie last night?" he asked.
Scott blinked. "Well . . . yeah," he said. "Sean does that every October."
"And that was right before bed?" the man persisted.
". . . I know where you're going with this," Elliott broke in. "You think I sleepwalked the whole thing because I was influenced by the movie. Well, maybe I did. But that wouldn't explain the actual wolf-thing that showed up in the Bronx. And it wouldn't explain how the fur got in my hand!"
"Have you heard of clinical lycanthropy?" was the reply.
Elliott stared at him. "I don't have that!" he cried.
Scott frowned. "Until last night, El never acted like a wolf at all," he said.
"Be that as it may, here is what I'm thinking," Dr. Fenton told them. "When he went to sleep, Elliott was influenced by the movie. He got up, sleepwalked to the Bronx, and used a wolf costume he had found to terrorize the people there. Some fur could have gotten caught in his wounds upon either removing the costume or putting it on in the first place."
Elliott was not pleased. "And how would that explain me attacking Scott?"
"It could have been some sound you heard, or even the Gumshoe talking to you, that triggered that reaction," Dr. Fenton said. "Patients who suffer from clinical lycanthropy believe that they can turn into animals, frequently wolves, and may display animalistic behavior."
"But I don't believe it!" Elliott protested. "Until an hour ago I never would've considered it for one minute!"
"And where would he even get a wolf costume?" Scott said. "There's a cheap one in the prop department, but the one in Riverdale looked really detailed."
"All the same, maybe you should see if it's still in the prop department," the doctor said. "There was actual damage done in Riverdale, according to the news. That could bode very poorly for you, if you were responsible." He rebandaged Elliott's hand, taping the gauze in place.
"But if I didn't even want to . . . !" Elliott trailed off. He still would have done it. And it would not be the same thing as Barry being mind-controlled, would it. But he could not bear to think that he would have done such a thing! He was not that susceptible in his sleep! And he most certainly was not suffering from clinical lycanthropy. Either there was some other explanation . . . or he really was becoming a werewolf.
And did Scott really believe it when he said that Elliott was not one? Earlier he had mused that he did not know that he could say werewolves did not exist. What if he was just trying to make Elliott feel better when he said that no one could change into something they were not?
"We're going out to Riverdale today to check it out," Scott said, laying a hand on Elliott's shoulder. "Somebody there should be able to tell us more."
"Yes," the physician nodded. "Well, I do suggest you don't go out like that." He indicated Elliott's torn clothes.
Elliott looked down at himself. "I wasn't planning on it," he said.
"Be sure to let me know if any other . . . episodes happen," the physician said. "More than likely, I'll need to prescribe treatment."
Elliott shrank back. He was starting to feel like a mental basketcase under observation. And he was not crazy!
"It could be that the sheer number of . . . strange cases you've been on are starting to affect your mind," Dr. Fenton continued, regarding Elliott in kind concern.
"Why me?" Elliott ventured. "Why not all of us? We've all seen the same things. . . ."
"Maybe you're particularly sensitive," the doctor suggested. "It isn't anything to be ashamed of; it's a disorder that others have suffered. . . ."
"I don't have a disorder!" Elliott spat. "Not unless that disorder involves a real transformation into a drooling, mindless brute!" He whirled around, stalking to the door. "And unfortunately, I don't think you have any treatment for that!"
Scott hurried after him as he walked back up the corridor in determination. "El!" he called. "Wait up!"
Elliott paused, running his left hand over his eyes. ". . . I should probably go back and apologize," he said. "I don't know . . . I just felt like he was calling me crazy. And I didn't like it."
"I don't think anyone would," Scott said with a rueful smile. "I don't want to think that about you, either. But . . . if you did have that clinical lycanthropy condition, it wouldn't mean you were crazy," he said. "Maybe it'd just be because of stress. But I don't believe you have it!" he rushed on. "Someone's doing this to you on purpose. And we have to find out who!"
"Easier said than done," Elliott groaned.
"Let's go check the prop department, like Dr. Fenton suggested, and then you should probably get dressed for the day," Scott said. "After we eat, we can head up to Riverdale."
But at that moment Sean ran out from the general direction of the laboratory, confusion and disbelief in his eyes. He screeched to a stop in front of Scott and Elliott as they left the infirmary, breathing heavily from his wild run.
"What is it?!" Elliott exclaimed. "Did they find out about the fur?"
"They're still looking into it," Sean said. "But I just got a call from Barry. He was poking around your room, El, and get this---he found a wolf costume under your bed!"
Elliott stared at him, turning pale. "The one from the prop department," he was sure.
Scott shook his head. "It doesn't prove anything!" he said. "You weren't wearing a costume when you came back to ACME last night. How would you have gotten it inside without being seen?"
He had a definite point. But Elliott was still sick about the discovery anyway. If anyone else got wind of it, they would say he had been playing an unfunny and cruel prank. He could even be kicked out of ACME.
"Hey, I'll say this," Sean spoke up, seeing how downcast Elliott had become. "That fur in your hand didn't look like anything fake. That stupid costume from the prop department has really phony-looking fur."
". . . Which comes out easy," Elliott mumbled. But there was definitely a difference in the texture of real fur versus imitation. If the lab determined the loose pieces were real, then he could feel more confident that he had not put on the costume and terrorized Riverdale.
. . . But maybe he would have to worry even more that he had done far worse than just donning a costume.
"Let's not tell anyone about your new rug right now," Sean determined. "Let's see if we can find out something in Riverdale first."
He looked to Elliott, who had absently laid his good hand over his wounded hand. "What did the doctor say?" he asked.
"He didn't think it was infected, but he gave me a shot of something, just in case," Elliott said. "And he thinks I'm loco."
Sean frowned. "You told him everything?" he said as they started to walk towards the stairs.
"We had to," Scott said.
Elliott's shoulders slumped. "I attacked Scott," he admitted, the guilt obvious in his voice.
Sean stared. "You did?!"
Between them both, Scott and Elliott explained what had happened. Sean listened, stunned by the news of the attack and indignant at the doctor's diagnosis.
"He's the one who's loco," he declared. "To even think that you're a victim of this clinical lycan- . . . whatever!"
"Clinical lycanthropy," Scott said glumly. "It's when people think they're turning into animals." He started up the stairs, the others right with him.
"Anyone who'd really think on their own that they were turning into animals would need psychiatric help!" Sean snorted. "You'd never think anything like that, El---unless someone was making you think it!"
"Yeah . . ." Elliott said. He wanted to agree with Sean. He hated that his sense of logic was being challenged. He shouldn't even have to wonder whether he was transforming into some wretched beast. It defied all common sense. And the very thought sent chills up his spine. Despite what Scott had said, he would not feel like he was himself anymore if that happened. He would feel like a treacherous monster, not even deserving to exist.
Scott shot him a worried look at his noncommittal response. But before he could ask, Barry met them at the top of the stairs, glancing to Sean with a questioning expression.
"I told him," Sean said.
Barry nodded, turning to lead them into Elliott's room. Once they were inside and the door was shut, Barry bent down and pulled the wolfskin out from under the bed.
Elliott gaped at the worn and ragged brown fur. "It is the one from the prop room," he said.
"And it doesn't look like the one from the picture," Scott said. "It looks like the moths have been having a feast." He poked a finger through a rotted hole in the material.
"They just put it there to psych you out," Sean said in indignation to Elliott.
A frantic rapping on the door sent all of them a mile into the air.
"Guys!" Greg called.
Elliott relaxed, clearing his throat. "Come in . . ." he said slowly.
Greg ran in, a security tape in hand. "Elliott, this tape shows you stealing a wolf cost- . . ." He trailed off, seeing the costume Barry was holding.
Elliott stared at Greg. ". . . I stole it?" He sank back, running a hand over his face. What was the person responsible for his confusion trying to do? Supposing that there was someone behind this, of course. If he was a real werewolf, he would not need to steal a costume. But the costume really did not resemble the photograph from Riverdale. If anyone saw that old thing, they would know it was phony. Instead, people had been claiming the werewolf looked real, at least according to the article.
Greg shook his head, bewildered. "Can someone please explain what's going on here?!" he exclaimed.
"Sure," Sean said, "as soon as we know!"
Elliott lowered himself onto the edge of the bed. "So I'm either a vicious werewolf or a sleepwalking thief and hypochondriac," he said. "Any way I look at it, I'm going to be locked up somewhere. And I probably deserve it!"
His heart twisting, Scott sat down next to him. "You are not going to be locked up, El!" he said, putting an arm around his friend's shoulders. "You don't deserve it! We're going to solve this, I swear!"
Greg ran his tongue over his lips. "I'll tell you what," he said. "I'll run all this past the Chief. She'll understand something isn't right. Maybe she can help keep the heat off you guys while you're checking it out."
Elliott managed a smile. "Thanks," he said. He would feel better for the Chief to know what was happening. He did not want her to hear some second-hand story about Elliott attacking people and stealing a wolf costume.
"I'll go call her right now," Greg said. "Should I leave the tape here?"
"Yeah," Scott said. "We should look at it before we go. Maybe we can pick up on some kind of clue."
Greg nodded. "Okay." He left the tape on Elliott's TV before hurrying out of the room.
Sean went over to it. "Might as well pop it in right now," he said, shoving it into the VCR before turning on the TV and grabbing the remote.
The picture that came on the screen showed the prop department---quiet, empty, and lit only by several dim lights. Sean fast-forwarded past several hours of the same, stifling a yawn.
"What's that off to the side?" Scott frowned after a while.
Sean leaned forward, squinting at the TV. "It looks like a translucent figure shaking a finger at the camera," he said.
Scott gave him a look. "This isn't a good time for one of your Agnes Acme jokes," he scolded.
"It's not!" Sean defended himself. "That really is what it looks like! Maybe she thinks it's ridiculous for a detective agency to have a prop department." He hit Play, studying the apparition for a moment. Then, without warning, it was gone.
"It disappeared," Elliott said, his eyes wide.
"Maybe it was a trick of the light," Scott suggested.
"It looked like a ghost to me," Sean said.
He pressed the fast-forward button again. About an hour later, Elliott cried out.
"There I am!" he said, pointing at the screen. "And my clothes are already ripped!"
Sean clicked Play, watching as Elliott walked down the aisle directly to where the wolf costume was stuffed in the back. He pulled it out, then headed for the door, completely unconcerned of the camera and everything else around him.
"So this was after you got back from wherever you went," Sean mused. "That's interesting. I wasn't expecting that at all."
"What'd I do it for?" Elliott exclaimed, feeling helpless.
"Now, if we knew that, we'd probably have a large part of the thing figured out," Sean said. He fast-forwarded through the rest of the tape without finding anything else of interest. With a sigh he stopped the VCR and turned off the television.
"I don't think we're going to learn anything more here," Barry frowned.
"Except maybe more stories of how I terrorized everyone," Elliott groaned. He was dreading going to the cafeteria for that very reason. And yet he was hungry. All of them were; someone's stomach was rumbling.
"I have an idea," Scott said, seeing Elliott's distress. "Let's just go to Riverdale now. We'll eat breakfast there."
Elliott perked up. "Really?"
Catching on, Sean nodded. "It'll be a late breakfast, but oh well. Maybe we'll learn something useful there!"
Barry nodded as well. "Get dressed and we'll go," he said to Elliott.
Feeling hopeful, Elliott got up and crossed to his closet. "Okay," he said. "Let's do it!"
Sean really doubted that there were any other people who had seen Elliott last night. If there had been too much of a commotion, surely a group of agents would have congregated outside his door to demand an explanation. But the stories told by Mrs. Pumpkinclanger and Jessica could have gotten strung around by now, and that would certainly be enough to make breakfast at ACME uncomfortable. If eating out would help Elliott feel more at peace, then Sean was willing. Besides, they really might pick up some clues.
Without warning, his phone rang. Blinking, he took it out and answered. "Hello? . . . Yeah? . . . It was?!" His tone changed. "Well . . . thanks. I'll let you know if there's anything else."
Elliott looked over his shoulder from where he was standing with his clothes in his arms. Sean was already hanging up, looking angry.
"That was the lab," he said. "The fur's been identified. It's real."
Elliott let out a breath he had not realized he had been holding.
"It could've come from anywhere," Scott said, indignant.
Sean nodded. "Luckily, they said it didn't seem to be carrying anything," he said. "But they're going to run more tests to be sure."
Elliott nodded. With any luck, the fur could have come from a healthy wolf---maybe one in captivity. He was not going to think it had come from one carrying some disease---or from himself. Somehow he would force himself not to think it.
He crossed to the bathroom for the second time that morning. Several minutes later he emerged, dressed in his typical dark pants, red shirt and vest, and deep red hat.
"You're looking better," Sean commented.
"I guess I feel more like myself when I'm not in the clothes I was wearing when the werewolf attacked," Elliott said.
"Makes sense," Sean said. "Okay, let's get out of here." He hopped up from the chair, heading for the door. "I called Greg to let him know what we're up to. He thought we should go out using the less-used hallway. I was thinking that, too."
"For once, I won't protest," Scott said. The less chance there was of meeting other agents, the better.
"Did he get in touch with the Chief?" Elliott asked as they stepped into the corridor.
"He caught her just as she was coming in," Scott said. "She's worried about you too, El. . . ."
Elliott pushed his hat back on his head. "What does she think is happening to me?" he wondered.
"She doesn't know," Sean admitted, "but she thinks the idea of the clinical lycanthropy is ridiculous."
Elliott managed a vague smirk. "Well, that's something, anyway," he said.
Fandom: Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?
Rating: T/PG-13
Word Count: 3,610
Main Characters: Fictional Rockapella (Sean, Scott, Elliott, Barry), Greg
Summary: A less-than-desirable suggestion for Elliott's behavior is offered....
Will be posted to 10_hurt_comfort upon completion.
Chapter Two
Scott cried out in alarm and surprise as Elliott attacked. He fell back against the wall, reaching to grab Elliott's wrists. The brunet had curled his fingers into claws, aiming at Scott's face and neck. Scott caught hold of the other man's wrists, gritting his teeth as he forced them up and away from him.
"El, stop!" he pleaded. "It's me! It's Scott!"
Elliott growled, fighting against him. Scott gripped tighter.
"It's Scott," he said again. "El . . ."
Elliott's eyes flickered. Suddenly he went limp, shuddering, staring at Scott in confusion. "Scott . . . ?" he whispered.
Scott nodded. "That's right," he said. "It's me."
Elliott sank to his knees, still shuddering. ". . . What did I do?" he said in anguish.
Scott knelt down by him. "You didn't do anything, El," he said firmly, letting go of Elliott's wrists. "You came out of it." He could see that Elliott was in obvious physical pain as well as emotional agony, which was another element of werewolf lore. The werewolf was usually supposed to be extremely weakened after transforming back to human form. Whoever was doing this did not miss a trick. It was outrageous!
"I did something," Elliott exclaimed. "I did something, or you wouldn't have been restraining me!"
Scott took a deep breath. "You did lunge at me," he admitted. "And . . . well, you growled. . . ." He swallowed. "But you're not a werewolf! You're you. You're El." He blinked. "I mean . . . you'd still be you even if you were a werewolf, but you're not one!"
"See here. What's going on?"
Both of them started and looked up at the sound of Dr. Fenton's voice. The older man was frowning at them from the entrance to the infirmary, adjusting his glasses.
"We have injured agents in here who need peace and quiet," he said.
Elliott's shoulders slumped. "I know, doctor. I'm sorry. . . . I . . ."
Dr. Fenton raised an eyebrow. "You!" he exclaimed. "Didn't you cause quite a lot of commotion when you came back early this morning?"
"I've heard that," Elliott said, still subdued.
Scott stood up, helping Elliott to his feet as well. The brunet stumbled, but got his balance.
"Doctor, can we see you in private?" Scott asked. They needed to take someone into their confidence, someone who might have some idea what was happening. Dr. Gregory Fenton had been with ACME for years and was very loyal. Scott trusted him.
The physician blinked in surprise. "Yes, I suppose so," he said, "as long as there's not a lot more commotion."
"I can't guarantee there won't be," Elliott mumbled glumly as they followed him into the infirmary. "That's what we want to see you about."
". . . I see." The doctor frowned as he brought them to his office. Opening the door, he allowed them inside and then shut the door behind them.
"Alright," he said. "What seems to be the problem?"
Elliott held up his injured hand. "I think this might've gotten infected," he said. "I . . . I was out last night, like you said---but I don't remember it. When I woke up this morning, I . . . I found that someone had shoved something into the cuts while I was gone. . . ."
"'Something'?" Dr. Fenton repeated in disbelief. Quickly he came over, examining the wounds under the bright light.
"Dark fur, actually," Scott put in as he stepped aside. "You see, doctor . . . based on several things that we've been putting together, it looks like someone's trying to convince poor El that he's a werewolf."
"Sean's taken the fur to the lab," Elliott said, wincing as the physician studied the gashes under the bright lights.
"A werewolf, you say?" Dr. Fenton mused, not seeming at all startled.
Elliott felt a bit sick at his reaction. "Yeah," he said. "I . . . I never believed in them, but . . ."
"Someone's done something to him, too!" Scott said, the anger creeping into his tone. "He really doesn't remember leaving his room last night. But several people reported him acting . . . well, like a wild animal, growling and shoving . . . and outside the infirmary, he . . . he did try to attack me. . . ."
Elliott looked down, obviously still sickened by what he had almost done.
"I see," Dr. Fenton said. "And what happened immediately before the attack? Anything unusual?"
"I'm not sure what you mean," Scott said. "A Gumshoe came up to us and said that El had pushed her last night. . . ."
"Were there any strange sounds or actions that stood out?" Dr. Fenton said.
Elliott shook his head. "Just the same sounds we hear every day---people talking, the coffee machine going, the computers booting up . . ."
Scott frowned, looking back and forth between Elliott and the doctor. "What would that have to do with it?" he wondered.
"Maybe nothing," was the older man's reply.
He sighed. "Come with me into an examination room and I'll get something for this wound. It doesn't look infected yet, but let's not take any chances."
With that he led the confused Scott and Elliott out of his office and into a nearby exam room. While Scott looked on, Dr. Fenton began to treat the gashes.
"Didn't I hear you boys watching some werewolf movie last night?" he asked.
Scott blinked. "Well . . . yeah," he said. "Sean does that every October."
"And that was right before bed?" the man persisted.
". . . I know where you're going with this," Elliott broke in. "You think I sleepwalked the whole thing because I was influenced by the movie. Well, maybe I did. But that wouldn't explain the actual wolf-thing that showed up in the Bronx. And it wouldn't explain how the fur got in my hand!"
"Have you heard of clinical lycanthropy?" was the reply.
Elliott stared at him. "I don't have that!" he cried.
Scott frowned. "Until last night, El never acted like a wolf at all," he said.
"Be that as it may, here is what I'm thinking," Dr. Fenton told them. "When he went to sleep, Elliott was influenced by the movie. He got up, sleepwalked to the Bronx, and used a wolf costume he had found to terrorize the people there. Some fur could have gotten caught in his wounds upon either removing the costume or putting it on in the first place."
Elliott was not pleased. "And how would that explain me attacking Scott?"
"It could have been some sound you heard, or even the Gumshoe talking to you, that triggered that reaction," Dr. Fenton said. "Patients who suffer from clinical lycanthropy believe that they can turn into animals, frequently wolves, and may display animalistic behavior."
"But I don't believe it!" Elliott protested. "Until an hour ago I never would've considered it for one minute!"
"And where would he even get a wolf costume?" Scott said. "There's a cheap one in the prop department, but the one in Riverdale looked really detailed."
"All the same, maybe you should see if it's still in the prop department," the doctor said. "There was actual damage done in Riverdale, according to the news. That could bode very poorly for you, if you were responsible." He rebandaged Elliott's hand, taping the gauze in place.
"But if I didn't even want to . . . !" Elliott trailed off. He still would have done it. And it would not be the same thing as Barry being mind-controlled, would it. But he could not bear to think that he would have done such a thing! He was not that susceptible in his sleep! And he most certainly was not suffering from clinical lycanthropy. Either there was some other explanation . . . or he really was becoming a werewolf.
And did Scott really believe it when he said that Elliott was not one? Earlier he had mused that he did not know that he could say werewolves did not exist. What if he was just trying to make Elliott feel better when he said that no one could change into something they were not?
"We're going out to Riverdale today to check it out," Scott said, laying a hand on Elliott's shoulder. "Somebody there should be able to tell us more."
"Yes," the physician nodded. "Well, I do suggest you don't go out like that." He indicated Elliott's torn clothes.
Elliott looked down at himself. "I wasn't planning on it," he said.
"Be sure to let me know if any other . . . episodes happen," the physician said. "More than likely, I'll need to prescribe treatment."
Elliott shrank back. He was starting to feel like a mental basketcase under observation. And he was not crazy!
"It could be that the sheer number of . . . strange cases you've been on are starting to affect your mind," Dr. Fenton continued, regarding Elliott in kind concern.
"Why me?" Elliott ventured. "Why not all of us? We've all seen the same things. . . ."
"Maybe you're particularly sensitive," the doctor suggested. "It isn't anything to be ashamed of; it's a disorder that others have suffered. . . ."
"I don't have a disorder!" Elliott spat. "Not unless that disorder involves a real transformation into a drooling, mindless brute!" He whirled around, stalking to the door. "And unfortunately, I don't think you have any treatment for that!"
Scott hurried after him as he walked back up the corridor in determination. "El!" he called. "Wait up!"
Elliott paused, running his left hand over his eyes. ". . . I should probably go back and apologize," he said. "I don't know . . . I just felt like he was calling me crazy. And I didn't like it."
"I don't think anyone would," Scott said with a rueful smile. "I don't want to think that about you, either. But . . . if you did have that clinical lycanthropy condition, it wouldn't mean you were crazy," he said. "Maybe it'd just be because of stress. But I don't believe you have it!" he rushed on. "Someone's doing this to you on purpose. And we have to find out who!"
"Easier said than done," Elliott groaned.
"Let's go check the prop department, like Dr. Fenton suggested, and then you should probably get dressed for the day," Scott said. "After we eat, we can head up to Riverdale."
But at that moment Sean ran out from the general direction of the laboratory, confusion and disbelief in his eyes. He screeched to a stop in front of Scott and Elliott as they left the infirmary, breathing heavily from his wild run.
"What is it?!" Elliott exclaimed. "Did they find out about the fur?"
"They're still looking into it," Sean said. "But I just got a call from Barry. He was poking around your room, El, and get this---he found a wolf costume under your bed!"
Elliott stared at him, turning pale. "The one from the prop department," he was sure.
Scott shook his head. "It doesn't prove anything!" he said. "You weren't wearing a costume when you came back to ACME last night. How would you have gotten it inside without being seen?"
He had a definite point. But Elliott was still sick about the discovery anyway. If anyone else got wind of it, they would say he had been playing an unfunny and cruel prank. He could even be kicked out of ACME.
"Hey, I'll say this," Sean spoke up, seeing how downcast Elliott had become. "That fur in your hand didn't look like anything fake. That stupid costume from the prop department has really phony-looking fur."
". . . Which comes out easy," Elliott mumbled. But there was definitely a difference in the texture of real fur versus imitation. If the lab determined the loose pieces were real, then he could feel more confident that he had not put on the costume and terrorized Riverdale.
. . . But maybe he would have to worry even more that he had done far worse than just donning a costume.
"Let's not tell anyone about your new rug right now," Sean determined. "Let's see if we can find out something in Riverdale first."
He looked to Elliott, who had absently laid his good hand over his wounded hand. "What did the doctor say?" he asked.
"He didn't think it was infected, but he gave me a shot of something, just in case," Elliott said. "And he thinks I'm loco."
Sean frowned. "You told him everything?" he said as they started to walk towards the stairs.
"We had to," Scott said.
Elliott's shoulders slumped. "I attacked Scott," he admitted, the guilt obvious in his voice.
Sean stared. "You did?!"
Between them both, Scott and Elliott explained what had happened. Sean listened, stunned by the news of the attack and indignant at the doctor's diagnosis.
"He's the one who's loco," he declared. "To even think that you're a victim of this clinical lycan- . . . whatever!"
"Clinical lycanthropy," Scott said glumly. "It's when people think they're turning into animals." He started up the stairs, the others right with him.
"Anyone who'd really think on their own that they were turning into animals would need psychiatric help!" Sean snorted. "You'd never think anything like that, El---unless someone was making you think it!"
"Yeah . . ." Elliott said. He wanted to agree with Sean. He hated that his sense of logic was being challenged. He shouldn't even have to wonder whether he was transforming into some wretched beast. It defied all common sense. And the very thought sent chills up his spine. Despite what Scott had said, he would not feel like he was himself anymore if that happened. He would feel like a treacherous monster, not even deserving to exist.
Scott shot him a worried look at his noncommittal response. But before he could ask, Barry met them at the top of the stairs, glancing to Sean with a questioning expression.
"I told him," Sean said.
Barry nodded, turning to lead them into Elliott's room. Once they were inside and the door was shut, Barry bent down and pulled the wolfskin out from under the bed.
Elliott gaped at the worn and ragged brown fur. "It is the one from the prop room," he said.
"And it doesn't look like the one from the picture," Scott said. "It looks like the moths have been having a feast." He poked a finger through a rotted hole in the material.
"They just put it there to psych you out," Sean said in indignation to Elliott.
A frantic rapping on the door sent all of them a mile into the air.
"Guys!" Greg called.
Elliott relaxed, clearing his throat. "Come in . . ." he said slowly.
Greg ran in, a security tape in hand. "Elliott, this tape shows you stealing a wolf cost- . . ." He trailed off, seeing the costume Barry was holding.
Elliott stared at Greg. ". . . I stole it?" He sank back, running a hand over his face. What was the person responsible for his confusion trying to do? Supposing that there was someone behind this, of course. If he was a real werewolf, he would not need to steal a costume. But the costume really did not resemble the photograph from Riverdale. If anyone saw that old thing, they would know it was phony. Instead, people had been claiming the werewolf looked real, at least according to the article.
Greg shook his head, bewildered. "Can someone please explain what's going on here?!" he exclaimed.
"Sure," Sean said, "as soon as we know!"
Elliott lowered himself onto the edge of the bed. "So I'm either a vicious werewolf or a sleepwalking thief and hypochondriac," he said. "Any way I look at it, I'm going to be locked up somewhere. And I probably deserve it!"
His heart twisting, Scott sat down next to him. "You are not going to be locked up, El!" he said, putting an arm around his friend's shoulders. "You don't deserve it! We're going to solve this, I swear!"
Greg ran his tongue over his lips. "I'll tell you what," he said. "I'll run all this past the Chief. She'll understand something isn't right. Maybe she can help keep the heat off you guys while you're checking it out."
Elliott managed a smile. "Thanks," he said. He would feel better for the Chief to know what was happening. He did not want her to hear some second-hand story about Elliott attacking people and stealing a wolf costume.
"I'll go call her right now," Greg said. "Should I leave the tape here?"
"Yeah," Scott said. "We should look at it before we go. Maybe we can pick up on some kind of clue."
Greg nodded. "Okay." He left the tape on Elliott's TV before hurrying out of the room.
Sean went over to it. "Might as well pop it in right now," he said, shoving it into the VCR before turning on the TV and grabbing the remote.
The picture that came on the screen showed the prop department---quiet, empty, and lit only by several dim lights. Sean fast-forwarded past several hours of the same, stifling a yawn.
"What's that off to the side?" Scott frowned after a while.
Sean leaned forward, squinting at the TV. "It looks like a translucent figure shaking a finger at the camera," he said.
Scott gave him a look. "This isn't a good time for one of your Agnes Acme jokes," he scolded.
"It's not!" Sean defended himself. "That really is what it looks like! Maybe she thinks it's ridiculous for a detective agency to have a prop department." He hit Play, studying the apparition for a moment. Then, without warning, it was gone.
"It disappeared," Elliott said, his eyes wide.
"Maybe it was a trick of the light," Scott suggested.
"It looked like a ghost to me," Sean said.
He pressed the fast-forward button again. About an hour later, Elliott cried out.
"There I am!" he said, pointing at the screen. "And my clothes are already ripped!"
Sean clicked Play, watching as Elliott walked down the aisle directly to where the wolf costume was stuffed in the back. He pulled it out, then headed for the door, completely unconcerned of the camera and everything else around him.
"So this was after you got back from wherever you went," Sean mused. "That's interesting. I wasn't expecting that at all."
"What'd I do it for?" Elliott exclaimed, feeling helpless.
"Now, if we knew that, we'd probably have a large part of the thing figured out," Sean said. He fast-forwarded through the rest of the tape without finding anything else of interest. With a sigh he stopped the VCR and turned off the television.
"I don't think we're going to learn anything more here," Barry frowned.
"Except maybe more stories of how I terrorized everyone," Elliott groaned. He was dreading going to the cafeteria for that very reason. And yet he was hungry. All of them were; someone's stomach was rumbling.
"I have an idea," Scott said, seeing Elliott's distress. "Let's just go to Riverdale now. We'll eat breakfast there."
Elliott perked up. "Really?"
Catching on, Sean nodded. "It'll be a late breakfast, but oh well. Maybe we'll learn something useful there!"
Barry nodded as well. "Get dressed and we'll go," he said to Elliott.
Feeling hopeful, Elliott got up and crossed to his closet. "Okay," he said. "Let's do it!"
Sean really doubted that there were any other people who had seen Elliott last night. If there had been too much of a commotion, surely a group of agents would have congregated outside his door to demand an explanation. But the stories told by Mrs. Pumpkinclanger and Jessica could have gotten strung around by now, and that would certainly be enough to make breakfast at ACME uncomfortable. If eating out would help Elliott feel more at peace, then Sean was willing. Besides, they really might pick up some clues.
Without warning, his phone rang. Blinking, he took it out and answered. "Hello? . . . Yeah? . . . It was?!" His tone changed. "Well . . . thanks. I'll let you know if there's anything else."
Elliott looked over his shoulder from where he was standing with his clothes in his arms. Sean was already hanging up, looking angry.
"That was the lab," he said. "The fur's been identified. It's real."
Elliott let out a breath he had not realized he had been holding.
"It could've come from anywhere," Scott said, indignant.
Sean nodded. "Luckily, they said it didn't seem to be carrying anything," he said. "But they're going to run more tests to be sure."
Elliott nodded. With any luck, the fur could have come from a healthy wolf---maybe one in captivity. He was not going to think it had come from one carrying some disease---or from himself. Somehow he would force himself not to think it.
He crossed to the bathroom for the second time that morning. Several minutes later he emerged, dressed in his typical dark pants, red shirt and vest, and deep red hat.
"You're looking better," Sean commented.
"I guess I feel more like myself when I'm not in the clothes I was wearing when the werewolf attacked," Elliott said.
"Makes sense," Sean said. "Okay, let's get out of here." He hopped up from the chair, heading for the door. "I called Greg to let him know what we're up to. He thought we should go out using the less-used hallway. I was thinking that, too."
"For once, I won't protest," Scott said. The less chance there was of meeting other agents, the better.
"Did he get in touch with the Chief?" Elliott asked as they stepped into the corridor.
"He caught her just as she was coming in," Scott said. "She's worried about you too, El. . . ."
Elliott pushed his hat back on his head. "What does she think is happening to me?" he wondered.
"She doesn't know," Sean admitted, "but she thinks the idea of the clinical lycanthropy is ridiculous."
Elliott managed a vague smirk. "Well, that's something, anyway," he said.