He's Not a Man Anymore, 5/?
Title: He's Not a Man Anymore (a.k.a., The Lycanthropy Case), chapter five
Fandom: Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?
Rating: T/PG-13
Word Count: 6,797
Main Characters: Fictional Rockapella (Sean, Scott, Elliott, Barry)
Summary: Vic the Slick does not prove to be a great deal of help. The guys tail Vivalene.
Will be posted to 10_hurt_comfort when complete.
Chapter Five
Sean was already pounding on room 213 by the time the others caught up to him.
"Open up!" he demanded. "We know you're there, Vic."
"Alright already," Vic retorted from inside. "Give me a minute. Sheesh, impatient customers."
He undid the latch and pulled open the door. But upon seeing four ACME agents standing in the hall, his eyes widened in horror.
"You got nothin' on me!" he cried, moving to slam the door shut.
Sean dove forward, wedging his foot in the opening and pushing on the door to keep it open.
"You're right," he said. "We don't. At least not yet."
"We need to ask you some questions!" Scott said, coming from behind Sean.
"Questions?!" Vic retorted, still pushing on the door. "About what?"
Sean was stronger than the sleazy con man and he finally forced the door open, sending Vic flying backwards with a yelp. "About your friend Elliott arrested the other day!" he said as he walked inside. The others followed suit, Barry shutting the door behind them.
Vic stared up at them from where he was sprawled on the floor. "What about him?" he asked, still sounding suspicious. But he also sounded interested. He would sell out anyone if it would benefit him in any way. Sean was hoping to use that to their advantage.
"He was running a mail-order racket where he pretended to sell stolen merchandise," Elliott said, stepping forward. "A lot of the stuff we confiscated had images of wolves."
"So?" Vic shrugged. "Wolves are pretty popular. Stuff with wolves fetch big bucks."
"Did you see his collection?" Sean asked.
". . . I've got the right to say nothin'," Vic said.
Scott sighed. "We're not going to arrest you," he said. "We need to know the answer."
"But judging from your unwillingness to say, that in itself is an answer," Barry grunted.
"Okay! So I saw it." Vic got up, throwing his hands in the air.
"Do you remember a ring?" Elliott asked.
"There were lots of rings," Vic objected.
"This one had an engraving of a wolf and a weird Latin inscription," Elliott said.
"I don't know any Latin," Vic said. "I wouldn't know it if I saw it."
"It had the word transmuto," Elliott said.
"Trans . . . okay, yeah, I remember that." Vic blinked at him. "What're you asking me for, anyway? You've got the ring now."
Elliott ignored the question. "Did your friend say anything about it?" he wanted to know.
"Like what?" Vic retorted.
"Like what he thought of it," Sean said, "or if there were any legends connected with it."
"Legends?" Vic scoffed. "Don't tell me you agents are goin' in for that stuff now."
Scott's patience was starting to wear thin. "Did he say anything?" he demanded, an edge slipping into his voice.
"He just said he grabbed it from some museum exhibit on sorcery," Vic said. "And . . . oh yeah, there was a rumor that if you read the words aloud a few times, you'd get cursed into bein' a wolf."
Just as Scott had thought. "He didn't believe in it, did he?" he said.
"What? You've gotta be kidding," Vic said. "Of course he didn't! But . . . he didn't read the words aloud anyway. No sense takin' chances."
"What kind of person is he?" Barry asked.
"No worse than me," Vic said.
"No offense, but that's really not saying much," Sean said.
"Is he vindictive?" Scott wanted to know. "Would he try to get revenge on someone he was mad at?"
"No time for that!" Vic said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "There's always new deals to make, new suckers to swin . . ." He trailed off. ". . . He just wouldn't bother," he said instead.
"I didn't think so," Sean said. But the hope that they could connect the case with Elliott's problem had been their main lead. If they were completely unrelated mysteries, then it was back to square one.
Except for the little fact of Vivalene entering the picture. She had to be part of Elliott's problem, even if Vic's associate was not!
"Do you know a woman calling herself Vivalene?" Sean asked.
Vic ran a hand through his hair as if to smooth it down. "That Vifa, what a woman," he said, a strange grin coming over his features.
Now maybe they were going to get somewhere. Elliott felt a bit of hope returning.
"Did you see her last night?" he wanted to know.
"Last night?" Vic repeated. "Weren't you her squeeze last night, kid?"
Elliott's mouth dropped open. "No!" he exclaimed.
Vic draped an arm around Elliott's shoulders. "You don't havta be shy about it," he said. "Your pals wouldn't think any less of you. Though . . . if they've got any taste, they might be jealous. Say, if you're looking for a wedding ring, I know where you can get a steal on . . ."
Elliott's eyes flashed. Repulsed, he shoved Vic's arm away from him. "I don't need a wedding ring!" he snapped. "But I want you to tell me everything you can about last night. What did we do?"
Vic grinned. "Oh, I just dropped by Vifa's room for a nightcap and found you in there with her, cozying up on the couch," he said. "Course, I'm not sure what you were doin' before that. And it's not any of my business anyway . . ."
"What time was that?" Scott demanded. Somehow he had to resist the urge to punch Vic in the face.
"About one-thirty," Vic said.
"Did you stick around?" Sean asked.
"You kidding? I was gonna turn around and leave! But Vifa insisted on us all sharing a drink together," Vic shrugged.
Elliott frowned. If Vic was telling the truth, then Vivalene had also lied about not giving him anything to drink. Though, if he remembered right, she had not actually confirmed or denied it; she had just acted angry that Scott asked if there had been anything extra in such a drink.
"So did we have one?" he wondered.
"Yeah," Vic said. "A toast to us, Vifa said." He raised his hand in a toasting gesture. "You gulped it down really fast and started to choke and hiccup." He sniggered. "Can't hold your liquor, kid."
Elliott ran a hand over his face. "So I was drunk?" he said in disbelief. "The clerk said I wasn't. . . ."
"Nah, you weren't flat-out drunk," Vic said. "But a couple more and I bet'cha would've been fallin' all over the place."
". . . How was I acting when you first came in?" Elliott demanded, deciding a change of subject was in order. "I mean . . ." He turned red. How could he phrase the question "Was I acting like Don Juan reborn?" without feeling like hiding under the couch?
"Jittery," Vic grinned. "Like you're actin' now. I'm tellin' ya, bein' around a woman like that---even just thinkin' of her---really does something to you! We both felt it!"
Barry shook his head. Vic was quite obviously infatuated with her himself, which was a twist that could be important. If Vivalene wanted, she might try to wrap Vic around her finger and get him to do things for her . . . such as helping to make poor Elliott think he was a werewolf. Vic would not be interested in doing such a thing on his own, but if he considered that he was helping a woman he "loved", he just might do it then.
And he could not help wondering what Carmen would think of Vic's interest in Vivalene. He doubted she would approve.
Elliott struggled to regain his composure. "How long have you known her?" he queried.
"Oh . . . years now," Vic said. "I could give you the exact date, time, location . . ."
"Is it a coincidence that you're both in the same hotel right now?" Scott interrupted.
"Sure!" Vic said. "I had no idea she was boardin' here too. We just ran into each other yesterday afternoon when we were gettin' registered."
"So, why are you here?" Scott persisted.
"You know me, I'm a traveling salesman," Vic replied. "I go all over the place. I've got some great watches today---24-karat gold!" He pulled open his plaid jacket, revealing an assortment of timepieces attached to the lining.
"No thanks," Sean said. Probably gold-plated, he thought to himself.
"You'll never find a deal like this anywhere else!" Vic insisted.
"That's probably true," Scott muttered. "I don't think such a bad deal would exist anywhere else."
Elliott overheard. He turned away, covering his mouth as he snickered.
"What about Vivalene?" Sean asked. "Why is she here?"
"She said she was checkin' out the sights," Vic said. "A self-proclaimed vacation."
"What kind of work does she do?" Scott inquired.
"A little bit of everything," Vic said with a shrug. "And now if you'll excuse me, I'm a very busy man."
Sean sighed. It was not likely that they could get anything else out of him.
"Alright," he said as he began to back up towards the door, "but if you try selling your junk to anyone, we'll be back to stick you in jail faster than you can say 'This is Joey Joey on ACME Home-Spending Net'!"
Vic's eyes flamed. "Don't bring up that sleazy salesman in my presence!" he ranted, shaking a fist at them as Barry opened the door and they stepped into the hall. "I'm surprised they don't kick him off the air!"
Sean just shrugged. "At least his show is more entertaining to watch," he smirked. "You wouldn't last a day."
"As if I don't have better things to do than host a show on a station connected with ACME," Vic said. "Joey Joey doesn't even get out and mingle with people! All he does is talk to the camera. He probably just loves to hear himself talk."
"You know, I think you're jealous," Sean grinned, unable to resist.
"Jealous?!" Vic fumed. "Let me tell you, mister, I'm . . ."
But Sean was waving goodbye as he and the others headed back up the corridor. Vic yelled something unintelligible before slamming the door shut.
Elliott jumped at the sound. "I think you really showed him up there," he said to Sean.
"I think so too," Sean smirked. "But I think he really is jealous. After all, Joey Joey may be fast-talking, but he's relatively honest, and he always gets plenty of viewers and callers. I wonder how much junk Greg's accumulated by now just from watching his show."
Scott grabbed his arm to silence him. "Vivalene's leaving!" he hissed.
The quartet froze. Up at the other end of the hall, Vivalene was opening the door to her room and stepping into the corridor. She carried a purse over her arm and the now-closed parasol on her shoulder. After pulling the door shut, she headed for the stairs, never looking in the detectives' direction.
"Let's follow her," Sean said in an undertone when her footsteps were heard on the stairs. The others agreed and they crept forward, slipping down the stairs as Vivalene reached the bottom.
She waved to the desk clerk. "Goodbye for now, darling," she called. "I should be back late tonight."
"I'll be counting the seconds," the tired man replied with heavy sarcasm.
Vivalene smirked, heading out the door.
The clerk sighed, watching as the detectives hurried to the bottom. "She never gives up," he said. "Even though I've said I'm not interested.
"Did you find that guy?!" he demanded.
"Yeah," Sean said, "but we'll have to talk about it later. We have a femme fatale to follow!" He hurried out the door, Scott, Elliott, and Barry right on his heels.
Vivalene went directly to her car in the parking lot. While Rockapella observed, she revved the engine and headed for the nearest exit. Immediately the guys scrambled to get into their own car and begin the Chase.
If Vivalene knew she was being pursued, she did not care. Instead she proceeded with calm deliberation to the Major Deegan Expressway as the ACME agents followed.
"What's she up to?!" Scott frowned.
"She sure acts like she knows where she's going," Elliott remarked.
They traveled along the expressway until it merged with Interstate-287. Then Vivalene began to study road signs.
"She's turning on Exit 9!" Scott announced after a bit.
"Tarrytown?" Sean said with a raised eyebrow.
Elliott's eyes narrowed. "I have a weird feeling about this . . ." he muttered.
They passed from Route 119 to Route 9 as Vivalene continued to press forward with an obvious destination in mind. She began to slow as they reached Tarrytown, looking at buildings as if searching for addresses. Not finding what she wanted, she kept going.
"Guys?" Scott spoke after a moment. "We just passed into Sleepy Hollow."
Sean frowned. "I knew it," he said. "We're on a case about werewolves and Vivalene wants to visit the Headless Horseman."
She brought her car to a halt in front of a quaint, large home with a For Sale sign in front. She alighted, still taking no notice of the dark blue car behind her, and moved up the walk, her high-heels clicking on the concrete.
Sean parked across the street. "So maybe she's just got an appointment to see this place," he mused.
"Or the realtor," Elliott said, rolling his eyes as he watched her begin to flirt with the man who opened the door. Had they just come here on a wild goose chase?
As she was about to step inside, Vivalene turned, directly facing their car. She smirked, blowing them a kiss before vanishing through the doorway.
Sean slapped his forehead. "She knew all along that we were following her!" he exclaimed.
"And she probably didn't try to lose us because she knew we wouldn't learn anything if we came along!" Scott said in frustration.
Elliott placed a hand to his forehead. ". . . I'm not feeling so hot," he mumbled.
Immediately Scott turned to his best friend, worried. Was he going to have another spell?
"El?" he said, reaching out with caution. "Maybe you should lay down. I could sit on the floor while we're parked here. . . ."
Instead Elliott grabbed for the door handle. "I need some fresh air," he said. Throwing the door open before Scott could stop him, he staggered out onto the sidewalk. Then, without warning, he bolted.
Scott stared in disbelief. "El?!" he cried. "Elliott, what are you doing?!" He leaped out of the car as well. "It's like what the clerk described he did last night!" he exclaimed.
He tore off down the street in hot pursuit of the brunet. Sean and Barry were already exiting the car to give chase. Vivalene could look at her house without them. Catching up to Elliott was more important.
By now Elliott was rounding a corner. Not about to give up, the other three dashed around it too.
"Do you see him?" Sean asked in concern. He and Barry had easily caught up with Scott, but Elliott had already had a headstart.
Scott looked about in desperation. "There!" he said, pointing at Elliott leaping over a fence. He narrowed his eyes, sickened as he ran after his friend again. What had Vivalene done to him last night? Both then and now he had spooked as if the Devil was chasing him. And of course there had been his bizarre behavior in the morning, but Vivalene had not been present then. What was the connection?!
He vaulted over the fence. "El!" he called. "El, come back! You shouldn't be running around by yourself!" He took off running through the backyard. Hopefully the owner would not happen to be at home. The last thing they needed right now was to be delayed. He already could not see where Elliott had gone.
"El! Where are you?!" he cried. Sean and Barry added their own voices, but there was no reply.
Scott ran around the side of the yard, then out to the sidewalk. "El!" But it was hopeless. Elliott would not, or could not, answer. The blond's shoulders slumped.
"He's just gone," he said hopelessly as Sean and Barry ran over. "From right under our noses, he's gone!"
Sean gripped Scott's shoulder. "We're going to find him," he said. "He can't get away this easily."
Barry looked up and down the silent street. "We'll find him," he said, "but what will happen to him before then?"
They exchanged worried looks. Then they ran off in separate directions, calling for their missing friend.
****
As the minutes ticked by into an hour, the panic Scott was feeling only increased. They had been all over not just Sleepy Hollow, but Tarrytown too. More and more, it was looking hopeless. There was still no sign of Elliott anywhere! And the previous night, the werewolf had appeared about an hour after Elliott had fled the hotel.
Scott had passed the spot where they had left their car several times, harboring a vain hope that Elliott would have returned. But he was never there, and Vivalene had departed the house across the street some time ago. Phone calls to Sean and Barry only brought the information that their luck had been similar. Elliott's phone was never answered.
Discouraged and heartsick, Scott began to trudge up the infamous road that Ichabod Crane had walked in the pages of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. Nothing looked particularly eerie about the place, at least not at first. But a frown crossed Scott's features. Night was drawing on by now, and the trees were beginning to wave and speak in uneasy ways. An autumn breeze blew multi-colored leaves down the path, swirling the ends of Scott's trenchcoat while it was at it.
He reached up, clapping his hat firmly on his head. Of course he did not believe that anything such as the Galloping Hessian could really exist. What he was afraid of was Elliott's fate---and Vivalene's part in it. What was happening here was surely not supernatural. It was probably even more frightening.
By now he was nearing Patriots Park at the border between Sleepy Hollow and Tarrytown. He stiffened as he looked towards the direction of the monument to the spy John André's captors. Something was there. A shadow had moved, just barely visible in the oncoming twilight. He rubbed his eyes. He was letting his imagination get away from him. There was not anything there!
He hurried past. The Old Dutch Church was up ahead, so he would keep on this road and head that way. Sean and Barry were coming from other directions, planning to meet at the site. From there, they would try to figure out what to do next.
A low growl carried on the air. He froze, shooting a glance toward the statue again. That had not been imagined. He clenched a fist, taking a step towards it. "Who's there?" he demanded.
A dark creature snapped at him as it shot out from behind the monument and leaped over the wrought-iron fence. Scott cried out, jumping backwards to avoid the sharp claws suddenly aimed at his face. Then he could only stare, his heart pounding wildly in his chest.
An anthropomorphic wolf, just like in the newspaper picture, was standing before him. It was only slightly taller than him, its dark brownish-black fur spilling over the tattered clothing it was wearing---dress pants and a dark vest and a wine-red dress shirt. A matching fedora was perched on its head, nearly covering one ear.
Scott took another step back, his mind going blank. ". . . El?" he whispered.
The wolf snarled, again swiping at him with a mighty paw. The blond barely managed to dodge this time, the material of his coat tearing as the claws ripped through it. Robert Crane had been right---this did not look like any costume Scott had ever seen. It looked real. And if it was, was there any chance that it was really . . .
He shook his head, desperate to clear his mind. What was he thinking? Even if it possibly was real, it was not his friend. He had to keep believing that! He had to! This was all a cruel joke!
"You're not El!" he screamed, running back onto the road. "You're not!"
El or not, the creature barreled after him, intent on not the Chase, but the Capture. And Scott knew only one course of action.
He screamed, holding onto his hat as he made a mad dash for the Old Dutch Church.
****
Sean and Barry had already arrived at the location and had been idly wandering through the churchyard for the past few minutes when Scott's scream pierced the air. Sean jerked up, staring in the direction of the road. "Scott?!" he exclaimed in disbelief.
Barry's eyes narrowed. "Here he comes," he said, noting the dark figures in the waning light, "but he's not alone."
Sean's eyes bugged out. "Where did that come from?!" he cried, pointing at the wolf.
Barry shook his head. Where, indeed. And if it was here . . . where was Elliott?!
Scott ran the last few feet to the churchyard, his coat billowing out behind him. The wretched beast reached for the dark cloth, but it passed just out of the grasp of the heavy jaws. Sean stepped in between the two, his hands on his hips as he looked from Scott to the wolf.
"Okay," he said, addressing the wolf, "we want some answers. Why are you wearing El's clothes? We know you aren't him."
The creature seemed taken aback by Sean's determination to not run. Then it growled, lunging at him. Sean easily side-stepped its route of attack, whirling around to its back and grabbing the torn shirt.
"There has to be a zipper here!" he exclaimed, looking at the fur. He did not find a zipper, but something else caught his attention. His eyes widened as he ripped it off the shirt.
Regaining its balance, the wolf tried to turn to swipe at him. Scott and Barry stood stock still, Scott in disbelief and Barry not sure what to think. Then Scott ran forward, grabbing the wolf's right arm. Suddenly the anger was firing within his soul.
"Just stop it!" he yelled. "You've already put El through so much! Now you're trying to hurt him some more! And you're not going to hurt Sean, too!"
The wolf dug into his shoulder with its other front paw. Scott screamed, pain shooting all the way up his arm. He let go, stumbling back as Barry ran to help him.
Sean hit the wolf from behind. "I don't appreciate you hurting Scott any more than I appreciate you hurting El," he said, a cold tone slipping into his voice. "And it gives me the greatest pleasure to say that you're under arrest in the name of . . ."
The beast whirled around in a split-second, lifting Sean right off the ground and into the air. The tall man stiffened, too stunned to do a thing. Then with a cry he was airborne. Scott cried out too, running to try to head off Sean's descent. Barry was hot on his heels.
Sean slammed down near the bridge in the adjacent Sleepy Hollow Cemetery. He groaned, not even trying to move. Everything hurt.
Then Scott was crashing beside him, gripping his shoulders. "Sean!" he cried, horrified. "Sean, speak to me!"
Barry came over as well, his expression grim. For the wolf, which was a good deal shorter than Sean, to be able to lift the poor man with such ease, what actually was it? It had to be a hoax, but how? And who was in the very lifelike costume?
Sean groaned again. "I'm awake," he mumbled to the grass. "Give me a minute to stop feeling like a javelin and I'll get up."
Scott rocked back on his heels. "How could it do that?!" he said, visibly upset. "It must've thrown you several feet, maybe even three yards or more!"
"It sure feels like it," Sean gasped, finally rolling onto his back.
"And it's gone," Barry frowned, glancing back the way they had come. It could have attacked them some more. There was no one coming to see what was wrong, such as the local police. Why had it fled?
. . . It would have fled if it was Elliott.
Barry clenched a fist. That was it. The one responsible was trying to make them think all the more that it was their friend.
If Elliott had spaced out again and acted like a wolf as Scott had described in the morning, and he had been forced into a wolf costume, he could have attacked them, then realized what was happening and immediately fled. But he could never lift Sean. That alone should make it clear that it was someone else.
Scott swallowed. "It was wearing El's clothes," he said, his voice breaking a bit. "Even his hat. . . . When I first saw it, I . . . I was so shocked . . . I asked if it was El. . . ." He shook his head. "You didn't ask," he added, looking back to Sean.
Sean blinked, sensing that this was leading up to something. He lay on the grass, looking up at Scott and waiting for him to continue.
Barry knelt down, pulling back the torn cloth of Scott's coat to examine the extent of his injuries from the wolf's claws. "This case has been trying for all of us," he said, taking out a pocket first aid kit and opening it.
"I guess I reached my breaking point," Scott said, the guilt still lingering like the taste of rancid food, "but I feel horrible! I told El that he isn't the wolf, that I fully believe he isn't." He clenched a fist. "And I guess . . . if I didn't believe in werewolves at all, like you, Sean, I wouldn't need to worry. But when I don't know if I can say they aren't real . . . there really is a part of me that has to wonder. What if it is El? What if whatever was done to him includes making him transform into this . . . this awful thing? And . . . how can I face El with these feelings?"
Sean forced himself to sit up. "When you told El you didn't believe it was him, was it the truth?" he asked.
"Of course!" Scott said, wincing as Barry dabbed an antiseptic pad over his shoulder. "It still is true; I don't believe it's him. But there's this little dark part of me that wonders. And I hate it!"
Sean was not sure what to say. He was sure Elliott would understand, especially when Elliott did not even believe in himself, but he could not try to comfort Scott by saying that Elliott would not feel hurt. He did not know that. And inasmuch as it was human to have a smidgen of doubt, it was also human to feel even just a prickling of hurt. Elliott could not believe in himself, but he would hope that his friends would. And they were doing their best, albeit Sean could understand how Scott could end up having even vague concerns to the contrary.
Scott sighed. "I'm sorry," he said. "I don't mean to put all of this weight on you guys. It's just . . . sometimes I wish I could be like you, Sean."
Sean was stunned. "Like me?" he repeated in astonishment.
Scott nodded. "Even after everything we've seen, you don't let it faze you," he said. "You're consistently skeptical, still insistent on looking for other explanations when something that seems supernatural pops up. I thought I was that way, too. But lately . . . I don't know." He looked down. "I just haven't been able to do that as much. I try, and I hope, but I keep coming back to wondering if it really is paranormal."
Sean gave a tired sigh. "In a case like this, it's hard not to wonder that," he said. "Especially after seeing that thing up close and personal."
"Yeah . . ." Scott frowned. "But I still feel like I'm betraying El by wondering, even for a few minutes, if he's . . ."
Sean reached up, laying a hand on Scott's uninjured shoulder.
Barry finished bandaging Scott's other shoulder. "You're just lucky the wounds aren't deeper than they are," he said. "But I wouldn't be surprised if they need stitches."
Scott ran a hand over the gauze. "It'll have to wait," he said. "We have to keep looking for El." He smiled weakly at Barry. "Thanks."
Barry just nodded, getting to his feet. "Should we look through here?" he deadpanned, surveying the sprawling cemetery.
Sean eased himself up as well, then held out a hand to Scott. "I guess we'd better," he frowned. "We didn't check before. . . ."
Scott accepted the help, gripping Sean's wrist as he stood. "It's eighty-five acres," he said. "Let's get started."
He took a deep breath. He still felt guilty. When all was said and done, he would need to have a talk with Elliott, maybe even plead for forgiveness. But right now the most important thing was finding Elliott.
"And when we do find El," Sean interrupted Scott's thought process, "there's something I need to show all of you." With that he ran ahead, off-handedly waving back at the others.
Scott blinked. "I wonder what it is," he said.
Barry shook his head, puzzled as well.
They went their separate ways also, each praying that they would find Elliott alive and well . . . and soon.
****
Elliott let out a weak moan as consciousness returned to him. Everything throbbed. He was sprawled on his stomach, as if he had fallen and passed out. The cold grass was touching his cheek, as well as his hands and parts of his arms and legs.
But wait . . . his arms and legs should not be exposed to the elements. . . .
His eyes opened. He was laying next to a stone bench in a cemetery, stretched out on the ground. His clothing was badly torn, the jagged edges blowing in the autumn breeze. In spite of himself, he shivered. But it had very little to do with the chill.
"It happened again," he whispered in sheer horror.
He had blanked out. After Vivalene had waved and gone inside that house, he could not remember anything. And here he was, feeling the obvious aftermath of a werewolf attack. Who had he attacked this time? What if it had even been his friends?! What if they were all hurt because of him?!
He sat up, shaking. "Scott?" he called weakly. "Sean? Barry?"
No one answered.
He placed a hand on the bench as he began to pull himself upright. He had to find them! He had to find them and make sure they were alright. And then . . . then maybe he would have to go far away, where he would not hurt them again.
"It has to be me," he cried in anguish when he was standing. "There's no way around it! It's me. I'm a monster!"
"El?"
He started, turning at the sound of Scott's voice. The younger man was standing a few feet away, having just rounded a bend. He was regarding Elliott in concern.
"Scott!" Elliott exclaimed, his voice strangled from his relief. Scott looked unscathed. "Are you okay?" He struggled over to the other in spite of the pain shooting through his body.
Scott nodded. "All of us are just fine," he said. "We've been looking for you!" He stared at Elliott's appearance. "El . . ." he breathed in alarm.
Elliott shook his head. "I woke up like this," he said. "Scott, we can't keep denying it. I'm the one! I'm the werewolf. Nothing else makes sense. Everything we've been learning only points to this one truth."
Scott walked over to him, deeply frowning. "I don't want to believe it," he said. "El . . . you . . . you just can't be!"
"But I am," Elliott said sadly. "I'm a hazard to everyone."
"You're not," Scott said, his voice stern. "I don't want to hear you talk like that, El."
Elliott's shoulders slumped. "But . . ."
". . . But say, El . . ."
He blinked, looking back to Scott in confusion as his friend's tone changed. "Yeah?"
Scott was giving him a very serious look. "I've been thinking---when we catch the guy who is behind this, what are we going to do with him? Especially if he really is . . . you know . . . a wolf. . . ."
Elliott gawked. "Huh?"
"Just suppose. I mean, he'd be really dangerous, wouldn't he? We wouldn't be able to leave him wandering around, where he could hurt other people." Scott reached inside his coat. "We'd have to do something about it."
Suddenly Elliott was tense. Why was Scott suddenly acting so strange? Why would he make Elliott worry like this right after saying that Elliott was not a hazard? He had not even considered what could be done if there was a werewolf and it was not him.
"Like what?" he retorted.
"Like make sure he couldn't do it again."
In a flash Scott had the object in his hand. Elliott barely had time to see what it was before it was slamming hard into his stomach. He gasped, his eyes widening in pain as he looked to Scott. The blond's expression was an ugly, cruel sneer.
"I know silver bullets are supposed to be the only remedy, but I just wondered if a silver sword could do it too," what was obviously Scott's impostor told him with glee. The sword was pushed in further. Elliott cried out, gripping at it with his bare hands. Blood was splattering everywhere as a strange, sweet smell filled the air. Dizziness swept over him with a vengeance as bile rose in his throat.
"What did . . . you do with Scott?" Elliott choked out, collapsing to his knees.
"I am Scott," the fake hissed in delight.
But as Elliott fell facedown into the grass, he heard another voice cry out in rage and indignation. He wanted to speak, to rise, to do something, but he could not. Darkness was falling too swiftly.
"El!" Scott wailed in sheer horror. He struck out in fury, trying to punch his double. "You creep! Leave him alone!"
The other leaped out of the way, a wicked sneer gracing his features again. "The damage is done," he said as he disappeared.
Scott, panicked and grief-stricken, only half-heard. "El," he sobbed, falling to his knees. "Why did you do it, El? Why did you run out ahead like that . . . ?" Now . . . had Scott come a few seconds too late? Was Elliott dying . . . or dead?
His hands shaking, Scott reached out and began to turn the limp body to face him. Elliott's hands, which had been clutching the sword and his stomach, dropped to his sides. The sword stayed on the grass.
Scott gave it a dumb look. Had El managed to pull it out? It looked shorter. . . . He grabbed it up, staring as it extended in his hand.
". . . A prop sword?" he whispered in disbelief. "A collapsible prop sword?" But then . . . what about the blood? And why was Elliott laying so still?
Throwing the sword to the grass, he grabbed Elliott's wrist. His pulse was strong. And his clothes were not torn in the spot where the sword had appeared to enter his body. There was no wound.
Scott's shoulders slumped in relief and joy. It had been a sick joke. It looked like the blood was fake, too---probably a packet of something from a Halloween discount store. And there was a vague scent of something sweet in the air. . . . Chloroform?
He reached down, gathering Elliott's upper body into his arms. "El?" he pleaded. "El, come on, wake up. . . ."
Elliott groaned, turning his head to the side. ". . . I'm not a werewolf," he mumbled, disconsolate.
And a new conviction burned in Scott's soul. "Of course you aren't, El!" Scott exclaimed. "We're going to prove it, I swear!"
He meant every word. Elliott was not the werewolf. All the evidence pointed in that direction, it was true. For a brief moment, Scott had wavered. But he would not consider it again. His cruel impostor's actions only further affirmed the decision he had already made. True, he could have done what he had just to torment Elliott if Elliott actually was the wolf, but more likely, he had done it because Elliott was so afraid it was true.
Elliott shuddered against the autumnal chill. Scott held him closer, willing him to wake up the rest of the way.
"El . . . please forgive me," he whispered in anguish. "I saw the wolf. . . . He was wearing clothes like yours, and . . . and I wondered, just for a minute, if . . ." He shook his head, clutching at his friend's tormented form. "I'm a horrible friend!" he berated.
Elliott forced his eyes open halfway. ". . . Scott?" he managed to say. This was the real one, wasn't he? The fake would not stay with him. And he remembered hearing Scott come. . . .
Scott tried to smile. "Yeah," he said. "It's me, I promise."
"You . . . you really thought I was the . . ." Elliott trailed off, sadness and pain flickering across his features. "I know it must be true, but . . ."
"It's not true!" Scott cried. "It's not. The thing started chasing me then. I screamed at it that it wasn't you. It isn't you. This is all a sick game!" His eyes flashed. "I know that all the more now that he's back. . . ." His shoulders slumped. "But that doesn't change that I wavered. How can you ever trust me after this?"
Elliott stared at him, fully conscious now. Scott had come on the scene before his cruel double had been able to give Elliott the full dosage of chloroform.
"I trust you?" he gasped. "Scott . . . how can you trust me? You're here, holding me, when I could snap and try to tear you to pieces at any time. . . ."
"You won't!" Scott cried. "You can't! It's just not in your nature, El." He shut his eyes. If only he could make it all go away---Elliott's pain, his own guilt, his impostor. . . .
"I won't doubt you again," he choked out. "I swear I won't! I . . . I'll understand if you can't forgive me, but . . ."
"Scott!" Elliott forced himself to sit up, grabbing his friend's wrist. "Of course I forgive you! But there's nothing to forgive." His voice lowered. "I lost hope in myself ages ago. How could I expect anyone else to have any?" He shook his head. "But you do. You and Sean and Barry. Maybe you had a moment of doubt, but it passed. You still believe in me. That's more than I could ever ask for. It's probably more than I deserve." Now he pulled Scott into a hug. "You guys always come through for me," he said quietly. "And that's the truth."
Scott stiffened in his friend's embrace. Here Elliott was the one who was hurt, but he was still trying to comfort Scott. He hugged back, clutching at the brunet.
". . . It was so awful when I saw you from a distance," he said. "That twerp shoved that plastic sword at you. . . . I thought it was real! I thought he was killing you. . . . You're just lucky you don't have a gaping hole here!" he exclaimed, indicating Elliott's stomach. "That'd finish anyone off, werewolf or not!"
Elliott grimaced as he pulled back. "I remember realizing the sword was fake right before I passed out," he said, a hand flying to his head. It was throbbing even though he had not been fully put under by the chloroform.
"Are you okay, El?" Scott asked in worry, seeing the brunet lean forward.
"Yeah," Elliott said to the grass. "Just this headache. I might as well have been knocked on the head." He raised his hands to his pounding temples.
"Chloroform can cause that," Scott said, angry again. "I don't get it. Why did that creep come back? Just to hurt you? And me?" He had deliberately waited to "stab" Elliott until he knew Scott would be watching. He had wanted Elliott to think Scott was betraying him, but more than that, he had wanted Scott to think Elliott was being killed and that Scott could not do anything to prevent it. Had he just been passing by and decided to wreck havoc for no reason whatsoever? Or . . . could he be mixed up in the plot, whatever the plot was?
"I don't know why," Elliott said now, trying to straighten up. "But I'm pretty sure he'll be around for a while."
Scott nodded, furious. "Can you stand?" he asked. "I'll call Sean and Barry and let them know I've found you."
"I . . . think I can," Elliott said. "But . . . I might need some help," he added, looking sheepish.
"It's nothing to feel guilty about," Scott said. He rose, taking hold of Elliott's wrists and bringing his best friend to his feet. "I've been chloroformed before. It's a beast."
Elliott gave a weak smile. "No kidding."
Fandom: Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?
Rating: T/PG-13
Word Count: 6,797
Main Characters: Fictional Rockapella (Sean, Scott, Elliott, Barry)
Summary: Vic the Slick does not prove to be a great deal of help. The guys tail Vivalene.
Will be posted to 10_hurt_comfort when complete.
Chapter Five
Sean was already pounding on room 213 by the time the others caught up to him.
"Open up!" he demanded. "We know you're there, Vic."
"Alright already," Vic retorted from inside. "Give me a minute. Sheesh, impatient customers."
He undid the latch and pulled open the door. But upon seeing four ACME agents standing in the hall, his eyes widened in horror.
"You got nothin' on me!" he cried, moving to slam the door shut.
Sean dove forward, wedging his foot in the opening and pushing on the door to keep it open.
"You're right," he said. "We don't. At least not yet."
"We need to ask you some questions!" Scott said, coming from behind Sean.
"Questions?!" Vic retorted, still pushing on the door. "About what?"
Sean was stronger than the sleazy con man and he finally forced the door open, sending Vic flying backwards with a yelp. "About your friend Elliott arrested the other day!" he said as he walked inside. The others followed suit, Barry shutting the door behind them.
Vic stared up at them from where he was sprawled on the floor. "What about him?" he asked, still sounding suspicious. But he also sounded interested. He would sell out anyone if it would benefit him in any way. Sean was hoping to use that to their advantage.
"He was running a mail-order racket where he pretended to sell stolen merchandise," Elliott said, stepping forward. "A lot of the stuff we confiscated had images of wolves."
"So?" Vic shrugged. "Wolves are pretty popular. Stuff with wolves fetch big bucks."
"Did you see his collection?" Sean asked.
". . . I've got the right to say nothin'," Vic said.
Scott sighed. "We're not going to arrest you," he said. "We need to know the answer."
"But judging from your unwillingness to say, that in itself is an answer," Barry grunted.
"Okay! So I saw it." Vic got up, throwing his hands in the air.
"Do you remember a ring?" Elliott asked.
"There were lots of rings," Vic objected.
"This one had an engraving of a wolf and a weird Latin inscription," Elliott said.
"I don't know any Latin," Vic said. "I wouldn't know it if I saw it."
"It had the word transmuto," Elliott said.
"Trans . . . okay, yeah, I remember that." Vic blinked at him. "What're you asking me for, anyway? You've got the ring now."
Elliott ignored the question. "Did your friend say anything about it?" he wanted to know.
"Like what?" Vic retorted.
"Like what he thought of it," Sean said, "or if there were any legends connected with it."
"Legends?" Vic scoffed. "Don't tell me you agents are goin' in for that stuff now."
Scott's patience was starting to wear thin. "Did he say anything?" he demanded, an edge slipping into his voice.
"He just said he grabbed it from some museum exhibit on sorcery," Vic said. "And . . . oh yeah, there was a rumor that if you read the words aloud a few times, you'd get cursed into bein' a wolf."
Just as Scott had thought. "He didn't believe in it, did he?" he said.
"What? You've gotta be kidding," Vic said. "Of course he didn't! But . . . he didn't read the words aloud anyway. No sense takin' chances."
"What kind of person is he?" Barry asked.
"No worse than me," Vic said.
"No offense, but that's really not saying much," Sean said.
"Is he vindictive?" Scott wanted to know. "Would he try to get revenge on someone he was mad at?"
"No time for that!" Vic said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "There's always new deals to make, new suckers to swin . . ." He trailed off. ". . . He just wouldn't bother," he said instead.
"I didn't think so," Sean said. But the hope that they could connect the case with Elliott's problem had been their main lead. If they were completely unrelated mysteries, then it was back to square one.
Except for the little fact of Vivalene entering the picture. She had to be part of Elliott's problem, even if Vic's associate was not!
"Do you know a woman calling herself Vivalene?" Sean asked.
Vic ran a hand through his hair as if to smooth it down. "That Vifa, what a woman," he said, a strange grin coming over his features.
Now maybe they were going to get somewhere. Elliott felt a bit of hope returning.
"Did you see her last night?" he wanted to know.
"Last night?" Vic repeated. "Weren't you her squeeze last night, kid?"
Elliott's mouth dropped open. "No!" he exclaimed.
Vic draped an arm around Elliott's shoulders. "You don't havta be shy about it," he said. "Your pals wouldn't think any less of you. Though . . . if they've got any taste, they might be jealous. Say, if you're looking for a wedding ring, I know where you can get a steal on . . ."
Elliott's eyes flashed. Repulsed, he shoved Vic's arm away from him. "I don't need a wedding ring!" he snapped. "But I want you to tell me everything you can about last night. What did we do?"
Vic grinned. "Oh, I just dropped by Vifa's room for a nightcap and found you in there with her, cozying up on the couch," he said. "Course, I'm not sure what you were doin' before that. And it's not any of my business anyway . . ."
"What time was that?" Scott demanded. Somehow he had to resist the urge to punch Vic in the face.
"About one-thirty," Vic said.
"Did you stick around?" Sean asked.
"You kidding? I was gonna turn around and leave! But Vifa insisted on us all sharing a drink together," Vic shrugged.
Elliott frowned. If Vic was telling the truth, then Vivalene had also lied about not giving him anything to drink. Though, if he remembered right, she had not actually confirmed or denied it; she had just acted angry that Scott asked if there had been anything extra in such a drink.
"So did we have one?" he wondered.
"Yeah," Vic said. "A toast to us, Vifa said." He raised his hand in a toasting gesture. "You gulped it down really fast and started to choke and hiccup." He sniggered. "Can't hold your liquor, kid."
Elliott ran a hand over his face. "So I was drunk?" he said in disbelief. "The clerk said I wasn't. . . ."
"Nah, you weren't flat-out drunk," Vic said. "But a couple more and I bet'cha would've been fallin' all over the place."
". . . How was I acting when you first came in?" Elliott demanded, deciding a change of subject was in order. "I mean . . ." He turned red. How could he phrase the question "Was I acting like Don Juan reborn?" without feeling like hiding under the couch?
"Jittery," Vic grinned. "Like you're actin' now. I'm tellin' ya, bein' around a woman like that---even just thinkin' of her---really does something to you! We both felt it!"
Barry shook his head. Vic was quite obviously infatuated with her himself, which was a twist that could be important. If Vivalene wanted, she might try to wrap Vic around her finger and get him to do things for her . . . such as helping to make poor Elliott think he was a werewolf. Vic would not be interested in doing such a thing on his own, but if he considered that he was helping a woman he "loved", he just might do it then.
And he could not help wondering what Carmen would think of Vic's interest in Vivalene. He doubted she would approve.
Elliott struggled to regain his composure. "How long have you known her?" he queried.
"Oh . . . years now," Vic said. "I could give you the exact date, time, location . . ."
"Is it a coincidence that you're both in the same hotel right now?" Scott interrupted.
"Sure!" Vic said. "I had no idea she was boardin' here too. We just ran into each other yesterday afternoon when we were gettin' registered."
"So, why are you here?" Scott persisted.
"You know me, I'm a traveling salesman," Vic replied. "I go all over the place. I've got some great watches today---24-karat gold!" He pulled open his plaid jacket, revealing an assortment of timepieces attached to the lining.
"No thanks," Sean said. Probably gold-plated, he thought to himself.
"You'll never find a deal like this anywhere else!" Vic insisted.
"That's probably true," Scott muttered. "I don't think such a bad deal would exist anywhere else."
Elliott overheard. He turned away, covering his mouth as he snickered.
"What about Vivalene?" Sean asked. "Why is she here?"
"She said she was checkin' out the sights," Vic said. "A self-proclaimed vacation."
"What kind of work does she do?" Scott inquired.
"A little bit of everything," Vic said with a shrug. "And now if you'll excuse me, I'm a very busy man."
Sean sighed. It was not likely that they could get anything else out of him.
"Alright," he said as he began to back up towards the door, "but if you try selling your junk to anyone, we'll be back to stick you in jail faster than you can say 'This is Joey Joey on ACME Home-Spending Net'!"
Vic's eyes flamed. "Don't bring up that sleazy salesman in my presence!" he ranted, shaking a fist at them as Barry opened the door and they stepped into the hall. "I'm surprised they don't kick him off the air!"
Sean just shrugged. "At least his show is more entertaining to watch," he smirked. "You wouldn't last a day."
"As if I don't have better things to do than host a show on a station connected with ACME," Vic said. "Joey Joey doesn't even get out and mingle with people! All he does is talk to the camera. He probably just loves to hear himself talk."
"You know, I think you're jealous," Sean grinned, unable to resist.
"Jealous?!" Vic fumed. "Let me tell you, mister, I'm . . ."
But Sean was waving goodbye as he and the others headed back up the corridor. Vic yelled something unintelligible before slamming the door shut.
Elliott jumped at the sound. "I think you really showed him up there," he said to Sean.
"I think so too," Sean smirked. "But I think he really is jealous. After all, Joey Joey may be fast-talking, but he's relatively honest, and he always gets plenty of viewers and callers. I wonder how much junk Greg's accumulated by now just from watching his show."
Scott grabbed his arm to silence him. "Vivalene's leaving!" he hissed.
The quartet froze. Up at the other end of the hall, Vivalene was opening the door to her room and stepping into the corridor. She carried a purse over her arm and the now-closed parasol on her shoulder. After pulling the door shut, she headed for the stairs, never looking in the detectives' direction.
"Let's follow her," Sean said in an undertone when her footsteps were heard on the stairs. The others agreed and they crept forward, slipping down the stairs as Vivalene reached the bottom.
She waved to the desk clerk. "Goodbye for now, darling," she called. "I should be back late tonight."
"I'll be counting the seconds," the tired man replied with heavy sarcasm.
Vivalene smirked, heading out the door.
The clerk sighed, watching as the detectives hurried to the bottom. "She never gives up," he said. "Even though I've said I'm not interested.
"Did you find that guy?!" he demanded.
"Yeah," Sean said, "but we'll have to talk about it later. We have a femme fatale to follow!" He hurried out the door, Scott, Elliott, and Barry right on his heels.
Vivalene went directly to her car in the parking lot. While Rockapella observed, she revved the engine and headed for the nearest exit. Immediately the guys scrambled to get into their own car and begin the Chase.
If Vivalene knew she was being pursued, she did not care. Instead she proceeded with calm deliberation to the Major Deegan Expressway as the ACME agents followed.
"What's she up to?!" Scott frowned.
"She sure acts like she knows where she's going," Elliott remarked.
They traveled along the expressway until it merged with Interstate-287. Then Vivalene began to study road signs.
"She's turning on Exit 9!" Scott announced after a bit.
"Tarrytown?" Sean said with a raised eyebrow.
Elliott's eyes narrowed. "I have a weird feeling about this . . ." he muttered.
They passed from Route 119 to Route 9 as Vivalene continued to press forward with an obvious destination in mind. She began to slow as they reached Tarrytown, looking at buildings as if searching for addresses. Not finding what she wanted, she kept going.
"Guys?" Scott spoke after a moment. "We just passed into Sleepy Hollow."
Sean frowned. "I knew it," he said. "We're on a case about werewolves and Vivalene wants to visit the Headless Horseman."
She brought her car to a halt in front of a quaint, large home with a For Sale sign in front. She alighted, still taking no notice of the dark blue car behind her, and moved up the walk, her high-heels clicking on the concrete.
Sean parked across the street. "So maybe she's just got an appointment to see this place," he mused.
"Or the realtor," Elliott said, rolling his eyes as he watched her begin to flirt with the man who opened the door. Had they just come here on a wild goose chase?
As she was about to step inside, Vivalene turned, directly facing their car. She smirked, blowing them a kiss before vanishing through the doorway.
Sean slapped his forehead. "She knew all along that we were following her!" he exclaimed.
"And she probably didn't try to lose us because she knew we wouldn't learn anything if we came along!" Scott said in frustration.
Elliott placed a hand to his forehead. ". . . I'm not feeling so hot," he mumbled.
Immediately Scott turned to his best friend, worried. Was he going to have another spell?
"El?" he said, reaching out with caution. "Maybe you should lay down. I could sit on the floor while we're parked here. . . ."
Instead Elliott grabbed for the door handle. "I need some fresh air," he said. Throwing the door open before Scott could stop him, he staggered out onto the sidewalk. Then, without warning, he bolted.
Scott stared in disbelief. "El?!" he cried. "Elliott, what are you doing?!" He leaped out of the car as well. "It's like what the clerk described he did last night!" he exclaimed.
He tore off down the street in hot pursuit of the brunet. Sean and Barry were already exiting the car to give chase. Vivalene could look at her house without them. Catching up to Elliott was more important.
By now Elliott was rounding a corner. Not about to give up, the other three dashed around it too.
"Do you see him?" Sean asked in concern. He and Barry had easily caught up with Scott, but Elliott had already had a headstart.
Scott looked about in desperation. "There!" he said, pointing at Elliott leaping over a fence. He narrowed his eyes, sickened as he ran after his friend again. What had Vivalene done to him last night? Both then and now he had spooked as if the Devil was chasing him. And of course there had been his bizarre behavior in the morning, but Vivalene had not been present then. What was the connection?!
He vaulted over the fence. "El!" he called. "El, come back! You shouldn't be running around by yourself!" He took off running through the backyard. Hopefully the owner would not happen to be at home. The last thing they needed right now was to be delayed. He already could not see where Elliott had gone.
"El! Where are you?!" he cried. Sean and Barry added their own voices, but there was no reply.
Scott ran around the side of the yard, then out to the sidewalk. "El!" But it was hopeless. Elliott would not, or could not, answer. The blond's shoulders slumped.
"He's just gone," he said hopelessly as Sean and Barry ran over. "From right under our noses, he's gone!"
Sean gripped Scott's shoulder. "We're going to find him," he said. "He can't get away this easily."
Barry looked up and down the silent street. "We'll find him," he said, "but what will happen to him before then?"
They exchanged worried looks. Then they ran off in separate directions, calling for their missing friend.
****
As the minutes ticked by into an hour, the panic Scott was feeling only increased. They had been all over not just Sleepy Hollow, but Tarrytown too. More and more, it was looking hopeless. There was still no sign of Elliott anywhere! And the previous night, the werewolf had appeared about an hour after Elliott had fled the hotel.
Scott had passed the spot where they had left their car several times, harboring a vain hope that Elliott would have returned. But he was never there, and Vivalene had departed the house across the street some time ago. Phone calls to Sean and Barry only brought the information that their luck had been similar. Elliott's phone was never answered.
Discouraged and heartsick, Scott began to trudge up the infamous road that Ichabod Crane had walked in the pages of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. Nothing looked particularly eerie about the place, at least not at first. But a frown crossed Scott's features. Night was drawing on by now, and the trees were beginning to wave and speak in uneasy ways. An autumn breeze blew multi-colored leaves down the path, swirling the ends of Scott's trenchcoat while it was at it.
He reached up, clapping his hat firmly on his head. Of course he did not believe that anything such as the Galloping Hessian could really exist. What he was afraid of was Elliott's fate---and Vivalene's part in it. What was happening here was surely not supernatural. It was probably even more frightening.
By now he was nearing Patriots Park at the border between Sleepy Hollow and Tarrytown. He stiffened as he looked towards the direction of the monument to the spy John André's captors. Something was there. A shadow had moved, just barely visible in the oncoming twilight. He rubbed his eyes. He was letting his imagination get away from him. There was not anything there!
He hurried past. The Old Dutch Church was up ahead, so he would keep on this road and head that way. Sean and Barry were coming from other directions, planning to meet at the site. From there, they would try to figure out what to do next.
A low growl carried on the air. He froze, shooting a glance toward the statue again. That had not been imagined. He clenched a fist, taking a step towards it. "Who's there?" he demanded.
A dark creature snapped at him as it shot out from behind the monument and leaped over the wrought-iron fence. Scott cried out, jumping backwards to avoid the sharp claws suddenly aimed at his face. Then he could only stare, his heart pounding wildly in his chest.
An anthropomorphic wolf, just like in the newspaper picture, was standing before him. It was only slightly taller than him, its dark brownish-black fur spilling over the tattered clothing it was wearing---dress pants and a dark vest and a wine-red dress shirt. A matching fedora was perched on its head, nearly covering one ear.
Scott took another step back, his mind going blank. ". . . El?" he whispered.
The wolf snarled, again swiping at him with a mighty paw. The blond barely managed to dodge this time, the material of his coat tearing as the claws ripped through it. Robert Crane had been right---this did not look like any costume Scott had ever seen. It looked real. And if it was, was there any chance that it was really . . .
He shook his head, desperate to clear his mind. What was he thinking? Even if it possibly was real, it was not his friend. He had to keep believing that! He had to! This was all a cruel joke!
"You're not El!" he screamed, running back onto the road. "You're not!"
El or not, the creature barreled after him, intent on not the Chase, but the Capture. And Scott knew only one course of action.
He screamed, holding onto his hat as he made a mad dash for the Old Dutch Church.
****
Sean and Barry had already arrived at the location and had been idly wandering through the churchyard for the past few minutes when Scott's scream pierced the air. Sean jerked up, staring in the direction of the road. "Scott?!" he exclaimed in disbelief.
Barry's eyes narrowed. "Here he comes," he said, noting the dark figures in the waning light, "but he's not alone."
Sean's eyes bugged out. "Where did that come from?!" he cried, pointing at the wolf.
Barry shook his head. Where, indeed. And if it was here . . . where was Elliott?!
Scott ran the last few feet to the churchyard, his coat billowing out behind him. The wretched beast reached for the dark cloth, but it passed just out of the grasp of the heavy jaws. Sean stepped in between the two, his hands on his hips as he looked from Scott to the wolf.
"Okay," he said, addressing the wolf, "we want some answers. Why are you wearing El's clothes? We know you aren't him."
The creature seemed taken aback by Sean's determination to not run. Then it growled, lunging at him. Sean easily side-stepped its route of attack, whirling around to its back and grabbing the torn shirt.
"There has to be a zipper here!" he exclaimed, looking at the fur. He did not find a zipper, but something else caught his attention. His eyes widened as he ripped it off the shirt.
Regaining its balance, the wolf tried to turn to swipe at him. Scott and Barry stood stock still, Scott in disbelief and Barry not sure what to think. Then Scott ran forward, grabbing the wolf's right arm. Suddenly the anger was firing within his soul.
"Just stop it!" he yelled. "You've already put El through so much! Now you're trying to hurt him some more! And you're not going to hurt Sean, too!"
The wolf dug into his shoulder with its other front paw. Scott screamed, pain shooting all the way up his arm. He let go, stumbling back as Barry ran to help him.
Sean hit the wolf from behind. "I don't appreciate you hurting Scott any more than I appreciate you hurting El," he said, a cold tone slipping into his voice. "And it gives me the greatest pleasure to say that you're under arrest in the name of . . ."
The beast whirled around in a split-second, lifting Sean right off the ground and into the air. The tall man stiffened, too stunned to do a thing. Then with a cry he was airborne. Scott cried out too, running to try to head off Sean's descent. Barry was hot on his heels.
Sean slammed down near the bridge in the adjacent Sleepy Hollow Cemetery. He groaned, not even trying to move. Everything hurt.
Then Scott was crashing beside him, gripping his shoulders. "Sean!" he cried, horrified. "Sean, speak to me!"
Barry came over as well, his expression grim. For the wolf, which was a good deal shorter than Sean, to be able to lift the poor man with such ease, what actually was it? It had to be a hoax, but how? And who was in the very lifelike costume?
Sean groaned again. "I'm awake," he mumbled to the grass. "Give me a minute to stop feeling like a javelin and I'll get up."
Scott rocked back on his heels. "How could it do that?!" he said, visibly upset. "It must've thrown you several feet, maybe even three yards or more!"
"It sure feels like it," Sean gasped, finally rolling onto his back.
"And it's gone," Barry frowned, glancing back the way they had come. It could have attacked them some more. There was no one coming to see what was wrong, such as the local police. Why had it fled?
. . . It would have fled if it was Elliott.
Barry clenched a fist. That was it. The one responsible was trying to make them think all the more that it was their friend.
If Elliott had spaced out again and acted like a wolf as Scott had described in the morning, and he had been forced into a wolf costume, he could have attacked them, then realized what was happening and immediately fled. But he could never lift Sean. That alone should make it clear that it was someone else.
Scott swallowed. "It was wearing El's clothes," he said, his voice breaking a bit. "Even his hat. . . . When I first saw it, I . . . I was so shocked . . . I asked if it was El. . . ." He shook his head. "You didn't ask," he added, looking back to Sean.
Sean blinked, sensing that this was leading up to something. He lay on the grass, looking up at Scott and waiting for him to continue.
Barry knelt down, pulling back the torn cloth of Scott's coat to examine the extent of his injuries from the wolf's claws. "This case has been trying for all of us," he said, taking out a pocket first aid kit and opening it.
"I guess I reached my breaking point," Scott said, the guilt still lingering like the taste of rancid food, "but I feel horrible! I told El that he isn't the wolf, that I fully believe he isn't." He clenched a fist. "And I guess . . . if I didn't believe in werewolves at all, like you, Sean, I wouldn't need to worry. But when I don't know if I can say they aren't real . . . there really is a part of me that has to wonder. What if it is El? What if whatever was done to him includes making him transform into this . . . this awful thing? And . . . how can I face El with these feelings?"
Sean forced himself to sit up. "When you told El you didn't believe it was him, was it the truth?" he asked.
"Of course!" Scott said, wincing as Barry dabbed an antiseptic pad over his shoulder. "It still is true; I don't believe it's him. But there's this little dark part of me that wonders. And I hate it!"
Sean was not sure what to say. He was sure Elliott would understand, especially when Elliott did not even believe in himself, but he could not try to comfort Scott by saying that Elliott would not feel hurt. He did not know that. And inasmuch as it was human to have a smidgen of doubt, it was also human to feel even just a prickling of hurt. Elliott could not believe in himself, but he would hope that his friends would. And they were doing their best, albeit Sean could understand how Scott could end up having even vague concerns to the contrary.
Scott sighed. "I'm sorry," he said. "I don't mean to put all of this weight on you guys. It's just . . . sometimes I wish I could be like you, Sean."
Sean was stunned. "Like me?" he repeated in astonishment.
Scott nodded. "Even after everything we've seen, you don't let it faze you," he said. "You're consistently skeptical, still insistent on looking for other explanations when something that seems supernatural pops up. I thought I was that way, too. But lately . . . I don't know." He looked down. "I just haven't been able to do that as much. I try, and I hope, but I keep coming back to wondering if it really is paranormal."
Sean gave a tired sigh. "In a case like this, it's hard not to wonder that," he said. "Especially after seeing that thing up close and personal."
"Yeah . . ." Scott frowned. "But I still feel like I'm betraying El by wondering, even for a few minutes, if he's . . ."
Sean reached up, laying a hand on Scott's uninjured shoulder.
Barry finished bandaging Scott's other shoulder. "You're just lucky the wounds aren't deeper than they are," he said. "But I wouldn't be surprised if they need stitches."
Scott ran a hand over the gauze. "It'll have to wait," he said. "We have to keep looking for El." He smiled weakly at Barry. "Thanks."
Barry just nodded, getting to his feet. "Should we look through here?" he deadpanned, surveying the sprawling cemetery.
Sean eased himself up as well, then held out a hand to Scott. "I guess we'd better," he frowned. "We didn't check before. . . ."
Scott accepted the help, gripping Sean's wrist as he stood. "It's eighty-five acres," he said. "Let's get started."
He took a deep breath. He still felt guilty. When all was said and done, he would need to have a talk with Elliott, maybe even plead for forgiveness. But right now the most important thing was finding Elliott.
"And when we do find El," Sean interrupted Scott's thought process, "there's something I need to show all of you." With that he ran ahead, off-handedly waving back at the others.
Scott blinked. "I wonder what it is," he said.
Barry shook his head, puzzled as well.
They went their separate ways also, each praying that they would find Elliott alive and well . . . and soon.
****
Elliott let out a weak moan as consciousness returned to him. Everything throbbed. He was sprawled on his stomach, as if he had fallen and passed out. The cold grass was touching his cheek, as well as his hands and parts of his arms and legs.
But wait . . . his arms and legs should not be exposed to the elements. . . .
His eyes opened. He was laying next to a stone bench in a cemetery, stretched out on the ground. His clothing was badly torn, the jagged edges blowing in the autumn breeze. In spite of himself, he shivered. But it had very little to do with the chill.
"It happened again," he whispered in sheer horror.
He had blanked out. After Vivalene had waved and gone inside that house, he could not remember anything. And here he was, feeling the obvious aftermath of a werewolf attack. Who had he attacked this time? What if it had even been his friends?! What if they were all hurt because of him?!
He sat up, shaking. "Scott?" he called weakly. "Sean? Barry?"
No one answered.
He placed a hand on the bench as he began to pull himself upright. He had to find them! He had to find them and make sure they were alright. And then . . . then maybe he would have to go far away, where he would not hurt them again.
"It has to be me," he cried in anguish when he was standing. "There's no way around it! It's me. I'm a monster!"
"El?"
He started, turning at the sound of Scott's voice. The younger man was standing a few feet away, having just rounded a bend. He was regarding Elliott in concern.
"Scott!" Elliott exclaimed, his voice strangled from his relief. Scott looked unscathed. "Are you okay?" He struggled over to the other in spite of the pain shooting through his body.
Scott nodded. "All of us are just fine," he said. "We've been looking for you!" He stared at Elliott's appearance. "El . . ." he breathed in alarm.
Elliott shook his head. "I woke up like this," he said. "Scott, we can't keep denying it. I'm the one! I'm the werewolf. Nothing else makes sense. Everything we've been learning only points to this one truth."
Scott walked over to him, deeply frowning. "I don't want to believe it," he said. "El . . . you . . . you just can't be!"
"But I am," Elliott said sadly. "I'm a hazard to everyone."
"You're not," Scott said, his voice stern. "I don't want to hear you talk like that, El."
Elliott's shoulders slumped. "But . . ."
". . . But say, El . . ."
He blinked, looking back to Scott in confusion as his friend's tone changed. "Yeah?"
Scott was giving him a very serious look. "I've been thinking---when we catch the guy who is behind this, what are we going to do with him? Especially if he really is . . . you know . . . a wolf. . . ."
Elliott gawked. "Huh?"
"Just suppose. I mean, he'd be really dangerous, wouldn't he? We wouldn't be able to leave him wandering around, where he could hurt other people." Scott reached inside his coat. "We'd have to do something about it."
Suddenly Elliott was tense. Why was Scott suddenly acting so strange? Why would he make Elliott worry like this right after saying that Elliott was not a hazard? He had not even considered what could be done if there was a werewolf and it was not him.
"Like what?" he retorted.
"Like make sure he couldn't do it again."
In a flash Scott had the object in his hand. Elliott barely had time to see what it was before it was slamming hard into his stomach. He gasped, his eyes widening in pain as he looked to Scott. The blond's expression was an ugly, cruel sneer.
"I know silver bullets are supposed to be the only remedy, but I just wondered if a silver sword could do it too," what was obviously Scott's impostor told him with glee. The sword was pushed in further. Elliott cried out, gripping at it with his bare hands. Blood was splattering everywhere as a strange, sweet smell filled the air. Dizziness swept over him with a vengeance as bile rose in his throat.
"What did . . . you do with Scott?" Elliott choked out, collapsing to his knees.
"I am Scott," the fake hissed in delight.
But as Elliott fell facedown into the grass, he heard another voice cry out in rage and indignation. He wanted to speak, to rise, to do something, but he could not. Darkness was falling too swiftly.
"El!" Scott wailed in sheer horror. He struck out in fury, trying to punch his double. "You creep! Leave him alone!"
The other leaped out of the way, a wicked sneer gracing his features again. "The damage is done," he said as he disappeared.
Scott, panicked and grief-stricken, only half-heard. "El," he sobbed, falling to his knees. "Why did you do it, El? Why did you run out ahead like that . . . ?" Now . . . had Scott come a few seconds too late? Was Elliott dying . . . or dead?
His hands shaking, Scott reached out and began to turn the limp body to face him. Elliott's hands, which had been clutching the sword and his stomach, dropped to his sides. The sword stayed on the grass.
Scott gave it a dumb look. Had El managed to pull it out? It looked shorter. . . . He grabbed it up, staring as it extended in his hand.
". . . A prop sword?" he whispered in disbelief. "A collapsible prop sword?" But then . . . what about the blood? And why was Elliott laying so still?
Throwing the sword to the grass, he grabbed Elliott's wrist. His pulse was strong. And his clothes were not torn in the spot where the sword had appeared to enter his body. There was no wound.
Scott's shoulders slumped in relief and joy. It had been a sick joke. It looked like the blood was fake, too---probably a packet of something from a Halloween discount store. And there was a vague scent of something sweet in the air. . . . Chloroform?
He reached down, gathering Elliott's upper body into his arms. "El?" he pleaded. "El, come on, wake up. . . ."
Elliott groaned, turning his head to the side. ". . . I'm not a werewolf," he mumbled, disconsolate.
And a new conviction burned in Scott's soul. "Of course you aren't, El!" Scott exclaimed. "We're going to prove it, I swear!"
He meant every word. Elliott was not the werewolf. All the evidence pointed in that direction, it was true. For a brief moment, Scott had wavered. But he would not consider it again. His cruel impostor's actions only further affirmed the decision he had already made. True, he could have done what he had just to torment Elliott if Elliott actually was the wolf, but more likely, he had done it because Elliott was so afraid it was true.
Elliott shuddered against the autumnal chill. Scott held him closer, willing him to wake up the rest of the way.
"El . . . please forgive me," he whispered in anguish. "I saw the wolf. . . . He was wearing clothes like yours, and . . . and I wondered, just for a minute, if . . ." He shook his head, clutching at his friend's tormented form. "I'm a horrible friend!" he berated.
Elliott forced his eyes open halfway. ". . . Scott?" he managed to say. This was the real one, wasn't he? The fake would not stay with him. And he remembered hearing Scott come. . . .
Scott tried to smile. "Yeah," he said. "It's me, I promise."
"You . . . you really thought I was the . . ." Elliott trailed off, sadness and pain flickering across his features. "I know it must be true, but . . ."
"It's not true!" Scott cried. "It's not. The thing started chasing me then. I screamed at it that it wasn't you. It isn't you. This is all a sick game!" His eyes flashed. "I know that all the more now that he's back. . . ." His shoulders slumped. "But that doesn't change that I wavered. How can you ever trust me after this?"
Elliott stared at him, fully conscious now. Scott had come on the scene before his cruel double had been able to give Elliott the full dosage of chloroform.
"I trust you?" he gasped. "Scott . . . how can you trust me? You're here, holding me, when I could snap and try to tear you to pieces at any time. . . ."
"You won't!" Scott cried. "You can't! It's just not in your nature, El." He shut his eyes. If only he could make it all go away---Elliott's pain, his own guilt, his impostor. . . .
"I won't doubt you again," he choked out. "I swear I won't! I . . . I'll understand if you can't forgive me, but . . ."
"Scott!" Elliott forced himself to sit up, grabbing his friend's wrist. "Of course I forgive you! But there's nothing to forgive." His voice lowered. "I lost hope in myself ages ago. How could I expect anyone else to have any?" He shook his head. "But you do. You and Sean and Barry. Maybe you had a moment of doubt, but it passed. You still believe in me. That's more than I could ever ask for. It's probably more than I deserve." Now he pulled Scott into a hug. "You guys always come through for me," he said quietly. "And that's the truth."
Scott stiffened in his friend's embrace. Here Elliott was the one who was hurt, but he was still trying to comfort Scott. He hugged back, clutching at the brunet.
". . . It was so awful when I saw you from a distance," he said. "That twerp shoved that plastic sword at you. . . . I thought it was real! I thought he was killing you. . . . You're just lucky you don't have a gaping hole here!" he exclaimed, indicating Elliott's stomach. "That'd finish anyone off, werewolf or not!"
Elliott grimaced as he pulled back. "I remember realizing the sword was fake right before I passed out," he said, a hand flying to his head. It was throbbing even though he had not been fully put under by the chloroform.
"Are you okay, El?" Scott asked in worry, seeing the brunet lean forward.
"Yeah," Elliott said to the grass. "Just this headache. I might as well have been knocked on the head." He raised his hands to his pounding temples.
"Chloroform can cause that," Scott said, angry again. "I don't get it. Why did that creep come back? Just to hurt you? And me?" He had deliberately waited to "stab" Elliott until he knew Scott would be watching. He had wanted Elliott to think Scott was betraying him, but more than that, he had wanted Scott to think Elliott was being killed and that Scott could not do anything to prevent it. Had he just been passing by and decided to wreck havoc for no reason whatsoever? Or . . . could he be mixed up in the plot, whatever the plot was?
"I don't know why," Elliott said now, trying to straighten up. "But I'm pretty sure he'll be around for a while."
Scott nodded, furious. "Can you stand?" he asked. "I'll call Sean and Barry and let them know I've found you."
"I . . . think I can," Elliott said. "But . . . I might need some help," he added, looking sheepish.
"It's nothing to feel guilty about," Scott said. He rose, taking hold of Elliott's wrists and bringing his best friend to his feet. "I've been chloroformed before. It's a beast."
Elliott gave a weak smile. "No kidding."