Hairwolf

“What’d they hit, a tree?”

“They were speeding and hit a moose crossing the street. The passenger went clear through the windshield, didn’t have on his seatbelt. Moose don’t look both ways before crossing,” Brizzbee says. “They just cross. As do bear, deer, and well, those are the things that you have to worry about.”

“What happened to the driver?”

“Airbag beat her up pretty bad. Take that. Share it with your buds. Go to the Wardens office in town tomorrow. They’ll have a fishing license waiting for you. My treat.”

The passenger steps up to Brizzbee, head down and humble.

“I’m sorry for being such a dickhead.”

“Butt-head,” Brizzbee says, confidently. “There’s a difference. If you were a dickhead, you wouldn’t be apologizing to me. So, I thank you for that.”

“All this because we helped your buddy?”

“No. Because you took the time out of your day to help somebody else. Not a lot of that going on these days. It says a lot about your character.”

The passenger extends his hand for a shake. Brizzbee shakes his hand.

They depart. Brizzbee watches them leave, surprised at how well that went. Brizzbee crosses to the old-timer, still searching the property.

He’s roughly dressed, torn jeans, holes in his boots and a long beard.

“Donny, boy. How ya doin?”

“Great mornin, ain’t it?”

“It is,” Brizzbee replies.

“So what’d they do?”

“Oh, just driven fast and fishin without a license. I let em go. They gave you their catch though.”

The man takes a peek in the cooler and smiles.

“Gonna be a road-kill at the station waiting for ya, too,” Brizzbee adds. “Big buck.”

“Big buck, ah? That’s too bad. Oh well. It won’t go to waste. More and more mouths to feed with things being the way they are.”

“You let us know if there’s anything else you need for the store. You’re doing some great work over there, Donny. A lot of people appreciate it.”

“No bother. I like to give a little back, ya know.”

The Old-Timer checks out the pickup and boat. “Looks like your rigged for a stake-

out. Goin after those goddamn poachers?”

“No. Something else we’re working on. No talk at the soup kitchen about em yet, ah?”

“Nothin yet, Brizz. But we’re askin around. Horrible waste.”

Moby watches as Stef and Lillian stab veggies onto skewers in Stef’s back yard. Lillian takes a plate-full and crosses to the grill.

“Why don’t you let me do that?” Stef says. “At least my clothes are already dirty.”

“Watch and observe, little girl,” Lillian says with confidence.

Stef is far from impressed. It’s more like disgust. She hates the fact Lillian could flip skewers and avoid getting splattered. Maybe she’ll drop a red pepper onto her bleached white button shirt, tucked neatly into her pressed jeans.

“Where do you get off wearing white to a barbecue?”

“It’s a black thing, baby. Get out your note-book. Momma’s gonna...”

“...Shut up. Pissing me off.”

“Look at you. You really are pissed.”

“I can’t walk out of the house without getting dirty and you’re stabbing skewers with juice and grease flyin all over the place – except on you. It’s bullshit.”

“It’s the worlds we live in. You go places I wouldn’t dare go. You’re in the woods more than Tarzan and you never get Lime disease. How do you do that?”

“You don’t get Lime disease from being in the woods. You get it from deer ticks.”

“And when was the last time you had a tick?”

“I don’t get ticks.”

“And I don’t get dirty. The worlds we live in.”

Lillian reaches into her little cooler and unwraps a couple of chicken legs and throws them on the

grill.

“What the hell is that?”

“Lunch! Oh, I’m sorry. Did I forget to put your fish on, Ms. Vegetarian only when it suits her? I didn’t think so. Where’s the beer?”

“Moby, show the meat eater where the cooler is.”

Moby steps down from the chair and crosses under the back porch, jumping onto the cooler. Lillian watches in total disbelief.

“That’s amazing! And you’ve only had him a couple of months? You’re a pet whisperer. What a smart kitty! And so good looking, too. Aren’t you, Moby?”

Lillian crosses to the cooler and takes a beer. She twists off the top and takes a slow swig, careful not to let it suds up. “Boy, that’s good!”

Stef turns the skewers. She lets her mind drift just for a second and it happens. Grease splatters all over her shirt. “God damn it, anyway.”

“Here’s what I’m thinking,” says Lillian. “Tomorrow I want to do some sight-seeing. I’ve never been to Maine.”

“Sight-seeing, ah? Think that’ll be the first thing on your list after tonight? I’m worried about how I may react to you and you’re thinking about sight-seeing.”

“If you’re talking about Schteffy wolf, don’t worry about it. What could happen?”

“I could claw you.”

“Wear gloves,” Lillian says, matter-of-factly.

“That’s a great idea. And I have just the pair. You’re not English, are you?”

“No. Not that I know of. Are you being sarcastic?” Lillian asks. “I can’t tell.”

“No. You can only be infected if you have English blood.”

“How convenient,” Lillian says sarcastically.

Later, Stef carries a cooler to her truck. Lillian pulls a suitcase from her SUV and hands it to Stef. She places it in the truck.

“I’ve got an air-mattress for you to sleep on while I’m gone,” Stef says.

“Where you gonna sleep?”

“I don’t. Not while I’m full fur. By morning I’ll either be under my truck or up in a tree. I experience a paralysis when I wake up. I can’t move. So I have to sleep somewhere safe.”

“What are you talking about, paralysis?”

“Psychic paralysis,” Stef says, recalling from a textbook. “It’s when the individual inside awakens before the body does. You’re awake, but you can’t move.”

“What individual?”

“. . .Your entity. Spirit. Soul thingy. Your consciousness. That thing that gives the body life, awareness. It’s awake, but the body isn’t. So I have to wait for my body to wake up.”

“Where’d you hear about this?” Lillian asks.

“In a book. Developing your Psychic Skills. You know about it?”

“I know of it. I just never pieced it together like that. I have a client that swears she’s possessed because of it.”

“That’s because she thinks fear while it’s happening to her. She has to think pleasant thoughts. Tell her to take naps if she doesn’t like it. It should go away. I’m serious. I’ll bet she doesn’t sleep much, right?”

“Girl, you and I have been talking about the wrong shit. You actually experience that?”

“It’s part of my recovery. My body must be exhausted from the cross-over but not me. It’s weird.

Like there’s two of us. The thinking me and the physical me. I remember the first time it

happened. I thought I was literally paralyzed and I got scared. I started freaking out. I mean, really, really horrified. But then my body woke up. After that, I did some research and found – and this is the most important thing – while you’re in that state, whatever your emotions are at the time, fear, love, joy, they’re magnified a hundred times. That’s why I grew more and more scared.

The fear kept increasing. So now I think love, joy, peaceful thoughts and I actually look forward to the experience. Think love, get love. Think fear, get fear.”

Stef crosses to the glove compartment and retrieves a map leaving Lillian to think about her comments.

“So that’s probably why she thinks she’s being possessed,” Lillian says. “She’s a big believer in the whole underworld thing.”

“Oh, yeah. She doesn’t want to be thinking about that shit. Light and love.”

Stef lays the map on the hood of the truck. The map shows a yellow marker highlighting a circular trail. “We’ll be parked here. That’s the lake. I mapped out the route I usually take. Usually! I should be back early morning.”

“I’ll be waiting with a leash,” Lillian says, pulling out her cell phone.

“You know what – make sure you pack a large supply of toilet paper,” Stef offers.

“Oh, I won’t be needing toilet paper.”

“The hell you won’t.”

“...The hell I won’t.”

“When I turn, you’re going to be ...”

“...You ain’t turning into nothin except a bullshit artist. I can’t believe how far you’re willing to go with this shit.”

Stef crosses towards her apartment, frustrated ...“Pack the toilet paper, Lillian. You’re going to be knee deep in it.”

“I’m already knee deep in it. Where do you keep the shovel?” Lillian says, frustrated. Then into her phone, “Vivian, it’s Lill. Listen I have an idea about your paralysis. Instead of thinking

bad or scary thoughts, think positive ones. My friend just told me that’s what she does. She said it works every time. I’ll explain later. Get back to me. Okay, bye.”