“I grew up with them,” he said. “And when I started raising them, they grew up with me. We just got to know each other better than most humans and dogs do.”
“But the training,” she persisted. “They respond to you like nothing I’ve ever seen.”
“Something in my voice, I guess,” he said. “I probably have all these auditory cues I use without even being aware of it.”
“And they pick up on them,” she said. “Maybe you’ve gotten it all wrong. Maybe the dogs are the ones who trained you, not the other way around.”
“Could be,” he said, letting his fingers trail gently down the curve of her body. “I never thought of it like that before.”
He let his hand wander and explore, and she arched her back.
“How did you get to be so good with me?” she gasped, and he drew her to him in response.
“We’re tight,” he said to Carson as he punched in the numbers on the last lock and pulled the door shut. “Carson, patrol.”
The dog began loping about the building.
The watcher pulled out his cell phone and pressed a single button.
“Did you get the security code?” he asked quietly.
“Affirmative.”
“Good,” said the watcher.
He broke the connection and waited impatiently. He had been spending the day in a state of forced calm, but now, with the moment so close, he was nervous, jumpy. You would think that the killing urge would die out over the years, he thought. That the rage would gradually fade given time. Time that heals all wounds. A laughable notion in his case. With each kill, the wound seemed to rip open more, the bloodlust increased, and the only thing he could think about was the next one. Maybe Lehrmann would satisfy the urge for a while. He thought he might. Lehrmann was going to be a good one. Lehrmann was his Christmas gift to himself.
Edwards lay prone in a cornfield, watching the front of the warehouse until he saw Lehrmann go back inside. Then he crawled backward through the dried stalks until he could get to a crouching position unobserved. Still staying low, he scuttled to the rear of a barn where the surveillance van was parked. He tapped twice, then three times, on the side door. It slid open, and he clambered inside.
Kenner was behind the wheel. Hidalgo was in the back, monitoring the police radio.
“Any of that coffee left?” asked Edwards.
“In the pot,” said Hidalgo. “Make it quick. It’s almost time.”
Edwards poured himself a cup, threw in three sugars and some creamer, and stirred it. He drank it in two gulps, then began putting on the padding.
“Did you guys ever feel like we work for a crazy person?” he asked.
“Sometimes,” said Kenner. “Then I see my paycheck and the feeling goes away.”
“And he’s not so crazy,” said Hidalgo.
“What makes you think so?” asked Edwards, tightening the straps to make sure nothing crucial was exposed.
“Because he’s making you go in first,” explained Hidalgo.
“You got a point,” said Edwards. “Ever feel like I’ve become a crazy person?”
“That we do,” said Kenner, checking his watch, then his gun.
Lehrmann went back to the large cage and checked his watch. Fifteen minutes. He stripped off his clothes and hung them from a pair of hooks. Then he took off his watch and placed it on a table so that it faced the cage. He checked the timer on the lock, then stepped inside and pulled the door shut. The lock engaged.
Carson came by and sat in front of the cage.
“It’s locked,” said Lehrmann, shaking the bars to prove it. “Thanks for checking, buddy. I’m good.”
The dog woofed once, then resumed his patrolling.
The clanging of the cage echoed through the watcher’s earpiece. He smiled.
“Next,” he said softly.
At the Spinelli house, Waldo made a thorough inspection of every room. Then he heard a whistle, and galloped down the stairs to the front hallway.
Sally was waiting for him with his leash.
“Time for your walk, Waldo,” she said, clipping it to his collar. “Mom? I’m taking Waldo for a walk around the block.”
“Sweetie, it’s getting dark,” called her mother from the kitchen. “Don’t be too long.”
“Ah, come on, hon,” said her husband. “Think who’s with her. She’ll be the safest girl in the neighborhood. Take your time, kiddo. Show Waldo who’s friendly and where the weirdos are.”
“’Kay, ’bye,” she called, leading him out the front door.
Lehrmann looked through the bars at his watch. Five minutes. He sat cross-legged in the middle of the cage and took deep slow breaths. He held his hands out at his sides, palms up.
Outside the windows, the sky turned to night.
“Om,” he chanted. “Om.”
The change always started inside his chest as his rib cage expanded. The surrounding muscles resisted for a moment, then began to stretch and re-form to accommodate the larger shape.
“Om,” he continued. “Om.”
It spread up through his shoulders and neck, and down through his pelvis as the bones shifted, making crackling noises like twigs popping on a fire. The hair was sprouting now, thick, coarse, and gray.
“Om,” he said, clinging to the sound, concentrating all of his being in the chant.
The arms and legs were at it now, the claws bursting through his fingers and toes. That pain was always the worst. The chant was coming out hoarsely. He was choking on it, but forced it out. Then came the jaws thrusting forward, the teeth, the fangs.
The mind.
“Om,” he whimpered.
He wanted to howl.
Just one howl.
What harm could one little howl do?
Let it out.
“Om!” he shouted.
He took a deep breath.
“Om,” he chanted. “Om.”
He sensed the other dogs watching him down the row of cages. Fascinated. Envious.
His heartbeat slowed back to normal. Whatever the hell that was.
Carson came by and sat, looking at him.
“I’m good, buddy,” said Lehrmann. “Want to hand me the remote? Let’s see what’s on cable tonight.”
Carson went over to the table where the remote control sat next to the watch. He picked it up gently with his teeth and brought it over to the cage where the werewolf sat, scratching his back. He put it on the floor, then nudged it between the bars with his nose.
“Thanks, buddy,” said Lehrmann, picking it up and turning on the monitor mounted on the wall outside. He tore off a chunk of the lamb carcass and shoved it through the bars to the dog. Carson grabbed it and went back on patrol.
The usual Christmas fare. Repeats of specials he had seen dozens of times before. He flipped through them. There was the Island of Misfit Toys, and Linus wrapping his blanket to shore up that pathetic little tree. He growled with displeasure and turned it off.
“Oh, I love this one!” she cried. “Best ‘Christmas Carol’ ever!”
They were cuddling on the couch downstairs, a bowl of popcorn and a pitcher of bourbon-laced eggnog on the coffee table. Nicky was curled up on the far end, forcing them together. He wondered if that was her intent.
“The Mister Magoo one was the best,” said Lehrmann.
“Never saw that one,” she said.
“They used to show it when I was a kid,” he said. “The Ghost of Christmas Future scared the crap out of me.”
“That’s no surprise,” she said. “The future always scares you.”
He looked at her.
“Where did that come from?” he asked.
“Oh, come off it, Sam,” she said. “It’s Christmas Eve. Our third together. Only we’re not completely together, are we?”
“I’m over here most nights, aren’t I?”
“Yes, but I’m a greedy little bitch, Sam,” she said. “I want them all. Where were you Tuesday night?”
“I was home.”
“Now, that’s simply a lie,” she said. “I called you at home, and you didn’t answer. And when I drove by, no one was there.”