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I’m going to puke.
I used to think I had an iron stomach, but since coming to Franklinton, my gag reflex had been getting a real workout.
A bare bulb cast the small concrete room in garish shadows. The smell of bleach was like a slap in the face, so dense I would have gladly welcomed the magnolia blooms back. But even with the intense cleaning that must have been done here, the floor was still mottled with black, and beneath the chlorine reek was the unmistakable smell of blood.
Three cages were lined up side by side along the back wall, wedged together so tightly that if anyone had been inside, they would be able to reach into the cage next to them. Another cage, one I recognized from Deerling’s video, was placed atop a grate in the floor.
Hanging on the back wall was a huge wolf pelt, a stunning russet brown. It was too big to belong to a natural wolf.
I choked back a sob, tears flooding my eyes so quickly they stung.
When a werewolf dies in wolf form, they shift back to their human figure. In order for someone to have skinned the pelt off a werewolf, they would have needed to remove the fur while the wolf was still alive.
“My God,” Wilder whispered, placing a hand on my shoulder.
I wanted to turn into his comfort, to let him hold me so I didn’t have to see the fur and know how it came to be hanging there. But I had to see it. Taking my eyes off that skin would be diminishing the suffering endured by whichever werewolf had been held here before Hank.
Instead I crossed the room in two wide steps, buried my fingers deep in the wiry fur and yanked it down off the wall. I held it against my chest, breathing in the fading smell of dirt and pine, knowing this used to be a female. Middle-aged, judging by the natural gray in the fur. It was different from mine. My streaks, to hear it told, were white, not gray.
“I’ll get you home.” I didn’t know who she’d been or what pack was missing her, but I would bring her back among the wolves. We’d bury her fur and give her a proper farewell.
Glass boxes and jars adorned the shelves nearby. A large skull, this one from a real wolf, was illuminated under a spotlight. There were jars of teeth and claws, and a full wolf paw floated in jar full of murky yellow liquid.
This was worse than murder. I’d thought what he was doing to Hank in that video had been hard to stomach. This was sickening and maddening, and for a flicker of a second I didn’t know if I could bring Deerling to Cain in anything other than a body bag.
If I got my hands on him, I might just show him what a live flaying felt like.
And then the thought was gone, replaced with a more sensible one. “Do you have your phone?”
Wilder nodded, still dumbstruck by the horror surrounding us. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a smartphone that had seen better days.
“Film it,” I instructed, hugging the fur tighter. I wasn’t sure if I was trying to comfort the ghost of the dead woman, or I needed her to comfort me.
“What?”
“Film it. Film it all. We can’t broadcast his confession down here, but people need to know what he’s done.” My voice shook. “They need to see this.”
“It will look like hunting trophies,” he reminded me.
“That’s exactly what they are.”
He turned on his phone and started to film. I followed him, trying to keep steady, and narrated exactly what we were looking at. I explained the various artifacts. I said aloud the things I’d only let run through my head. Without screaming or crying, I explained to the world precisely how these items would have needed to be removed to maintain their current form. When Wilder panned to me, I held up the fur.
“This was a person. It was a woman you might have known. She could have worked at your bank. She might have taught Sunday school or art. She might have run marathons or raised money for charity. We are not animals. Anyone who could do this to another person is the animal.” I hugged the fur back to my chest again, and when I started to cry, Wilder shut off his phone.
Footfalls sounded overhead, interrupting my moment of sadness.
“Upload it. Send it to YouTube, or Facebook, or Dropbox. Whatever. Just make sure it’s out there. We need to know people are going to see it even if we… Even if things don’t go according to plan.”
At this point Wilder had spent enough time with me he didn’t ask for my reasons. He pushed a few buttons on his screen then slid the phone ba
ck into his pocket.
“You ready for this?” he asked me.
I ran my fingers through the red-brown fur in my hands and stared up at the ceiling.
No.
