The Order of the Dragon

From the archives of Dr. Norman Godfrey:

NG: No one’s used that word, Mr. Pullman.

FP: This is a fucking crazy house, it’s between the lines. Check my record. My luck is shit, not my head. NG: I have. There’s no history of psychosis, and your MRI is clean, but that was quite a night you had on Saturday, would you agree?

FP: …

NG: Do you have any memory of it?

FP: Check my record. Nothing wrong with my head. NG: Would you care to discuss it?

FP: You got a name?

NG: My name is Norman. Dr. Norman Godfrey. FP: …

NG: Would you like to discuss Saturday night, Mr. Pullman? FP: Why are you talking to me?

NG: Why do you ask?

FP: You think I don’t know who you are? NG: Does it matter what my name is? FP: Why are you talking to me?

NG: Fair enough. Because my daughter asked me to. You met her on Saturday, do you remember? FP: …

NG: Let’s talk about that night, Mr. Pullman.

FP: We talk about it you’re gonna lock my ass up here.

NG: Frankly, you already said more than enough the night in question to make a case for that. I’d just like to give you a chance to explain. Now, you repeatedly told the paramedics that “they” had done this to you. Who did you mean?

FP: …

NG: You said “they” had killed you. FP: …

NG: Is “they” the government?

FP: Do I got a dick in my mouth? I ain’t fucking crazy. NG: Is it voices?

FP: …

NG: Do they talk to you? FP: … I see things.

NG: Such as? FP: (inaudible)

NG: What do you see, Mr. Pullman? FP: Who else is gonna die.

NG: … Can we take a moment for you to elaborate on what you meant when you said you had been killed?

FP: The fuck it usually mean?

NG: But you’re sitting here right now. FP: They brought me back.

NG: How did they pull that off? FP: Cardiocerebral resuscitation.

NG: I see … Can you tell me about Ouroboros, Mr. Pullman? FP: Where’d you hear that?

NG: It was something else that you mentioned repeatedly. Can you tell me its significance?

FP: Where does the soul go? It’s why they killed us. The plan, it’s all in their plan. It’s not right. It’s not right that now we have to see those things. I don’t want to see.

NG: “Us”?

FP: Today I have seen the Dragon …

NG: I’m having difficulty following, Mr. Pullman. FP: I seen it. I seen the thing inside her.

NG: What do you mean? The thing inside who? FP: The thing inside your little girl.

* * *

If Brooke Bluebell shook the hive, Lisa Willoughby was a fist straight through it. Like Brooke, Lisa was a Penrose native, but the animal responsible was still local. Because the body had been exposed several days, a species still could not be determined, but more baffling was the continuing lack of tracks. Tracks tell a story. They tell the story of who this animal is and what it wants and how this is interwoven with the fabric of its ecosystem. An animal of this size leaves tracks, it tells its story, it has no choice. But nature abhors a vacuum, and loose tongues were once more ready to fill it. Fear is a communicable disease; it comes out in the sweat and passes from host to host. Fear is an incendiary agent; it combusts with stupidity. An escaped circus animal, an escaped lunatic, Sasquatch, a secret alien experiment, a secret White Tower experiment, werewolves. Shelley Godfrey.

On November 5 Roman caught two boys tormenting his sister in the ninth-grade locker section. She was sitting on the ground with her head between her knees moaning and drooling miserably as a crowd watched the boys leaning over her. Who tasted better—Did you do it fast or slow—Who’s next—Who’s next—

Roman elbowed his way through the Sworn twins and there was a hush as he stood, his green Godfrey eyes were hard candy. The boys backed into the lockers, vainly and stupidly protesting their innocence. Roman looked at his sister on the ground. Her head was still bowed forward and her massive humped shoulders were shaking. He looked into the eyes of the second boy and in a tone striking for its reason said, “Kiss him. Kiss his pretty little mouth.”

The second boy took his friend and drew their lips together. The first boy sent an indignant fist to his suitor’s ear. Roman braced one foot against the lockers and helped Shelley up as the two boys wrestled on the ground, the first a flurry of knees and nails against the other’s unyielding advances. Shelley and the lights above her flickered asynchronously.

As recess closed, Roman approached Peter, who stood at the side of the building humming a current R & B chart hit and carving a lewd glyph into the brick face with a razor appropriated from bio. The news of the second girl had come as no surprise to him, only the length of time it had taken to come out. He

knew now what was happening, or at least enough to know how much he’d rather think about just about anything else, but of course that would now require shaking the upir from his tail.

“Powwow,” said Roman.

The bell rang and they went to the basketball court and sat against the chain-link fence, sending several pigeons in flight.

“Are you … sure it wasn’t you?” said Roman. “I never go out on an empty stomach,” said Peter. “You got any grass?” said Roman.

Peter dug a joint from his pocket. “It wasn’t me either,” said Roman. “I know,” said Peter.

Roman masked his dejection at not remaining a suspect. He pointed to the pavement, indicating the ground, underneath the ground. “Do you think it’s—”

“No,” said Peter. “That’s something … weirder.” “Weirder how?”

Peter shrugged and lit the joint. Roman knew he knew more than what he was saying and Peter took some pleasure in allowing the moment to stretch.

“Vargulf,” he said. “What?” said Roman.

“Vargulf,” said Peter. “A wolf will only attack if it’s hungry, or provoked. If it’s normal. A vargulf is a wolf that’s gone insane.”

“Insane how?” said Roman.

“Doesn’t eat what it kills,” said Peter. “It isn’t the way. It’s a disease.” “You’re sure that’s what this is?” said Roman.

Peter passed the joint to Roman, nodding. He had sensed it the first moon and the latest came across its scent station but could not make hide nor hair of the discovery; it was unlike anything he had ever encountered; it communicated nothing of the other wolf’s sex or intentions, it just smelled … angry.

“Is it someone you know?” said Roman.

“I never knew any others except Nicolae. But this is a strange town. You can feel it in your balls.” Roman nodded. He tilted his head back and exhaled smoke.

“So I guess now we find him,” said Roman. Peter didn’t follow. “Who?”

“The vargulf,” said Roman. Peter didn’t follow. “Why?”

“To make him stop,” said Roman. Peter laughed.

“Do not laugh at me,” said Roman, meaning it more than any other thing he could say. “Sorry,” said Peter.

“He ripped a girl in half,” said Roman. Peter was quiet. And?

Roman was reluctant now, how best to explain. “Have you ever heard of the Order of the Dragon?” he said.

Peter looked at him. This better be good.

“It was a group of knights from the Crusades. My mom used to tell us stories.” Peter looked at him, but more so.

“I … I’ve always wanted to be a warrior,” said Roman.

Peter came to the silent conclusion that this conference was about to jump several echelons of his

Hierarchy.

Roman flicked a pebble and it skittered just short of the foul line. He silently counted the parallelograms formed by the overlaying diamonds of the opposite basketball net. It was difficult for him, admitting it. He’d never talked about it, even with Letha.

“Have you ever attacked anyone?” he said. “As the wolf?” “No,” said Peter.

“Have you ever … wanted to?” “I’ve never had a reason to.”

“I’ve never believed in God,” said Roman in the too-fast blurt of an illicit confession.

“And Nicolae to his dying day didn’t believe that squirrels don’t hatch from eggs,” said Peter, using calculated glibness as a derailer. He was not comfortable with this degree of intimacy. He did not like where this was going. The layers of outer affectation peeled away to reveal the other boy’s inner need. His need that he thought Peter could somehow meet. The only thing that scared Peter off more than other people’s needs was a cage, though in the end what was the difference?

Roman continued heedless. “I see things sometimes,” he said. “I see these … shadows that I don’t always know if they’re real or not.”

So there you had it. Behind that aloof and mercurial façade was a battle, and he had to decide the outcome: Was he the hero or the villain? And so what could be more black-and-white than a quest to slay the monster that was terrorizing the countryside? Wow. Peter didn’t want to touch that with your dick.

“Roman,” said Peter, “maybe this is the kind of thing you should be talking about with the guidance counselor.”

Roman didn’t say anything for a while.

“Do you think you could leave me alone now?” he said.

Peter stood and walked off the court, glancing behind him once at Roman’s thin back against the distended fence.

Date: 2016-01-05; view: 808