Blood Cursed Page 2

  Gaven grew serious, “Speaking of good and evil, I found Hannah out running on my way home.”

  “You forgot again, didn’t you?” Leslie asked.

  I smiled at Leslie and then frowned at Gaven. “Why do you have to be a tattle tale? Are we in Kindergarten?”

  Gaven raised his eyebrows, “Since you won’t listen to me, I thought Leslie could help you understand the danger.”

  I huffed at him.

  “Hannah, haven’t I been telling you guys to be extra careful? There is a large animal loose killing people. Stay inside after dark, that’s when the attacks occur. Three people were murdered last month and this month one severely injured.” Leslie admonished. “Buy a treadmill, please.” He looked at Gaven.

  “Anyway,” he turned to me, “didn’t you see that new client today? The one attacked last night.”

  “Yeah, I saw her.” I answered unhappily.

  I took on a new pro bono patient, Rebecca. Attacked two nights ago, she was in rough shape both emotionally and physically. She spent the session crying, curled in a ball on the sofa. She was 5’1” and small in every way. Weighing in at maybe 100 pounds soaking wet. I wondered how she escaped considering the reported size of the animal.

  The mental image of her battered and bruised body made my stomach lurch. I turned away from the guys and focused on my sauce.

  “I would imagine one look at her would be motivation to exercise indoors for a while.” Leslie said. “Treadmill!”

  Gaven jumped in, “I saw her running and picked her up. Hannah never seems to listen to anyone, but Hannah.”

  “I’m standing right here, don’t talk about me like I am a child,” I stomped my foot.

  “Did you just stomp your foot? How old are you?” He asked holding back a laugh.

  “Kindergarten!” I smiled back at him.

  “Ok you two,” Leslie jumped in looking uncomfortable.

  “The point is this, don’t go running at night. The victims were alone, walking or jogging in their own neighborhoods. Punta Gorda is not big and the perpetrator seems to move easily from neighborhood to neighborhood. You’re my closest friends and I don’t want to be investigating your death Hannah. So, go to the gym and run on the treadmills for a few months or buy one so I don’t have to worry about you, okay?”

  “Alright, alright, you win. I’ll run on a treadmill,” I said exasperated by his speech.

  Winning an argument with Hannah 101. #1. Tell me how much they love me and #2. Explain how hurt they would feel if anything happened to me. Leslie sure knew how to play to my weakness.

  “Good,” both Leslie and Gaven agreed, “when do we eat?”

  Men! Outnumbered as usual. I needed to get some girlfriends and quick. Maybe I could change the male/female ratio if Leslie would accept one of those dates.

  The rest of the night was pleasant enough. Leslie filled us in on some more details about the attacks. Always careful not to tell us anything restricted, he was the most ethical person I ever met. A great trait in a friend. Ethical and loyal, Leslie was a great guy. I thought about his heartache and wondered if he would be receptive to dating if I fixed him up. The only problem, I didn’t know anyone in which to introduce him. Well, I knew people, but most of my time was spent with mental health client. This didn’t make for an ideal dating pool. In passing, I mentioned his dating, but got the usual runaround. Of course, my nosy therapist side and my pushy female side never stop shopping. I decided to keep it on the back burner.

  Leslie sat back after eating the last bite of his pie. “The animal seems to attack on a schedule. It attacked during the full moon last month and again this month. Maybe it sees better by moonlight?”

  “Or maybe it’s a werewolf out looking for its evening meal,” I joked shoving a very large piece of pie into my mouth.

  Gaven gave me a dirty look and Leslie ignored me. “So Gaven, when do you want to do some fishing?” He changed the subject. I sensed he was pissed about my joke. He lacked any humor when it came to his work, but I didn’t have the desire or ability to tip toe around him tonight.

  One similarity between police and psychotherapist training is the application of humor. Since both professions deal with high levels of stress, we’ve developed different ways of coping. While I enjoy tactless jokes, Leslie is the complete opposite. I have heard from several officers that Leslie will go off on anyone who makes fun of a victim or any other inappropriate comments. His seriousness reaches new levels when he’s on the job.

  “Alrighty then,” I mumbled as I started to clean up dinner.

  I said goodnight to the guys and went upstairs for a hot bubble bath, lavender for relaxation, a good book. Then off to sleepy land. I finished my page and reached to turn the light off when Gaven came to bed.

  “So, you guys still pissed about my jokes?” I asked lightly, testing the waters.

  “No Hannah, for a therapist you seem to lack sensitivity at times. Leslie is really upset by the murders and takes it personally when you minimize his feelings.” Gaven spoke quietly and evenly. He was also tired of fighting.

  “Alright, I will call and apologize tomorrow. But all that talk of full moons seemed silly to me.” I answered.

  “You read too many supernatural and science fiction books. You have zombies, vampires and werewolves on the brain.” He smiled.

  “I can’t help it, I see so many traumas at work created by real people, and it’s nice to escape into fictional creatures.” I explained.

  Gaven undressed down to his boxer briefs and climbed under the sheets, “I know,” he yawned.

  He leaned over, kissed me goodnight, turned over and was asleep. I lay there thinking about the evening, adding ‘Call Leslie to apologize’ to my mental to do list.

  How can Gaven fall asleep so damn fast? He must have an on/off switch; I contemplated as I closed my eyes with a smile.

  Chapter 4

  That night I dreamt of Rebecca as a wolf. Medium sized with a golden coat, she ran wild through downtown Punta Gorda, looking for food and howling at the moon. It was the sort of dream where you are there, but separate from the action. I followed Rebecca as she hunted. She came across a flock of Sandhill cranes pouncing on one before it flew away. The rest of the birds squawked, taking to the safety of the air. With a flash of golden fur, Rebecca seized the bird. She broke its neck with a jerk of her jaw. Blood tainted her golden coat. She ripped chucks from the bird, swallowing them whole and spitting out the feathers. Even in my dream state I felt nauseous.

  After consuming the bird, Rebecca paused, cocking her ear towards the horizon. Suddenly a car appeared, catching her silhouette with its headlights. I could feel her fear and confusion at the oncoming vehicle. The car passed without pause. She calmed as the brake lights faded from view. A faraway howl broke the night’s silence. Rebecca’s head turned toward the noise. She ran in the opposite direction obviously afraid of the other animal. Slowing in the protection of an open field, she sniffed the air, finding it safe to lie down and lick the blood from her coat.

  With each stroke of her tongue, the fear washed away. I felt and saw an amazing power flowing through her aura. She shimmered like golden water. The hypnotizing beauty of her aura swirled with tiny droplets of colors in a river of glitter. I felt myself drawn to her golden hue.

  As I approached, I saw two wolves running through her aura. One wolf looked like Rebecca, and the other, auburn with white tipped ears. They felt a freedom only wild animals achieve. Unrestrained, free and joyful. A veracity overtook my consciousness coupled with a peacefulness that I’ve never experienced. The auburn wolf stopped suddenly turning its head in my direction. It held my gaze as I was drawn into the flowing aura. The wolf watched silently as I struggled. Its blue eyes, familiar yet alien.

  I awoke fighting with my comforter.

  I sat up in an attempt to push the memories of my dream back into my subconscious. During our session, Rebecca talked about turning into a wolf. Why was I having dreams about Rebecc
a’s delusion? It felt so real, but don’t all dreams feel real? This one stood out in my mind. I could still feel myself drawn to her golden aura and toward the auburn wolf. I felt a connection to the animal. Crap, I was really losing it. Maybe I needed some therapy! I rubbed my eyes and looked around the room.

  Sitting in my king-sized bed with enough pillows stacked around to hide me from anyone, I attempted to slow my breathing. The sun filtered through the window. It was morning. I felt the hot Florida sun heating my room. This was reality. No more ridiculous dreams. I’m not going to attempting to analyze this dream. Freud will not have me in his clutches. It was a dream. Nothing more.

  I sprang out of bed. Saturday morning, yeah. I stretched and padded to the bathroom for my Saturday morning routine. As I brushed my teeth, the last fragments of my dream slipped from my consciousness. I focused on the weekend. Two days with no responsibilities. Exercise. A good book. A little TV. And a good meal. Then I’ll go to the movies and hide out in the cool darkness gorging on popcorn and candy. Sounds like a good idea.

  As I checked the movie times on my phone, I could already hear Gaven clunking around the kitchen. He always woke earlier than I. All those early morning fishing trips programmed his internal clock to wake at dawn.

  I followed the wonderful aroma of gourmet coffee down the stairs. It drifted into my caffeine deprived nostrils. Gaven is an amazing breakfast cook. He loves to be the Saturday morning chef. It’s the only time he cares to be in the kitchen. Even on fishing trip mornings, he prepares some delectable delight and leaves it for me with explicit reheating directions.

  Gaven spent many hours on the internet researching new and exotic coffees to sample. Today I suspected my favorite, a Dominican morning blend. On a vacation to the island several years ago, we discovered their amazing coffee and cocoa beans. So, we always keep a supply of Dominican coffee and chocolate in our pantry. These two ingredients are staples in our kitchen. Some people always have bread, butter, or milk on hand, but for us, Dominican coffee and chocolate. Turning the corner, I licked my lips. ‘Pavlovian response’ my therapist brain informed. Gaven sat at the kitchen table sipping hot, delicious coffee and reading the morning newspaper.

  He looked up at me with sadness in his eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked suddenly concerned.

  “There was another attack last night. The victim was killed. It happened half a mile from our house a few minutes after I picked you up,” He paused. “It could have been you Hannah.”

  Crap.

  “It wasn’t me,” I walked behind Gaven to look over his shoulder at the newspaper article.

  The newspaper reported the victim had been a young woman in her mid-twenties. She took her dog out for a walk after dinner. Mauled, both died at the scene.

  According to the article, she never had a chance. Clawed in four places with slashes on her stomach, her intestines fell out of her body. While she struggled, the animal gouged a large hole in her neck. She bled to death while her little yap-yap dog was bit in two. They found only the dog’s head.

  “My god, that is gruesome. Can they legally write that much detail?” I asked. My desire for coffee faded and I no longer had an appetite.

  “I guess so.” Gaven pointed to the picture of the scene. Several police officers stood around a white sheet covering the woman’s body. The whiteness of the sheet accentuated the blood splatters. This picture made me despise the media. They always made things much worse than necessary. I spent so many hours helping anxious clients regain control after seeing much less disturbing news items.

  “So much for a relaxing weekend. My trauma clients are all going to freak out.” I took a swig of Gaven’s coffee. Annoyance replaced my earlier disgust as I poured myself a cup of coffee.

  Gaven slid a piece of his latest egg creation in my direction. He knew I couldn’t complain if my mouth was full. He knew me well.

  “Last night Leslie said the police were releasing more information to the media in order to frighten people to staying inside.” He informed me.

  “So, in other words, the police aren’t making any progress?” I shoved a bite into my mouth. “God this is good.”

  “Looks like it. They have no experience with wild animals. There are no leads, no witnesses to the attacks, nothing. The strange part is the animal attacked for three nights in a row and then waited a whole month to attack again.” Gaven contemplated.

  “What if it goes into hibernation, like a bear?” I asked trying to help.

  “Don’t joke Hannah, bears hibernate for many months in the winter and that kind of bear doesn’t live in South Florida.” He looked at me with bright green eyes.

  “I’m not joking, just thinking out loud. Do they even know what type of animal it is?” I stuffed another oversized bite into my mouth.

  “They think it is some sort of wolf, but the bite and claw marks are much too big. At least for any wolf their animal experts have ever seen. That’s all that Leslie shared. He just wanted us to know enough to be safe. He said don’t go out alone in the evening and carry pepper spray.” Gaven lectured.

  I laughed out loud. “Like pepper spray would save me from the oversized murdering killer wolf. How about a bazooka?”

  Gaven flipped though the paper to an advertisement for the local gun show. “Well we can go buy a taser.”

  “Gaven, I was joking. I am not going to carry a weapon.” I would probably end up tasing myself, I thought. I could picture myself lying on the ground seizing in a puddle of pee, while the murderous wolf laughs from a safe distance waiting to kill me when I stopped twitching. I finished my coffee so I stole a swig from Gaven.

  “Well, it was just a suggestion. Anyway, Leslie believes if we stay indoors at night we should be fine.” He got up to refill my cup.

  I started to think about my run last night. The moment right before Gaven honked, I heard a howl, the same howl I heard in my dream last night. Ridiculous, I thought. All howls sound the same. I really needed to ditch that dream and get on with reality. I found myself encased in a moment of pure fear. I shivered at the implications and thanked my lucky stars my husband came by when he did.

  Gaven looked up from his breakfast, “Are you okay?”

  “That girl could have been me.” I said slowly.

  “I know Hannah, I know.” I worry about you sometimes. I’m sorry if it came across as anger.” He looked at the picture in the paper again, “I couldn’t live with myself if this had been you.” I saw the worry in his eyes and the love he felt for me.

  He held my gaze for moment then took a sip of coffee. I started to feel better, finishing my breakfast while Gaven read the rest of the paper.

  The tension rolled out of the room. Last nights’ argument was gone and forgotten.

  Gaven folded the paper and asked me to go fishing. Gaven fishes every possible weekend. Leslie did say that being on the water during the day was safe enough. Determined to catch dinner, Gaven was dressed and ready. He usually kayaks, but I sensed it was a motorboat day. Since Gaven felt anxious about the attacks, the exhilaration of speeding along the water would help him relax. A very guy thing to do. He seemed happier, calmer and content whenever communing with nature, especially of the sea faring variety.

  I agreed to go.

  The answering service would call if it were a true emergency.

  I rarely went fishing. I am not the type. I disliked slimy smelly fish, slippery worms, and everything fishy. Gaven and I have an ongoing agreement. I would occasionally accompany him on fishing days. But no early morning departure and we would have to fish near an island with a sandy beach, so I could swim and sunbathe.

  With that in mind, I hurried into my bathing suit and slathered sunblock on every inch of skin.

  Heading out from the marina, we filled up the cooler with drinks and bait shrimp, and pointed the boat toward Boca Grande. Florida’s gulf coast is exceptionally beautiful. Shimmery blue waters and lots of little islands to drop anchor. The warm salty sea
air blew past my face as we motored toward my favorite remote beach, reminding me of why we lived here. The air cooled as we moved away from land. Squawking seagulls circled above looking for a school of fish in which to fill their bellies. A small pod of dolphins frolicked in our wake. The sun traversed the blue cloudless sky, warming the water to a perfect temperature. Gaven asked me to watch the sky for growing clouds as the day wore on. Thunderstorms formed within minutes and being on the water could go from fun to frightening.

  Gaven slowed the boat and threw the anchor onto a small sandbar to hold us in place. I dove into the water and swam with slow lazy strokes toward my beach. Gaven hooked a poor defenseless shrimp and cast his line in the other direction. He removed his shirt and his tanned toned muscles glimmered from the sunscreen.

  Gaven tanned easily, glistening in the sun. I on the other hand went from white to red in one fail swoop. But thanks to my SPF 50, I remained as pale as when I started out that morning.

  We were enjoying our day. The memories of my dream and the animal attack left far behind. Gaven caught a lovely grouper and cleaned it while I swam around the island. With a big smile on his face he declared, “I have brought home the bacon once again.”

  “Ok, so what am I cooking tonight?” I grinned back.

  “Crunchy Grouper sandwiches.” He said holding up the fish and then dropping it into the cooler. I loved grouper, especially breaded with corn flakes, deep fried and drenched in tartar sauce. Eating healthy flew out the window when groupers on the menu. Fresh grouper was a rare treat since you had to head offshore to catch them.

  Grouper hang out in their little hidey-holes where the water is super deep. We anchored on a sandbar in very shallow water and Gaven managed to persuade a grouper to come our way. Gaven had a reputation for catching the uncatchable in his circle of fishing buddies. Leslie even jokes about how Gaven is the fishing golden boy, always catching what other fishermen only fib about. Leslie tried to persuade Gaven to compete in a local fishing tournament. But he always declined, claiming the competition only ruins the pleasure.