All dogs were in attendance as expected. The chocolate lab lounged by his owner’s feet, head resting on his front paws. The German Shepherd panted; his doggy mouth turned up in a canine grin. Like the Doberman, he sat stiffly next to his owner’s chair. The lab and the shepherd were very interested in Logan and Zane’s unseen lupine qualities. They stared at the two werewolves, who appeared unaware of their latest admirers. Only the Doberman remained indifferent to Zane and Logan.
The meeting started like any other board meeting. The last meeting’s minutes were reviewed. Old business was addressed, and then before I realized it, we were onto new business. I hadn’t even bothered to listen in on the pets. Nice work, I chastised myself.
Keeping my pen poised over a half-filled notebook page, I searched the lab’s mind. I trusted the mini-recorder would take care of anything I missed while nosing around in the canine minds.
The door to the dog’s thoughts swung wide open and I slipped in. His owner, Roger Ryker, a Native American male, in his fifties, and sporting cropped, graying hair, materialized in a majority of the dog’s visions. It was easy to see this was a good match. As far as I could tell, there was nothing out of the ordinary. Normal dog stuff was all the Labrador had on his mind.
Disappointed, but happy for the two of them, I moved on to the beautifully-marked German shepherd, saving the dreaded dobby for last.
The dog stiffened as I entered his thoughts. I probed as gently as I could, hoping he’d relax and reveal something of interest. I didn’t have to wait long.
I was yanked into a recognizable but unexpected landscape. The dog and his owner were walking through the strange medical facility that I’d seen in the cloaked creature’s mind. They stopped at the foot of one of many beds, providing a close up view of a male patient. He wasn’t resting on his bed.
He was strapped to it.
His body writhed from side to side like an animal caught in a trap, experiencing unspeakable pain. Perspiration glistened on his face, which was turning an odd shade of gray.
The shepherd stared up at his master, who during introductions had identified himself as Martin, one of the Makah Tribe elders. Martin leaned over the thrashing patient along with several men dressed in scrubs, and none other than the infamous redheaded woman.
He met her gaze from across the bed. She gave a slight nod.
“He’s not progressing. We all know what that means. But wait; make sure. We’ve been wrong before,” Martin instructed.
“Then?” another man asked, glancing at his clipboard.
“Kill him,” Martin said with a shrug. “We don’t need any more renegade baldies running around. We’ve caused enough problems cleaning up our mistakes.” He glanced sideways at the woman.
She glared at Martin. “I’m certain you’re not blaming me for your screw ups.” Her eyes flashed crimson. Martin flinched like he’d been stung.
“Of course not, Mistress.” He inclined his head.
“Blaming me wouldn’t be wise.” She moved around the table and behind Martin. Leaning over his shoulder, she whispered something that made the corner of his mouth rise.
Without further comment, she strode with hips swaying, down the corridor, making it her own personal runway, high heels clicking on the concrete.
The men gazed after her retreating figure, and then sighed in unanimous relief when she exited through the double doors. Martin was wearing a stupid little grin that gave him a slightly insane appearance. He’d been satiated by her whispered promise.
I started to pull away from the vision, when the dog whimpered, recapturing my attention. Martin and the others stared down at their patient, who was transforming into something not human.
He shriveled and shrunk, his skin becoming a railroad track of wrinkled lines and creases. His thick, blonde, mane-of-hair was falling out in clumps, making his head look like a shiny orb. I could almost see the veins pulsating beneath the thin cap of skin covering his skull. He looked like an alien featured on the Sci-fi Channel.
What had started out as a normal-looking twenty-something male, had become what I now referred to as one of the ugly creatures, minus its cloak.
Martin pulled a syringe from his pocket.
“Look out!” I warned, realizing my error too late.
Every board member was gaping — their eyes glued on me.
So much for my simple administrative duties.
By the strained expression on Zane’s face, it was evident I’d blown any opportunity to appear normal. As if