Hairwolf

Foster retrieves an item from his truck as Lillian thanks every one of the officers personally with a hand shake or shoulder pat. Brizzbee’s very impressed by that. It’s nice to feel respected as a law enforcement officer. Foster approaches Stef with the welders’ gloves.

“We found these near a ditch...?”

“And?” Stef says, waiting.

“So, who’s the one that shot me in the ass,” Lillian blurts out.

“I am so sorry about that. I really am,” says Brizzbee. “But I got to ask, what were you doing hanging from a cliff in the middle of the night?”

“Let’s save the questions for after lunch,” Foster says. “What do you say?”

Foster holds open the rear passenger door for Stef. Brizzbee crosses to the rear drivers-door and opens it for Lillian.

“I’ll drive,” Foster says. “I know a nice place right down the street.”

“Is this a trick?” Stef asks, suspiciously.

“Actually, yes. We’re really going to take you to another donut shop.”

Stef laughs and gets in. Brizzbee turns to Lillian from the passenger seat. He notices she’s shaking. “Are you alright?”

“I’m always nervous around law enforcement.”

Stef takes her hands and rubs them in hers.

“You’re not in trouble, Lillian,” Brizzbee offers. “Far from it. If you didn’t call, we’d still be out there looking for you. You have no idea how happy we are you’re sitting here. And I really didn’t mean to shoot you with a dart. I was aiming for. . .”

Foster interrupts with, “Lunch, Brizz. So you girls are from New York?”

“Yes. Ever been?” Stef asks, eager to take his lead.

“Oh, I’ve been. Once. That’s all it took. Too busy. I couldn’t think. People weren’t bad, the few I actually got to talk to. They all seemed so busy.”

“That’s actually a facade,” Lillian says. “It’s a trick to keep everyone from bothering us.”

“How do you meet one another?” Brizzbee asks.

“On-line dating, in-line shopping or off-line getting internet repaired,” she says with a twinkle in her eye at Stef.

She kicks Lillian, indicating, “stop it.”

“I couldn’t believe all the musicians on the streets playing for money,” Foster adds. “What a great way to earn a living.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Stef agrees. “I never thought of it that way. I’ll have to tip them more the next time I go.”

“Oh, you don’t live in the city,” Foster asks?

“Hell no,” Stef replies. Then from both girls, “Too busy.”

Foster notices Brizzbee smiling at them. The two girls from New York found a soft spot in his partner.

“I played guitar in college for beer money,” Brizzbee announces. “Great way to earn extra cash.”

“I babysat for one of my professors,” replies, Lillian. “It got me a six pack a week.”

“A week?” Brizzbee comments. “Jeez. Cheap date, ah?”

“Not anymore,” Lillian says with a smile at Stef. “Now I’m a wine girl.”

Foster grimaces at Brizzbee.

“Not all of us juiced our way through college, Dave,” Brizzbee says to Foster.

“There’s nothing wrong with juicing.” Stef, comments.

“Another one...” replies Brizzbee. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s not like I was an alcoholic. I just love my beer.”

“. . .Loved my beer,” Lillian announces proudly. Then, as if on cue, both Lillian and Brizzbee raise a pumped fist, toasting with an invisible mug. This is strange for Stef, not having been to college. But she’s taken with Brizz and Lillian’s instant connection.

Foster smiles at seeing Brizz open up. He’s been a little tight, lately. Especially with the tourists. But these two girls are different. There’s something special about them for sure. He steals a peek at Stef in the rearview mirror. She catches him and senses he wants to ask her something.

“Go ahead,” she says, knowing what’s to come.

“First of all, I don’t remember seeing you last night. Were you...”

“...I was a little out of it. Tucked away, you might say.”

“But there was someone else, something else there. It grabbed Lillian out of my hands and disappeared into the forest. You don’t remember any of that Lillian?”

“No. Unfortunately I was heavily drugged and missed that party.”

Stef is listening and nods, hoping the conversation will fall. Brizzbee tries his hand at it. “Typically, in the wild, that sort of thing just doesn’t happen. Predators don’t let their prey walk away. And you walked away, Lillian.”

“Well, to be honest,” says Foster, “you got away. Fully drugged … How’d you do that?”

“What we really want to know is what it was,” Brizzbee says, impatiently but politely interrupting Foster. “Was it some kind of pet of yours? A big pet?”

Lillian’s smile vanishes. She’s getting nervous again. She looks to Stef, hoping she’ll take

over.

“You can say that,” Stef says.

Foster’s looking at her in the mirror again. He can see she’s growing antsy. But she’s really trying to stay one step ahead of his questioning which is getting harder and harder. And now she’s stuck and he notices. Foster slides the welders’ gloves and clutch of fur over to Brizzbee.

“We found this,” Brizzbee says, holding up the items, “next to a ditch. Did you dig out that ditch?”

“There’s a logical explanation for that,” replies Stef.

“We’re in trouble, aren’t we?” asks, Lillian.

“Not at all,” answers Brizzbee. “No. You have our word,” he says with a hint of impatience. He wants to jump right in and stop this dance-around but he knows he can’t. Not without Foster’s permission. He presses Foster for the go-ahead. Foster gives it and pulls over. Brizzbee begins ...

“For the past year, we’ve had a strange visitor coming to that lake. Last night took a week of months to plan.”

Lillian asks, “is that like a week of Fridays? What is that, a Maine thing?”

“I don’t know. Probably not,” Brizzbee replies.

“I like it,” she replies. “It makes you listen.”

“Oh, I’m listening,” Brizzbee says.

“Not you,” she corrects. “The person you’re talking to. It makes them listen.”

“Why wouldn’t they be listening?” he asks, growing increasingly puzzled. “We’re talking. Isn’t listening part of talking?”

“Not always. At least not for most. But, we could discuss that later.”

“But we’re talking now,” Brizzbee says, somewhat puzzled.

“Yes, but we can discuss that later,” Lillian corrects.

“Okay, I guess.” Brizzbee says.

“What was the plan?” Stef asks. “If you captured it, then what?”

“Study it,” Foster says. “You know what it is?”

“You told me it was a rabid bear,” she says.

Foster continues - “That’s what we want others to think. At least for now. I think you know it wasn’t a bear. We’re trying to protect it from the public and the public from it. We believe it’s an unknown species.”

“And after you capture it, then what? Put it in a zoo?! Dissect it? Kill it?” Stef asks defensively.

Brizzbee, taking offense to that, leans over to her. “No. Our job is the protection of wildlife. But I need to know what it is so I know how to protect it. I need to know if it will fit in or disrupt other species. Is it invasive? And to what extent? What does it eat? Can we provide what it needs? To learn all of that, we need to capture it. Keeping in mind there are hunters out there that aren’t shooting darts.”

“...And poachers,” Foster adds.

“Poachers?” asks, Lillian, not liking that at all.

“A few in particular,” he confirms. “They’re poaching bear for their skins. They’re not even taking

the meat. It’s a real mess. We’ll get em. Just a matter of time.”

“I might be able to help you with that. I just don’t know how. Yet.”

Foster and Brizzbee are very interested in that but they’ll have to put that aside till later.

Lillian takes Stef’s hand, concerned for her wellbeing... “Poachers?”

Foster adds, “What do you know about . . .?”

“. .. What if I told you there’s nothing you can do for it?” Stef says. “What if I said it will never bother you again?”

“You know what it is,” asks Foster?

“It’s complicated.”

“You have no idea,” Brizzbee says. “I’ve been studying Big Foot, Sasquatch, Yeti, and Shape Shifters most of my life. Do you know how much actual research there is on the topic? Other than myth and folklore little to none. And that’s because there’s no proof they exist. Last night changed all of that. You gotta help us so we can help it.”

Stef wants to help but it could mean the end of her freedom. Her privacy. She has no intention of being anybody’s lab-rat. Not now, not ever. It was only a few days ago she was anonymous and then Lillian found out. But Lillian needed to know and Stef needed to tell her. But now it’s getting out of control. Maybe she can lead them without telling them.

“What do you know about Lycanthropy,” she asks?

That’s the one thing they hadn’t considered. Lillian, revealing slight confusion, asks, “Lycanthropy. What is that, some kind of legume? What are you making a salad?”

Stef wants to laugh, but only smiles. She gestures to Lillian to be patient as she awaits their

responses. Foster isn’t a fan of the idea ... “Werewolf, ah? Can’t say I’m too excited about it.”

Brizzbee slaps the back of the seat slightly disgusted with himself, announcing, “Full moon! How’d I miss that? Come on, Dave. It makes total sense. We knew it was always on a full moon, we just never made the connection.”

“Or maybe we knew just how ridiculous it was. You’re really considering . . .?”

“. . . I am,” Brizzbee says. Very excited, he turns to Stef with, “Actually, I know quite a bit about lycanthropes, or Shape Shifters, depending on what side of the world you’re from. There’s two primary definitions. The first is the supernatural transformation of a person into a wolf, which resulted in scores of witches being burned at the stake in the 16 to 1800′s. The full-moon was a device taken from the women’s menstrual cycle and used as a sales pitch to the idea.”

Lillian, curious, asks - “Sales pitch!? And what’s the second definition?”

Brizzbee, blank face, offers - “Lunacy. Stock-raving-mad belief that one is capable of becoming

an animal. I tend to lean towards the former. There’s always a hint of truth in myths. Native folklore didn’t stop at werewolves. They were able to shape-shift at anytime, anywhere, regardless of a full moon or not. According to myth, of course.”

Lillian butts in, “Wait a minute – that first definition seems to be blaming women. I never in my life heard of a woman or a witch becoming a Werewolf. How’d that all of a sudden become our fault?”

“The reason you haven’t heard of it is because women werewolves didn’t sell novels. Men did. Keep in mind this was back in the 1600s.”

“Oh, yeah, like a whole lot’s changed since then. Those bast...”

“...Hey,” Stef says, trying to keep it calm. “Come on.”

“Always trying to take away the woman’s joy,” Lillian adds.

Brizzbee’s a little confused over her flipping on the subject and calls her out on it. “Two seconds ago you wanted to know how it was your fault.”

“That was before all that men-shit came out. Pisses me off.”

Foster, asks. “So you’re saying it’s a werewolf?” while looking at Stef through the rear-view mirror. She’s looking out her window, silent, unable to actually say the words.