Go For the Throat by Greg Rutter


January 19th, 9:57 PM An expensive residence in Mamaroneck, New York; New Moon

 "Police!  Open up!" Came the muted announcement as  Elworth Harper dug faster, sweat beading on his forehead and dripping of his face to the bare earthen floor of the basement.  At his feet were the rotting corpses of two neighbor girls, their bodies horribly mauled, strips of flesh hanging off, white bone showing through the torn skin.  He had to cover them up before the police came in. "This is the police!  We have a search warrant for the premises.  If you do not open the door, we will force it!" Harper finished digging the shallow hole, and rolled the bodies in.  He frantically tried to cover them with dirt when he heard the crash.  Heavy footsteps thundered through the house above him, and he heard a muffled voice barking orders.  The door at the top of the stairs leading out of the basement swung open, and he was greeted by the beam of a flashlight attached to a Heckler and Koch MP5 Submachine gun. "DROP THE SHOVEL!  GET ON THE GROUND! FACE DOWN, PUT YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOU!  WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!" shouted the cop with the subgun, dressed in SWAT team fatigues.  Harper carefully put his shovel down and sank to his knees, as the SWAT officer and others came running down the stairs.  He felt a hand shove him roughly to the ground, and he found his face a mere few inches from the decomposing hand of one of the girls.  As he was roughly handcuffed, and the cop shouted his Miranda rights at him, he was crushed by the enormity of his folly.  He never should have taken prey this close to his home . . .


      *****

The Law Offices of Kingston, Levine, and Black, West 51st Street, New York, New York; 10:30 AM the next day:


Sarah Milton was late getting to work.  The goddamned subway was fifteen minutes late bringing her to midtown from her Upper West Side apartment. As she strode briskly into her office, her secretary informed her that Syd Levine, the senior partner, wanted to see her right away.  She put her attache case on her desk and switched on her computer, then walked to the bathroom.  She washed her hands and gazed at her reflection in the mirror. Sarah was young and pretty, with thick, long dark brown hair, green eyes, and a perfect complexion.  Her tall lean figure was only two or three pounds heavier than during her years running track for Columbia.  She collected herself for a second, brushed a stray strand of hair into place, straightened her skirt, wiped a bit of fuzz off her suit jacket, and walked to the elevator.  She rode it to the top floor, got off, and walked over to the senior partner's secretary.

"Mr. Levine wanted to see me?"

Carla, the secretary smiled at her,

"Let me see if he's ready for you."  She buzzed the intercom.  "Mr. Levine?  Sarah Milton is here."

"Send her in," said the metallic voice through the intercom.  Carla smiled, and pointed behind her to the door.  "Go on in," she said.

Sydney Levine's office was a study in leather, oak, and prints from the Metropolitan Museum of art.  He was tilted back in his chair, smoking an expensive, illegally imported Cuban cigar.  He was a slight man, with very little black hair left around the fringes of his head and gold-rimmed pince-nez glasses, dressed in a well-tailored silk suit. He smiled as Sarah came in and waved at her to take a seat.

"I see the wunderkind was a little late getting to work today."  Sarah smiled nervously and started to reply when he gave a dismissive wave of his hand.  "It happens, don't worry about it.  This is what I wanted to see you about."  He slid a copy of the New York Times across his massive desk toward her, folded open to the headline "Suspect Apprehended in Mutilation Case".  The city and its suburbs had been in an uproar for months over a string of savage murders and mutilations throughout the five boroughs and the surrounding counties.  Sarah was shocked to see that the police had arrested Elworth Harper, a very wealthy philanthropist.

"Is this for real?"

"You bet it is.  Elworth Harper paid our retainer this morning"

"Elworth Harper?  The philanthropist?  The guy who's wife was killed by wild dogs in Tibet earlier this year?  The guy who endowed the youth center downtown?  That Elworth Harper?"

"Yep.  Pretty shocking isn't it?"

"Sure is.  So, who's lead counsel on this?"

"You are."

"What?"

"You're ready for the big leagues Sarah.  I want you to get out to

Riker's to interview him.  His arraignment is tomorrow at ten."  Sarah was stunned.

 She had graduated cum laude from NYU law only five years ago, and went

 to work for Kingston, Levine, and Black after two years in the public defenders office.  She had been very successful in her cases, but had never handled anything this big before.  The press was going to be all over this one.

"Uh, yes sir.  I'll get right on it Mr. Levine."

"I am on your side here Sarah.   I gave you this because you are the best lawyer with room in their schedule.  I'm confident you can handle it.  And you'll have all the support you need.   We're not throwing you to the wolves here."

"I'll do my best."  Sarah turned to walk out.

"Sarah . . ."

"Yes?"

"Win this one.  Go for the throat."


          *****

Riker's Island Detention Facility, 12:00 PM


Sarah never got over the feeling of ominous dread that overcame her when she entered Riker's Island.  She had only been there three times previously, as most of her defendants were released on their own recognizance.  She rarely saw her clients before their arraignment. Riker's, with it's steel bars and bare concrete construction, was just so. . .oppressive.  That was the only word for it.  As she walked into the visitors area, a tall, thin man with dark hair and a dark complexion waved at her.

"Hi Tony.  Thanks for meeting me.  All I know about this one so far is what I read in the papers."

"You've got yourself a real winner here, Sar."  Tony D'Angelo, the Assistant District Attorney prosecuting, was young but sharp, and had been a year ahead of Sarah at NYU law.  "What do you need to know?

"Everything.  What are the charges, have the police talked to him yet, possibilities for a plea-bargain, everything."

"A plea bargain?  Are you kidding?  This guy's up for seven counts of murder one.  The feds want him for kidnapping too, one of the victims was from Jersey, so they think he crossed state lines, but there's no evidence, so we're working with what the NYPD and Mamaroneck police got. We have officers who saw him burying bodies in his basement, prints all over the place, including a few crime scene prints that are seven point matches. The only thing we don't have is a murder weapon, which would have had to be some kind of nasty knife.  We don't need it.  Your client is going away for a long, long time."  He handed her a thick stack of files.

"We'll see," replied Sarah.

                    *****


The turnkey led her to an interview room, where her client sat, cuffed to a folding metal chair.  Elworth Harper was wearing Orange New York State Correctional Facility fatigues.  Something about him immediately disturbed Sarah.  There was something . . . beastly about him.  His thick grey hair hung mane-like to his shoulders.  His face showed heavy stubble, and it was only noon, and his bushy eyebrows met in the middle, almost as if instead of two distinct entities, there was only one eyebrow that ran straight across.

When he saw her, he smiled, revealing unusually sharp incisors.  "Ah,

Miss Milton.  My dear friend Sydney tells me that you are the best young lawyer he has.  I hope you will be able to help me with my predicament."

He seemed pleasant enough, but there was still something unsettling

Sarah. She looked over to the turnkey. "Guard, is there any reason we

couldn't take off Mr. Harper's cuffs for the duration of our interview?"  The guard looked at her skeptically, and said, patronizingly,

"It's your funeral lady."  He went over and removed Harper's handcuffs.

"Ah, kind as well as beautiful.  You will make someone a wonderful mate someday, Miss Milton."  He rubbed his wrists where the handcuffs were pinching him.  Sarah saw that his wrists and hands were covered with coarse hairs, his fingernails were cracked and dirty, and, oddly, his ring fingers were longer than his middle fingers.

"Guard, will you please leave us alone until I call for you?"  The

turnkey grunted his assent, and left the room.

"I just talked with the D.A., and they seem to have quite a case against you.  Why don't you tell me your side of things.  Are you planning on pleading not guilty to the charges?"

"An interesting question.  You see, I did what they said I did, but I

also did not."

"Excuse me?"

"I did not kill those people.  The wolf did."

"Wolf?  What wolf?  What are you talking about?"

"The wolf inside me.  That is who killed those people."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"Perhaps I should start at the beginning . . ."


                   *****


"About a year ago, my wife and I were in Tibet.  We were there to examine the effects the money we had sent for famine relief were having, as well as to investigate some human rights violations.  The Chinese government was unhappy with our presence, but we were traveling under diplomatic auspices, so they had to comply with our presence or risk a diplomatic incident, and they have had quite enough of those lately.  So we were touring the area. One night, my wife, myself, and two Chinese soldiers, with us for "security" reasons, we camped outside of a small village in the mountains. It was a beautiful, crisp night, and the full moon shone down brightly.  My wife and I were sitting by the campfire chatting, while the soldiers smoked cigarettes and talked between themselves in Chinese. About three hours after the sun set, we heard a terrible howling nearby. The soldiers picked up their rifles and went to investigate, thinking it probably to be the Chinese version of coyotes, or some such thing.  We sat silently for half an hour, but the soldiers never returned.  Then it appeared.  It was easily seven feet tall, heavily muscled, and covered in dark fur.  It leapt at us.

I dove out of the way, but my wife was not so lucky, and it ripped open her chest with its huge claws.  I had no weapon, so when it turned to me, I grabbed a burning branch from the fire, and swung it back and forth, trying to keep the thing at bay.  It was hesitant, but eventually it leapt straight at me.  I clubbed it with the burning branch, knocking it away, but not before it bit my arm.  Here," he said, showing Sarah a long, jagged scar on his right forearm.

"I pursued it, clubbing it over the head with my make shift weapon, until it fled.  I staggered into the village, where the panicked villagers led me to their local leader, a combination religious man, doctor, and shaman.

He wrapped my arm in gauze, and told me in broken English that I was to leave and never come back.  I collected my wife and our things the next day, and left for Beijing to catch a plane back to the States.  While in Beijing, I saw a doctor, afraid that my wound had become infected, but when he removed the gauze, it was healed, leaving only the scar.  I was distraught over the death of my wife, so when the nightmares began, I thought that was the reason.  I saw several psychologists, but they were of no help.  Then, a month after returning home, I changed for the first time.

"It was unlike anything I can describe.  I was still myself, still had my mind, but so much more.  It was exhilarating.  When I woke up the next morning, I thought it was just another vivid dream, but, to my dismay, I discovered that our dogs had been killed by some savage beast.  The deep recesses of my brain told me that it had not been a dream, that the beast in question was in fact me.  Every month, on the three nights of the full moon, I changed, and the beast grew stronger.  It started seeping into my human self.  I found myself growing more hair on my body, my teeth lengthening, my eyesight and hearing sharpening.  I tried to control it at first, buying meat from the butcher to satisfy the cravings of my other self, but it became to strong, and wanted the thrill of the hunt.  It was deer, as well as pets at first, but it was never enough.  The creature I have become is the only natural predator of man, and it wanted to hunt.  I tried to prey only on scum, drug dealers, prostitutes, but I wasn't strong enough.  Eventually, my human side lost, and the beast would hunt and kill any people it found.  It was useless to fight.  There is no longer any difference between it and me.  In either form, I am the beast, and the beast is me.   I became so reckless as to kill the two poor girls the police found me burying."  He sat back and folded his arms, his story finished.

Sarah was stunned.  "So, you're telling me that you're a werewolf?

That's your defense?" She felt panic and hysteria lurking around the corners of her brain, but the lawyer in her took over.  "No, no, wait, I might be able to work with this.  If you really believe what you just told me, it would make a good insanity defense.  Do you believe it?"

"Every word of it is true.  You don't believe me, do you?"

"Of course no, it's impossible.  No sane person would believe the story you just told me."

"You will believe Sarah," he said, a strange glint appearing in his yellow-tinged eyes.  Sarah felt immensely uncomfortable, and got up to leave.

"I have nothing else I need from you right now.  I'll be in touch." Harper get out of his seat, walked around the table, and took her hand.

"I have faith in you, Sarah.  Your intelligence is a good compliment to your beauty."  He raised her hand to his lips, as if to kiss it, and then, in a blindingly fast move, nipped it with his teeth.

"OW!  What the hell are you doing?"

"My- my apologies, I don't know what came over me."  He grinned evily.

"GUARD!  Get me out of here.  And put his cuffs back on!"  The guard opened the door and led her out.  As he was leaving, she heard Harper say:

"I'll be seeing you, Sarah."


     *****

January 26th, 8:30 AM West 89th Street, New York, New York; First Quarter Moon


Sarah grunted as the alarm in her apartment broke her troubled sleep.

She slid out of bed, and marched resignedly into the bathroom, hoping that she would feel more awake after a shower.  As she rubbed a loofa of body wash over her legs, she noticed that she had dark stubble there.  Upon closer examination, her armpits were stubbly too, and her pubic hair needed a trim.  She was a bit puzzled, as she had never had much body hair, and could usually go three days at a time without shaving, but she didn't give it much thought as she grabbed her razor.  She finished her shower, toweled off, and went to the sink to finish her morning routine.  Picking up her toothbrush, her eyes fell on the small pockmark-like wounds on her hand from when Elworth Harper had bitten it a week ago.  They weren't much worse than mosquito bites at this point.  She chuckled at herself.  True, she had been having disturbing dreams about wolves and werewolves, but after that story he told her, and the crimes he had committed, who wouldn't? The case was proceeding slowly.  Harper had been refused bail due to the horrifying nature of the crimes he was accused of and because his great financial resources would have allowed him to flee the country without much difficulty, possibly on his own private Cessna jet.  The case was turning into a media circus, and she had no doubt she would be facing reporters as soon as she left her apartment.  She steeled herself against that inevitability as she dressed, and then, with her jaw set in grim determination, left for work.


               ***** January 26th, 10:30 PM Riker's Island; First Quarter Moon


Harper lay serenely on his cot, thinking about his upcoming trial.  It couldn't have been any better if he planned it.  The trial was set for the 16th of February, and on that day, the sun would set at 5:11 P.M.  His transformation would give him all the power he needed to free himself, and it would be her first time.  ‘How poetic,' he thought, ‘I take back my freedom, and have a new mate to take into the wilderness with me.'  He rolled over, smiling, and went to sleep.


              *****

February 2nd, 11:30 AM The Law Offices of Kingston, Levine, and Black; Half Moon


Sarah found herself on the verge of nodding off at her desk.  She was going over briefs from her other lower-priority cases.  Insurance fraud, vehicular manslaughter (a fatality caused by a defendant driving under the influence), and a non-criminal contract dispute.  They were so boring. And her sleep became more and more fitful.  Just the other night she had a dream that she was chasing a rabbit through a snow-filled forest, and woke up exhausted.  Even worse, she now had to shave her legs every morning if she wanted to wear a skirt.  Her doctor told her it was nothing to worry about- many women developed more body hair as they got older, and it might even be hormonally linked to her cycle.  The news was reassuring, but the time the whole depilatory process took had her getting up twenty minutes earlier than she was accustomed to, and with her fitful sleep, it had become quite a hindrance.  Just as she talked herself into taking a thirty-minute power nap, Tom the intern knocked on her door.  She bolted upright.

"Sorry to bother you Miss Milton.  I'm going to the deli for lunches.

The usual?"  Every day for the past three years, Sarah had the same thing for lunch: medium side salad with fat free raspberry vinaigrette dressing, and a banana-nut muffin.  Since he had come to work, Tom double checked with her to make sure, and his behavior was equal parts touching and annoying. Sarah was fairly sure Tom had a crush on her.  Her mouth started to move, intending to give her usual response of "Has it ever changed, Tom?"But she stopped herself.

"You know what Tom, I think I'd like some corned beef today.  I bet I could use the protein.  On Rye, with mustard please."

"Wow, something new, eh?"  He winked at her.  "Sure thing Miss Milton, it'll be here in about an hour."  He left her office.  Sarah wasn't sure what had caused her to change her mind, but for some reason salad and bran didn't sound good at all.  The thought of the corned beef sandwich had her mouth watering.  Not wanting to waste mental energy examining why she was hungry for cold cuts, she put her head on her forearms, and quickly fell asleep.


     *****

Tom returned later and gently tapped Sarah on the shoulder.  She awoke with a start, and snarled at him, until she realized where she was, and who it was who was waking her.

"Sorry, Tom.  Must have dozed off."

"No problem.  Here's your sandwich."  He handed her a white paper bag and left.  Sarah removed the sandwich, and couldn't wait to unwrap it.  She took a bite, but it didn't taste right.  She put it down on top of the bag on her desk.  She took the corned beef of the bread, and started shoveling it into her mouth.  When she was done, mustard and juice were running down her hands and her face.  She eagerly lapped it off, smacking her lips and sighing contentedly.


     *****

February 9th, 1:00 PM Riker's Island Detention Facility; Three-Quarter Moon


Sarah paced uneasily as Dr. Schreiber interviewed Elworth Harper.  Being in the same room with that man had conjured a strange mixture of emotions. She was afraid of him, and the unsettling glimmer in oddly-colored eyes; yet she was drawn to him.  She found her eyes kept falling on him, despite any efforts to look the other way.  Much to her dismay, she found herself imaging him naked, his rough, hairy hands caressing her body.  This combination of fear and fascination left her reeling, and she wanted to leave the room, but she was a professional.  She needed to be present to hear the answers her client posed to the psychiatrist who was evaluating him.

After the session, she and Dr. Schreiber returned to her office to go

over the interview.  Schreiber was a short, friendly-looking man with wire-rim glasses and a salt-and-pepper beard.

"Well, what did you think of that story Doctor?"

"I think he believes every word of it.  I suspect that if he were to take a polygraph he wold pass with flying colors."

"Do you think his mental state constituted an incapacity to determine right from wrong at the time of the events?

"Indeed I do.  He obviously believes that there is another personality fighting him for control of his body, and that it was this other personality, not him, that killed those people."

"Can we prove that?"

"Whatever psychological expert the prosecution has interviewing will have a tough time discrediting his testimony.  I will testify that I believe his is not guilty by reason of insanity.  I think we have a good shot at winning over a jury."

"Thanks very much doctor.  Is there anything else?"  Dr. Schreiber shook his head no.  "Then I'll be in touch.  Thanks again."


     *****


The rest of the day was fairly uneventful for Sarah.  She went over her notes on the Harper case, talked with a client on the phone about a traffic mishap, tidied up her desk, and headed home.  After watching a little TV, she felt exhausted.  Apparently the session with Elworth Harper had worn her out more than she thought.  She got ready for bed and slipped under the covers.  She fell into a deep sleep almost instantaneously, and a short while later, began to dream . . .

     *****


She could smell it.  A large deer, and she new it was male somehow.  The snow crunched beneath her feet in the dark, quiet forest.  She crouched down and sniffed the ground.  There!  She had it.  The foolish creature was upwind of her.   She began to run swiftly and silently along the path it had taken.  Before long, she caught up with it.  She could smell its panic, see the terror in its eyes.  It knew it was about to die.  She gathered herself and leapt, her hands slashing at its throat.  As she brought it down, she heard a familiar male voice say:

"Well done my dear.  You learn quickly . . ."


     *****


Sarah bolted upright in bed.  She wiped her palm across her forehead, and could feel the sweat there.  ‘What a dream," she thought.  To cool off, she walked to the bathroom to splash some cold water on her face.  She flipped on the light, and turned on the water in the sink.  As she cupped her hands under the faucet, she noticed that something about her hands didn't seem . . . right.  She examined them closely, and gasped in horror.

The finger nails were now an inch and a half long, curling to a sharp point, and developing a brown tint.  Even worse, coarse, wiry hairs crawled their way down her forearm, over her wrist, covering the backs of her palms.  Even her knuckles had sprouted the thick dark hair.  She had a horrifying moment of intuition, and looked up into the mirror above the sink.  What she saw there was absolutely unbelievable.  Her beautiful green eyes had turned bright yellow.  Her eyebrows had grown thick and bushy, and a small patch of hair was growing between them.  The light downy fuzz on her cheeks had thickened and darkened, leaving what looked like stubble on the face of a man with a heavy beard.  And her teeth had grown and sharpened, leaving wicked fangs in their place.  She staggered, fell to the floor, and began sobbing . . .


Only to find herself jolted awake again.  She felt her face, and there

was no hair, nor were her teeth sharp when she ran her tongue over them.  She looked at her hands: no claws.  Her arms had more hair on them than they used to, but it was nothing abnormal.  ‘Another wolf dream,' she thought. ‘God, if this doesn't stop soon, I'll have to go to a shrink.  Maybe they'll go away when I finally finish with this case next week.'  Relieved that her body was the same as she remembered it, she drifted back to sleep.


     *****

February 16th, 8:00 A.M. Sarah Milton's Apartment; Full Moon


Sarah's beeping alarm roused her from the first good night's sleep she'd had in weeks.  She practically leapt out of bed, feeling strong, rested, and energized.  As she climbed in the shower, she instinctively reached for her razor.  Shaving every day was part of the routine now.  She looked at her legs as she applied shaving gel.  The hair there had grown to a quarter inch long over night, but she thought nothing of it.  ‘Need to get these babies nice and smooth,' she thought, ‘maybe my legs will help sway a few young male jurors.'  She giggled to herself, proud of her long, feminine legs.  They were good assets when trying a case, particularly if she wore a short skirt.

After she toweled off, she went to the sink to finish grooming and apply makeup.  She took her tweezers out of the medicine cabinet and thinned her eyebrows, meticulously plucking out the dark hairs above the bridge of her nose that had grown in so gradually she didn't even notice their presence. After that, she plucked out a few dark hairs around her jawline and on her cheek bones, and finished doing up her face.  After blow-drying her hair, she struggled to pull a brush through it.  It had gotten much thicker recently, and was being particularly uncooperative this morning, so she pulled it back into a ponytail, and stuck a clip on it.

She selected a charcoal grey suit with a skirt that was just long enough not to draw disapproval from prudish jury, slipped into a pair of sensible black flats, and grabbed her brief case.  She didn't feel like taking the subway to court, afraid that it might make her appear frazzled when appearance was important, so she flagged down a cab and instructed the driver to take her downtown.


     *****


Sarah had nothing better to do on the ride downtown than contemplate the facts of the case.  The questions of Law were simple.  Harper was going to testify that he, in the form of a wolf, had killed the people he was accused of killing.  It was open-and-shut.  He was either not guilty by reason of insanity, or he was going to face a long jail sentence.  The key to the case lay in convincing the jury that Harper believed what he was saying.  Sarah herself fully believed him, but convincing a jury was a different story.

Jury selection had gone well, and she thought that all of the jurors on the case would give Harper a fair shake.  The main item of procdeural concern for her was the judge trying the case.  The Honorable "Hanging" Harriet Black was presiding, a stern, tough African-American woman in her early fifties.  She had a particular dislike for sex offenders, and a penchant for seeing that they did as much time as possible.  Sarah suspected that the savage killing of children and women wouldn't sit well with her.  If she didn't win the case, Harper was going to be in big trouble.

The cab pulled up to the court house, and Sarah jumped out.  She waited

in the lobby until Harper was brought in by corrections officers and transferred to the care of the bailiffs.  ‘They were nice enough to allow him to wear a suit, at least,' Sarah thought to herself.  And she had to admit, cleaned up, he was quite a handsome man.  His piercing eyes fell on her, and she felt her heart skip a beat.

"Ah, the lovely Miss Milton.  And how are you feeling on this fine day?" Not only did he seem completely unconcerned that the fate of the rest of his life, to be spent either in prison or a mental hospital, rested on the next few hours, his eyes also had a knowing glint in them when he posed the question.

"I'm quite well, thank you," Sarah replied, unconsciously rubbing the slight mark her hand still bore from his antics a few weeks before.

"Shall we?"  She followed him into the courtroom.   She nodded at her co-council, removed her notes from her brief case, and sat down.  Harper sat next to her, and she felt a chill followed by warmth.  Something about his very proximity was having a strange effect on her.  The trial was scheduled to begin at 10:00 A.M.  At precisely 9:59, the Bailiff walked in.

"All rise," pronounced the Bailiff as Hanging Harriet walked into the

room from her chambers.  Her hair was steel grey done in a neat bun, her coffee-colored skin deeply lined, and her eyes announced that she would brook no nonsense in her court.

"Be seated.  The case before this court is the People of New York versus Elworth Harper for the crime of Murder in the First Degree, docket number seven seven one eight two.  For the defense?"

"Sarah Milton, your honor."

"And for the prosecution?"

"Anthony D'Angelo your honor." He smiled at Sarah.

"Very well, I'll hear your opening arguments.  Your first Miss Milton."


     ***** February 16th, 12:00 P.M.,


Sarah reflected on the morning's events when the court recessed for

lunch. Tony was a very competent lawyer, and with the evidence he had at

his disposal, he quickly proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that Harper had committed the murders.  Her cross-examinations were brief and essentially pointless; she couldn't disprove documented evidence, and had very little in the way of race or class bias to use to discredit testimony.  After lunch, the expert witnesses would testify on the psychological issues of the case, and that was when the real competition would begin.

The early part of the trial had gone well, but toward noon, Sarah had started to feel very uncomfortable.  She developed terrible itching, especially on her hands, legs, and chest, and found it hard to concentrate.

When the lunch recess was announced, she was overjoyed to be able to get out of the courtroom.  She went to a deli nearby, and was about to order a corned beef sandwich, but instead decided just to order a pound of corned beef.  She sat in a table in the rear, shoveling the meat into her mouth with her hands.


     *****

February 16th, 3:30 P.M.


" . . . and so, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I urge you to consider my client's mental state during the events in question, and to judge him not guilty by reason of insanity based on the preponderance of evidence I have presented to you," Sarah finished her closing argument.  The itching that had started earlier had not abated, it had in fact gotten worse.  She was feeling strange, and very distracted.  It took all her efforts to keep her attention on the task at hand.  Judge Black banged her gavel and announced recess, so the jury could begin deliberations.

4:50 P.M.


A bailiff announced that the jury would be returning with its verdict in

a few minutes.  Sarah wasn't sure what to think of that news.  A verdict in under an hour and a half meant the jury had their minds made up going in, but whether their minds were made up for or against her client was the question.  She glanced over at him.  She felt an undeniable attraction to him.  He smelled so . . . good.  Musky, masculine, not like cologne, but naturally.  It seemed to Sarah the way a man was supposed to smell.  She couldn't keep an image of his strong hands caressing her naked body out of her mind, and, much to her surprise, she found herself becoming aroused. Feeling uncomfortably warm, she got up and strode out of the courtroom past two guards.  She had also found that her feet were sore.  Probably from all the standing during the trial.  She had walked thirty yards down the hall way toward the ladies' room when she heard someone making a comment:

"How about that Milton chick, huh?  What an ass on that honey."  Sarah whirled around, but there was no one in the hallway but the two guards, and they were talking quietly to each other.  She went around the corner and peered at their faces.

"I dunno man, there's something weird about her.  You see the way her

ears come to little points at the top?  And her legs man.  Christ, if I were that hairy, I'd shave.  She must be one of them east village lesbian feminist types."

"I don't care man, I'd still fuck the shit out of that."  Sarah was shocked to see that their mouths matched the words she was hearing.  But how could that possibly be?  And what were they talking about with her ears and legs?  She ducked into the ladies' room, went into a stall, and locked the door.  She pulled down her skirt and hose and looked at her legs- and was shocked.

Dark brown hairs covered them.  They sloped down from her crotch across her thighs, covered her knees, and grew even thicker around the calves. The hair was easily as thick as a man's, and she just couldn't understand what was going on.  She removed her shoes to look at her feet, and they looked as if they'd swollen up.  The toenails needed to be clipped, and the hair ran down her ankles, across her feet and up onto the backs of her toes.  She felt momentarily panicked, but told herself: ‘Hormones, it's hormones.  I'll just go to an endicrinologist.  Nothing to worry about.' She reached up to her head, and felt her ears.  They felt strange.  She got up to take a look in a mirror, when there was a knock on the stall door.

"Miss Milton?  The jury is back."

"Oh, okay, thank you.  I'll be right there."  She pulled her skirt back up, and left the bathroom.  It was getting dark, as the setting sun cast its last orange rays across the city.


     *****

5:08 P.M.


The jury was filing into the court room just as Sarah sat down.  She was uncomfortably warm, so she took of her suit jacket and hung it over the back of her chair.  Harper looked at her, smiled that inscrutable smile of his, and nodded his approval.

"All rise."  The itching was getting worse.  Sarah absently scratched the back of one of her palms, but it didn't feel right.  She looked down. Coarse hair, the same color as the stuff on her legs, was growing out the cuff of her blouse.  It got longer as she watched, creeping around her wrist, down the backs of her palms, onto her knuckles.  At the same time, her fingernails were darkening and growing longer, curling under into points.

"Be seated.  Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, how do you find in the

case of the People of New York versus Elworth Harper?"

Sarah was in agony.  The pain in her feet had increased from a dull throbbing to a sharp pain, like a million red-hot needles were being poked into them.  To her astonishment, she felt the leather of her flats split open.  She slid them back to take a surreptitious look at them.  The hair on them was thickening.  The nails were curling under, and the feet themselves were stretching.  Her feet were getting gradually longer, and the skin was darkening before her very eyes.

"In the case of the People of New York versus Elworth Harper, we find the defendant guilty on all twelve counts of first degree murder."

A roar went through the court room, and then a shocked silence, as Sarah stood up.  She let out a roar.  The jury, the judge, and the gallery watched horrified as Sarah's already pointed ears slid up the sides of her head.  Her eyes turned bright yellow, as dark hair grew and thickened on her face.  Her body was swelling, new muscles growing, shredding her blouse and skirt.  She was left in bra and panties, with muscles like a body builder.  Her feet and hands were stretching, the hair there growing thicker until it resembled fur.  Hair was simultaneously creeping northward from her panties, covering her stomach, then her breasts, then her neck, while her face pushed forward into a muzzle, and her teeth grew into fearsome fangs.

Beside her, Elworth Harper howled loudly, and leapt toward the jury, rending them with his paw-hands and teeth.  Sarah echoed his howl, and leapt at Judge Black, the last vestiges of humanity in her brain remembering Syd Levine's words to her: "Go for the throat . . ."


     *****

Epilogue

March 18th, 6:07 P.M. Somewhere in the forests of North Dakota; Full Moon


Sarah stood on the edge of a cliff, looking down at the sun casting an orange glow on the forest as it set.  She was dressed only in cut-off jeans and a red and black plaid flannel shirt.  She casually scratched an itch on her hairy leg with a long finger nail- she didn't bother shaving or trimming her nails anymore, within hours they would return to their current state anyway.  Elworth Harper walked up behind her and wrapped her in his arms.

"Are you ready to hunt, my love?"  She turned and kissed him tenderly on the lips.

"Yes darling, I can smell some Elk down there.  They should be

delicious." They smiled at each other as the change came on them.


     ***** March 18th, 6:20 P.M. Flushing, Queens


Harriet Black was just getting home from her therapists as the sun was setting.  They had made some progress in the last month, and the wound on her neck had healed nicely.  She went into her house, sat down on her couch, and propped her feet up to read the paper.  She glanced at her legs, and noticed that there was a lot of hair growing there.  To herself she said:

"I'd better shave them tomorrrrrrrrrrooooooooooooowww!"