Wolfman - Art Bourgeau Read Online Free PDF Page A

was going to look much better.
    But when he stepped up on the platform surrounded by
the hexagon of mirrors he saw he was wrong. In his reflection the new
coat was worse than the first. Not only did the sleeves appear to
cover his hands, fingers and all, but the coat seemed to reach
halfway to his knees.
    " What's wrong with you people? This one’s
worse than the first. . ."
    Claude stepped to the edge of the platform. "Come
here and let me check the sleeve tag."
    While Claude checked the tag Loring caught Paul's eye
with a look that seemed to say, "I don't understand what's
happening." Paul smiled. "It looks fine to me. They both
do."
    Claude agreed.
    Loring stepped back to the center of the platform and
looked at himself in the center mirror, although in doing so he saw
his reflections bouncing back and forth from the other five mirrors.
The coat was still too large. He looked like a teenager wearing
something which belonged to his father — and then he understood. It
all made sense.
    It was the mirrors. It was like being in a hall of
mirrors in a sideshow. What did they say about magic tricks . . . all
done with lights and mirrors? Only this time he was the light, and
they were the audience and they were draining him, sucking him dry .
. . and he was shrinking. . .
    He saw his eyes widen in his reflection and tried to
calm himself but could not. He felt like a prisoner, held there by
bonds of force. Words from Revelation came to mind: "One woe is
past; and behold there come two woes more hereafter. His heart began
to pound. He could hear it. Holy Michael, the Archangel, he began to
pray, defend us in battle, be our safeguard against the wickedness
and snares of. . . He stopped. No more words would come.
    Keeping his eyes on the mirrors he forced himself
toward the edge of the platform, his heart pounding louder and louder
as he stepped carefully off it. He was wrong. To be alone was no
protection. He knew better than that. Then where?
    Guido slipped the coat off him, and Paul stepped up
with his old jacket and Burberry. "Are you okay?" he said,
the worry clear in his voice.
    Good old Paul. He could have hugged him at that
moment. Even though Paul didn't understand, at least he was there
with his support. But no words would come.
    Paul had reached out and touched his arm now. "Loring
. . ." His touch seemed to break the restraint and Loring was
able to speak. But his heart was still pounding, and he had this
awful fear — of death. So strong that it was like a smell, a
noxious enveloping black cloud . . .
    The thought of being alone was terrifying. He forced
calm into his voice as he said, "I’m not feeling too well,
Paul. Would you go with me to my doctor’s? He’s just around the
corner."
    Paul nodded and helped him on with his coat.
    That night the wolf came to Loring in a dream.
 
 
    CHAPTER 2
    THE WIPERS made a clicking sound as they swept back
and forth across the windshield. The one on the driver's side was
worn, leaving a crescent-shaped smear on the glass with each stroke,
making it difficult to see.
    Nate Mercanto looked at his watch, a Seiko, a gift
from his brother. Three-thirty a.m. His shift was not even half over.
Eight o'clock seemed a world away.
    The radio in the blue-and-white was quiet. It had
been that way since he had come on duty at midnight. The rain had
helped create that. Not that there was ever much happening in the
vastness of the Wissahickon section of Fairmount Park. It wasn't like
Central Park in New York, he thought. No muggers, no purse snatchers,
no street gangs. No action of any kind. lust peace and quiet. Which
was why the men of the Park Squad were known throughout the
department as "squirrel chasers."
    Through the night he had used the slack time to do
his ki exercises, the meditative part of his Aikido training. They
were simple breathing and concentration exercises, Buddhist in
origin, designed to give the fighting spirit a sense of inner peace.
Done correctly they could make