Matthew barreled on, like he couldn’t quit telling the story now that he’d finally started. Claire could hear in his voice how much he’d been aching to tell someone. “So, I felt bad for it all of a sudden, and—the look in its eyes, I just didn’t think that it could have killed someone. I know it was stupid, but I wasn’t thinking about getting hurt, and I just sort of stuck my hand through the bars and petted it. And it was the weirdest thing, Claire.” He stared up at her from beneath his shaggy bangs.
“It butted its head into my hand and whimpered and—it was awful. I could just feel how lonely and scared and, I don’t know—how gentle it was. I mean, not like a human, or anything, but not any more dangerous than any other animal, you know? I know it sounds crazy, and I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t believe me, but I could just tell that it hadn’t killed anyone. Or, if it had, it hadn’t really meant to.” He leaned over and lit the lantern that held down the corner of the blanket.
Claire hurriedly wiped the tears out of the corners of her eyes. Matthew stared at her. He looked shocked. “I—I just feel sorry for it, that’s all,” she stuttered. Truth number two.
“Yeah. I just wish my dad would … I don’t know. He’s so freaking desperate to get everyone to take him seriously, to prove he belongs on the FHPA. But I wish he would investigate more before he gives it his cure. The way this werewolf is—I’m just more convinced than ever that he’s wrong. I know they’ve done plenty of terrible things—my dad has a billion books about it, right? But, I mean, maybe they’re not all like that. Maybe this one isn’t like that. And his cure leaves them half-alive at best. I just don’t think this werewolf deserves that. I don’t think it’s the one who’s done all these horrible things.”
“So, who do you think has?” The question popped out before Claire could stop it. The idea had been nagging at her all day. She couldn’t help wondering whose crimes her mother was paying for.
Matthew leaned a little closer. “Maybe there are more werewolves out there than people think there are.”
The adrenaline flooded Claire’s veins so fast that the hairs on her arms stood on end. He was too close to the truth. Much too close. “What makes you think that?” she whispered.
“I saw something once—my dad left some classified reports on the computer desk. Government stuff. I was curious, I mean, anything that has TOP SECRET stamped across it …”
Claire nodded.
“So, the reports said that twice, after they caught a werewolf and my dad ‘cured’ it, the killings didn’t stop. The government covered it up to keep the public from panicking—I mean, if people thought there were packs of werewolves roaming around, they’d freak.”
“Wow, that’s—that’s really surprising.” Claire said, breathily. Really surprising that your dad knows he’s not right, but he’s still torturing us anyway.
“Yeah, I was shocked as hell. That’s when I really started to wonder about the stuff my dad does. He always works pretty closely with the government of whatever country he’s ‘helping’—he did that even before he got appointed to the FHPA. Maybe it’s more about PR than anything, you know? I mean, what if there have been more werewolves like this one, really gentle ones, and they’re taking the blame for some other killer? Just so that all us humans can feel all safe and self-righteous.”
He stared off into the woods. “Maybe there’s another werewolf who’s been killing people here. That’s what I think, anyway.”
“But if you think that, how come you’re not scared to be out here at night?”
Matthew ran his fingertips across the back of her hand. “Everyone else is out, too, right? ’Cause my dad says it’s safe. I’m not gonna hide in the house forever. I can’t. I guess I just don’t think my number’s up yet.”
Claire wasn’t sure what to say.
“Do you think I’m crazy?” he asked finally.
She shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “I think you’re the only sane one out there.” The tears welled up in her eyes, and Claire didn’t think she could stop from sobbing if Matthew kept looking at her in that relieved way. “I, uh—need to grab something out of my purse. I’ll be right back, okay?” Without waiting for an answer, Claire scrambled off the blanket and headed toward the car, more surefooted than any human could ever have been in the newly dark night. She struggled to control the tears that coursed down her cheeks.
This wasn’t at all the sort of “information” she’d been expecting to get from Matthew. Claire had known her mother must be terrified, lonely—but to have it confirmed like that just about broke her.
She yanked open the car door and made a show of rummaging through her purse while she tried to make sense of the thoughts spinning in her head. Maybe she could get more than just information from Matthew. Maybe he could actually help her—even if he could just get her into the lab where they were keeping her mother, it would save Claire an enormous amount of time and energy. Excitement hummed under her skin; the adrenaline overtook her sadness and she dried her eyes. She could do this. Even without Beatrice and Victoria, she could save her mother. It was just a question of how.