Vengeance of the Wolf

Chapter 1
(Now I lay me down to sleep)
A mist was creeping in from the trees that lined the house. He frowned and tried to remember where he was. Wolves were howling in the distance, as if they had been frightened, and he sympathized with them. Sensing movement, he whirled around and saw a shape advancing through the nearest trees toward him. Nausea swept through his stomach and he could taste bile in his throat. With a slight popping sound, the shape disappeared and materialized beside him. "Just not having a very good day, are we Senator?" Like a flash the Senator felt he should know this place but the image eluded his clouded mind. "Where am I? - And how did I get here?" "Come, come Senator; you used to live here as a boy." The Senator turned slowly and looked at the house, a sense of realization beginning to show upon his face. "This estate burned down many years ago, and was never rebuilt." "This is a dream Senator, one you've had many times before; but take heart, you'll never have it again." Senator Harkness, in an agonizingly slow progression, watched as the ground began opening around his shoes. Like hundreds of tiny tendrils the roots of underground plant life began writhing upward until his feet had disappeared beneath the level of the grass. Although he wanted desperately to move his feet, they simply would not comply, as if they had suddenly grown into the ground like the roots of the trees surrounding the house. Dimly in the back of his mind he noticed that the howling of the wolves had stopped. Harkness had gone to bed in his Seattle home after having consumed more martinis than his doctor would have approved of, and surely would regret in the morning. Middle aged and not in the best of health, he had indeed dreamed this scenario before but not since he had been a younger man. This was when he always woke up. He frowned again. The pressure on his feet was beginning to become uncomfortable, and panic was setting in. "You know Senator, I don't like politicians." "I especially don't like dishonest ones." With a stab of pain, Harkness felt his ankles snap with the sound of dried twigs. His hands went instinctively to his chest as the familiar pressure and pain erupted in his rib cage. This was not the first heart attack he had suffered through but he knew somehow it would be his last. "Hurts doesn't it Senator?" Their eyes met as the snapping sound escalated to his shins. Each bone seemed to break independently and with each sound the pain grew worse. The tendrils wound methodically around his body like a living cocoon until only his head remained visible. The snapping sounds were going off like popcorn kernels, but somehow the bliss of unconsciousness would not take him. Searing gouts of pain shot through him with the ferocity of electrical current but his cognizance seemed enhanced with every break. "Time to wake up now Senator." Harkness could hear a hollow laugh as the veil of sleep pushed itself from darkness into the light.
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Seattle, Washington - March 3rd, 1990.
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The morning light bathed the Senator's face as he opened his eyes. His breathing came in short gasps that closely corresponded with the beating of his heart. Never had the pressure in his chest been this great with previous attacks. Beaded sweat rolled down his face and stung his eyes. Music was playing softly over the central intercom system and he could make out the sounds of the morning meal being prepared. Medication for his weakened heart lay within reach on the bedside table but at this moment seemed a thousand miles away. Every part of his body felt as if it were on fire and his extremities refused to obey even the simplest of commands. Try as he might, he could not move either arm to retrieve the bottle of pills within his sight. Tiny explosions erupted in his eyes as the heart attack escalated to its predictable end. In desperation, the Senator attempted to scream for help but instead, pathetic mewlings emerged as the pain became too great to breath. With a sudden fierceness the pain stopped and along with it went the beating of his heart. The room seemed to back away and the lighting dimmed. Absently he noticed that the peripheral vision was gone and he could no longer move his eyes. The room continued to grow darker until it was black. Senator Harkness accepted the darkness but thought of nothing until even the memory was gone.
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Seattle, Washington - March 3rd, 1990
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"The Senator is dead," the paramedic said with obvious frustration as he rolled his eyes. He switched the receiver to the other ear as if that might relieve the exasperation. "Well of course I'm sure." He paused listening. "This much damage can't happen with a heart attack, no matter how severe." Anger began to creep into him as he listened to the reply. "Look, I'm telling you this can't be from natural causes." "Why? - Because the son of a bitch has had every bone in his body broken, that's why!" A rumbling sound issued from the phone. "No I haven't moved the body and yes his girl friend has agreed to sit tight until you get here." He slammed the phone down and turned to his partner. "Jeez, you'd think we just found the President or somethin."
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Lightning flashed and thunder rolled across the tops of the trees. The tendrils had totally engulfed the Senator and were pulling him underground. Grating noises and the sound of the earth being ripped apart subsided until only the breathing of the humanoid shape accompanying him were heard. It leaned forward as if to make sure that the Senator was actually gone and spit on the spot now closing from his passage. It turned and soundlessly a rip in the fabric of time and space opened allowing It to step through. A shimmering surrounded It momentarily and then formed a mathematical matrix which closed the rip one digitized line at a time until, with a hissing noise, It and the opening were gone.
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Lincoln, Nebraska - March 3rd, 1990.
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Looking at the wall he smiled and turned to the window, glancing back once more as if to make a last minute decision. A breeze moved his hair and the smell of recently mowed grass was in the air. Strewn over the bed were photographs of government officials and lists of their accomplishments. Thumbtacked to every wall were other photos of Senators, Congressmen, Governors, and even one likeness of the President. Carefully drawn on each was a bull's-eye centered over the area where their hearts would be. He turned again and faced his makeshift political gallery while running his hand through disheveled brown hair. Green eyes moving constantly, he contemplated, then chose a picture from the wall. Holding it with his left hand at chest level to his six foot frame, the photograph suddenly burst into flames. Grinning wolfishly he allowed the photo to burn down until only ashes remained. To his right and on the floor was a second pile of ashes that only hours before had been the image of Senator Harkness. He stepped over and carefully placed the new ashes next to the old ones and nodded significantly to himself. The window behind him slid down into place and the lock latched with a convincing click. His head snapped around as the television came on with the news about the death of a Senator. "We interrupt this program to bring you a special news bulletin." Crouching, he watched the screen with amusement.
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Seattle, Washington - March 4th, 1990.
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The Seattle police department was a bee hive of activity, with people rushing to and fro, none of which ever seeming to know where they were going yet always ending where they needed to be. Detective John Yardley's voice was suddenly heard above the already existing cacophony; "Everyone assigned to my case meet me in Conference Room "B", on the double." The den of noise ceased for approximately three seconds and then picked back up as if it had never stopped, although six of the ever moving bodies disconnected themselves from the mass and moved toward an exit. Yardley's voice rumbled again; "I want those photographs and I mean now mister." Yardley was a massive man of better than six feet and, at the moment, all two hundred plus pounds were leaning heavily on his desk to allow enough room for the telephone cord to stretch to his ear. How the phone had managed to end up on the floor behind his desk was a minor mystery that would soon be forgotten in the melee. "No, an hour will not be sufficient. I want them in Conference Room "B" in five minutes or I'll use your ass for target practice." Yardley was beginning to look exasperated. Realizing again where the phone was, he simply dropped the receiver on the floor and walked away. Conference Room "B" was a smoke filled, postage stamp sized after thought, where assignments and decisions were made. Its diminutive proportions were supposed to expedite the process, but usually just made life more difficult. Yardley cleared his throat. "I've looked over the preliminary reports, and frankly gentlemen, they simply will not do." He paused significantly, and then looked around as if trying to remember something. "Where the hell are those photographs?" Someone shoved an envelope into his hands. Yardley scanned to locate the origin but was unable so instead, shrugged, and then opened the manilla folder. "I've got a crime scene with no clues... Photographs with no detectable variances other than that which would be considered normal... A suspect with no motive... A broken body with no visible marks... and a death from natural causes that everyone insists is a homicide. Would someone care to shed some light on this, you know, maybe just to help this poor twenty year veteran with obvious limited mental capacities understand what the hell is going on here!" An explosion went off as Yardley's fist came down on the conference table. A street blue appeared at Yardley's arm and thrust a folder forward. "This just came for you, sir." The look of impatience was evident on the Detective's face. "Can't this wait, sergeant?" A very odd look accompanied his reply. "I really don't think so, sir." Yardley took the folder, opened it and read, his face falling with the impact that was purveyed inside. He sat down slowly, lit a cigarette, and looked around the room. "Well gentlemen, seems as if you'll have another chance to get this right." Murmurs and looks of confusion shot around the room as Yardley's statement lingered like a tangible oppression. "The Governor of Oregon was only moments ago found dead in his home. Unofficially, the cause was classified as a heart attack..... but like Senator Harkness, there was not one bone in his body left intact. They of course think there is a connection." He cleared his throat as every voice erupted at once. "Dismissed gentlemen, lets get moving." Yardley's partner, Bill Bradley remained seated until everyone was gone, knuckles tapping silently on the table top. "You know John, this is not going to be solved quickly, and quite frankly, you look like shit. Why don't you go home and get some sleep while you can? Take a shower and get laid before your wife disowns you. I know you, and once you start into this, you'll be living off coffee and cigarettes until it's over." Yardley looked up with a sly boyish grin; "I wasn't aware that you were worried about my love life, or my level of personal hygiene, Bill. But for the sake of agreement, I think I'll take your advice before this gets out of hand."