Fever[moon] // {Beasley & Sinful}

[Sinful]

Not a single leaf stirred in the early dawn rising over the town’s acres of land. The crystalline lake was calm and still reflected the night sky, which was beginning to fade now that the sun was overriding the moon and stars. They glittered feebly, as if straining to keep their brightness, to not disappear with the indigo-and-onyx façade they were surrounded with. Strobes of pink and orange and purple stretched across the sky and pierced the surface of the lake, changing the slate water to a more complex puzzle of colors. Suddenly, a fallen leaf parried in the breeze that was picking up, and floated down from its former perch on the birch tree’s branch and steadily idled down to the lake. As soon as the crisp, orangey-red foliage came to rest on the water, it caused a ripple to break, and then the morning became alive.

Birds presented their usual morning song and took flight, their wings shuddering in the air gleefully. Squirrels darted along branches and raced around trunks, chittering and squabbling to one another. A fox raced out of its den, already on the hunt for a few berries or stray scraps of meat. Tall crab grass, slightly browned, rustled and parted, revealing a slithering snake that forked its tongue as it prowled through the dewy blades of growth. Near the lake, a cautious deer bent its neck to drink, her fawn nestling against her flank.

Everything seemed normal. Nothing looked out of place, and the wildlife of Lakeview, Washington was going as usual as any other day in mid-fall. Until a strong gust of an autumn morning wind battered the lake’s surface and reached the nostrils of the deer. The doe snapped its head up, its ears going flat against its delicate skull, nostrils flaring at the stench that now seemed to coat everything. The serene, picturesque morning of the lake was shattered as crows began flocking a corpse, cawing madly and pecking at the lifeless body. At first one may have identified it at a reasonable amount of distance as a large animal, such as a deer or maybe a good-sized dog. But on closer inspection, it was not an animal. It was a human.

Shredded clothes still lingered, though everything else had been reduced to a bloody carnage. Pink skin was torn like leather; bones, both white and/or bloodied, others still showing signs of sinew and muscle, poked out toward the sky from the carcass or were scattered about. Severed fingers lay not far from the human’s arm, half of it torn out of the socket. The other arm was nowhere in sight. The legs were spread apart and bent, showing as much brutality as the rest of what remained of the body. The face of the human was grotesque, splattered with gore, the skin split raggedly, blank eyes still somehow showing fear. The broken jaw gaped uselessly, drying blood trailing out from the corner of ruby lips. Blood soaked the ground. Whether the human had been male or female was unknown, yet a few paces away from the body was a hand, possibly from the missing arm, and showed it hadn’t been alone. A ripped leash, covered in muck and blood, lay in the palm and was twined around the dead fingers. Some feet away, where a few more birds were crowding, was nothing but a few ghastly strips of what had been.

The scene was beyond horrifying. It was beyond brutal. And it was only the beginning.

---

Despite the ghastly scene by the lake, unknown to anyone for the next few hours, it was a day that Lakeview was proud of. Though it was fall the weather was pleasant, and anyone waking up to a window of sunshine would agree. Stepping out of the shower and running a towel over his hair, Dylan Jamieson was one of the few that could take it or leave it. Swiftly moving from the bathroom to his bedroom, just across the hall, Dylan shut the door behind him and flung his towel off his body and reached for his clothes. Dressed in dark jeans that fit him just tight enough and throwing on a light gray t-shirt, some kind of gothic graphic printed on the front, Dylan snatched his Hollister sweatshirt and backpack and left the room.

In the kitchen downstairs he could smell the bacon and eggs his foster mom was cooking for breakfast, and his stomach growled loudly on cue. Sliding along the stair railing he nimbly jumped down on the ground, set his pack and hoodie by the door, and sauntered into the kitchen. Looking up from the stove Rainey Jamieson smiled at her son and shook her head as he picked a strip of bacon off the plate she was setting the cooked meat on. “Have a good night’s sleep?” she asked.

“As always,” replied Dylan, smiling in cue with his words. This was how all mornings went in the kitchen, his mom beginning with “Have a good night’s sleep?” and him dutifully replying, “As always.” Just like this morning. It was ordinary. It was right. Nibbling on the bacon he leaned back in his chair and stared out toward the yard, where he could see one of the dog’s—his father’s Blue Heeler Jack—sniffing the sparse grass that grew there. A couple of chickens picked their way around the yard, only speeding up in alarm when the youngest dog, a black Labrador named Bailey, got too close and would sometimes receive a well-earned peck to the nose. He had scars to prove it.

With a small shake of his head Dylan finished up the last bite of bacon and started on the scrambled eggs his mother just served him, his eyes anxiously darting over to the clock. If he finished in enough time, he wouldn’t be late for school. “Dad out in the shop or something?” he asked between bites.

“No. He had to go into work early this morning. Got a call from the head deputy saying he received a report of a sighting of a wolf near the lake in the middle of the night.” Mrs. Jamieson hesitated before flipping the bacon. “According to Deputy Farrell, the reporter said he heard some kind of scuffle, and when he went out to check on it he noticed a couple of his sheep were missing. The rest were running around screaming their heads off.”

Dylan paused, stopped chewing, and raised his eyebrows. “Who was the reporter? And how did he know it was a wolf? Did he go after it or something?” His smile was amused.

Finished with the bacon, Rainey shut off the stove and turned around, pulled out a chair and sat down across from him. She shook her head. “The caller was Jim Cruvelsky, from down the road. Apparently he got his flashlight and gun and followed the trail of some torn-out wool from his sheep, and when he got past the woods and near the lake, he saw it.” His mother shrugged. “Or so he claimed. We all know how Jim can be.”

After taking another bite Dylan said, “You don’t seem too concerned, especially since it wasn’t that far from us.” To be frank, Dylan wasn’t all that concerned either, but he was surprised his mom wasn’t having more of a reaction than this.

Again, Rainey shrugged. “We don’t get wolves here, Dyl. It could have just been a stray dog. Or maybe Jim made it up and is just causing trouble. We’ll know more of the details when your father gets home tonight." She paused, frowned, and eyed the clock. "You better hurry up and finish, or you’re going to be really late for school.”

Glancing at the clock for confirmation, Dylan swore and scarfed down the last few bites of egg. “See ya!” he yelled over his shoulder and ran for the door, his sneakers scraping against the linoleum floor. Shouldering his pack and balling his sweatshirt in his hand, Dylan jogged out of the door and headed to his truck. If he was late for school, therefore missing valuable minutes for the AP U.S Gov. test he had for first period today, he was going to be screwed.

[Beasley]

Alex sighed softly as she sat in her A.P US Gov class, mindlessly doodling in her tablet as she waited for the teacher to come in and begin. She crossed her bare legs and swung the one on top gently, causing one of her wedges to bump against her knee softly each time she did this. While it was a little on the cooler side today, she had settled on a black floral romper with a cropped denim jacket. She sighed again as she continued to doodle in her tablet, secretly scolding herself for not doing something more productive, like studying. She knew there was a test today, but she had crammed all night last night and was sick of government as far as she knew. She barely looked up as she heard students coming in, no one appealing catching her eyes as she ran a hand through her long, dark hair. This class was full of unappealing students. Well, except for Dylan, he was pretty interesting. Kind of cute too.

Minutes later, the teacher had strolled in and had asked all of the students to put away all of her things, not wasting anytime with beginning the exam. She only did that when the test was lengthy and had a few short answer questions, which made Alex silently regret not studying the few free minutes she had in class just now. She couldn't help but smile as she heard the groans of those who obviously didn't study as she put away her things, reassuring herself that she would pass this test. She watched as the teacher began to pass out the exams, stopping at the head of each row as she counted the correct amount for each student to grab one and pass it back. Alex was seated in the middle and nonchalantly grabbed the small stack of exams and grabbed one before passing it back. She couldn't help but lift an eyebrow in curiosity as she looked around the classroom and saw Dylan nowhere in sight. Where was he?

[Sinful]

His dashboard clock was mocking him. Every time his eyes darted down to check the time it seemed that it always kept moving up in minutes. One second it was 7:34, and the next second, 7:35. Five minutes late. “Damn,” he murmured, his grip on the old steering wheel tightening. So much for studying until his head hurt—he’d be lucky if he even had a chance to still take the test, if their teacher allowed it. Ms. Grange was an odd one to figure out; some days she was easygoing and other days . . . not as much. Usually Dylan was one of her more favored students, but this morning could have very well changed that. Clenching his jaw he pressed down on the gas some more as he cruised down the forest-lined road and, on impulse, he looked out the window as he passed Jim Cruvelsky’s property. The house looked dark and empty and his sheep milled around in a huddle, grazing grass or staring blankly at open space, and he didn’t see Jim’s beat-up and rusted ’50 Chevrolet parked in the grass, collecting nothing but fallen leaves. Dylan’s thoughts flickered back to the conversation with his mom, and he wondered if it was true. Was there some rogue wolf on the loose? Had it really attacked Cruvelsky’s sheep? And, if so, was he out somewhere hunting the animal?

Pulling into the parking lot of Lakeview High School, Dylan quickly turned into an empty space, turned off the engine, grabbed his backpack and got out of the truck. Locking the truck he took one glance over his shoulder, analyzing the black, ’93 Ford Ranger with a lift kit critically, then turned away and headed up the school’s front and pushed open the doors. Inside the front hall was deserted and the smell of metal, perfume, deodorant and Clorox was present. Wrinkling his nose Dylan went to his locker and stuffed his backpack inside and got his things for class, shut the steel-blue metal door, and swiftly made his way to AP. Gov. He’d been too preoccupied to check the clock on his truck’s dashboard before getting out, and he didn’t bother to look at the clock ticking above the office or fish his phone out of his pocket for a glance. He knew he was late, and that was that.

Slowly, he opened the door to Ms. Grange’s classroom and stepped inside, automatically ducking his head and feeling his cheeks tingle with warmth when half of the students looked up from their tests and zeroed in on him with owl-wide eyes. At her desk Ms. Grange’s eyes were narrowed, and she raised her eyebrows expectantly as he walked over to her. “Sorry for being late,” he mumbled, pitching his voice low so only she could hear. “I got caught up.” As he figured, Ms. Grange said nothing and stiffly handed him a copy of the test. Taking the sheet from her fingers he nodded his thanks and went to his desk, avoiding anyone that might be looking his way. Except for Alex. While passing her desk, his gaze automatically flickered down to her, and his already-warmed cheeks got warmer. Abruptly looking away he sat down at his vacant seat, placed the test on his desk, and took his pencil out of the metal spiral from his notebook and scribbled down his name and the date. Only then did he dare raise his eyes to the clock. 7:42.

Shit. Biting the inside of his cheek Dylan lowered his head and got to work on the first question, yet he found his gaze flitting over to Alex’s desk. From where he sat he could see the slender shape of her back and her smooth bare legs, which she absently swung without missing a beat. He’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t like her. Because he did—a lot. But he was too shy to go up and start a conversation, or bring himself to ask her out to a movie or something. Dylan was sensitive to rejection and the thought of being rejected by Alexandria, the prettiest girl he’d ever seen in Lakeview, made him feel dully sick. Focus, Dyl, a voice in his mind whispered. He blinked, and flicked his eyes back down to his test. He was getting too distracted and it was costing him, big time.