Somehow, I “came to” in a heavily forested area outside of the northern part of town. I was covered in gunk and…well, I’m sure you can guess by now. My head was pounding and my intestines were still churning. Or churning worse, depending on how you looked at it. And I was naked. Completely. Thank God it was still night. A close-to-full moon lit my way along an old game trail. Incredibly, I did not connect the significance of the lunar phase for a few more months.

Freezing my ass off, I washed up best as I could in a stream. An oversized T-shirt and a baggy pair of jeans – both snatched from a “solar-powered clothes dryer” – kept me from being arrested as I made my way home. Obviously, I couldn’t drive from the bar. Later in the week, I did manage to find my pants…complete with the contents of my pockets. That was a story in itself. Let’s just say they were where no bum would think of bothering them. But that particular night, I was forced to walk home. Hey – I was just happy that I found my way back to the city limits. Maybe I should have stayed in the Boy Scouts longer.

I dug the spare key out of the fake rock that would fool absolutely no one. We avoided burglary only by stashing the “Hide-a-Key” itself inside a bush. Not surprisingly, Anastasia was gone. It was after midnight – way too late to be “in a sales meeting.” I didn’t care. I threw up into the toilet a few times and hit the shower.

The next morning – a Monday, wouldn’t you know – further cemented my journey to where I’ve now landed. Anastasia, still dressed from her night out, was smacking my head to wake me. She was holding the crumpled letter from the HMO in her free hand. The irony of the whole situation was not lost on me. But I knew she would have an airtight alibi. I did not. And I didn’t care. I was too weak and tired to fight. Thankfully, she gave me the week. She had a conference to attend out of state.

And then she was gone, leaving me to the queen-sized bed and king-sized body aches. I laughed out loud as the front door to the house slammed. All the times I cheated on her, and THIS was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

There you have it. Basically. It wasn’t long before I lost my employment. The next full moon fell on the three weekdays before April 15th. ‘Nuff said. From that point, I bounced around from place to place, apartment to apartment, job to job. I learned about my malady bit by bit, the lessons often painful and costly. To date, I have found no evidence of “my kind,” yet I know I got “it” from somewhere. And two of my past “lovers” have disappeared without a trace. After discovering about the second, I decided to “disappear” myself. Between trying to trace the genesis of the “HIV strain” and the incident with Mr. Executive back at the hospital, I have begun to wonder about the true status of werewolves in our culture. Is it possible that some “mythology” went the way of the “evidence” at Area 51? Yeah, I know – shut up Fox Mulder.

But tell me why I’ve not found anyone else? I can’t be the only one. Can I?

So as I stood before the door to the NA club in the poorest part of an urban center miles and years away from my old life, I hesitated. The biggest part of my cover – aside from changing my identity – was in danger of being blown. It’s amazing how many people will take binge drinking as an excuse or a liability if it only happens once a month. It’s equally amazing that no one ever noticed that my “problem” always coincided with the full moon. And now, I couldn’t decide which was the greater risk: exposing that I might not be a junkie or refusing the help of a concerned neighbour.

I took a deep breath and pulled the handle. Worse came to worse, I would have to move and find another hotel to work at. Not like it hadn’t happened before.

The pungent odor of vintage nicotine and mold greeted me. I cast a backward glance at Gaylen. He had a small smile that he was working fruitlessly to dispose of. I felt one of my own try to break through.

“Orville! My man!”

A motley group was scattered about the former insurance office that was now home to coffee, billiards, and recovery. One of the guys had broken away from a vigorous discussion to greet me. Gaylen’s grin had vanished, giving way to utter surprise.

“Hey Mike – long time no see.” I had kept my first name but changed everything else. Figured it couldn’t hurt. And most “12-steppers” never knew my real last name anyway. I’ll give you a hint – it wasn’t “Jones.”

Mad Mike was one of about a dozen folks I knew there. You can’t be clean for eight years and not get to know folks from all around, especially as many meetings as I used to attend. My old sponsor was a big believer in “highway sobriety.” Maybe subconsciously I chose this neighbourhood for the familiarity of the nearby NA hangout. Or maybe not. But it was too late to psychoanalyze my deeper motivations. I may be werewolf, but I am still human, too. I couldn’t deny how good it felt to walk into a place I used to visit on occasion in my previous life. How long this would last was another question altogether.

Everybody took a seat as the chairperson banged his gavel. Gaylen hadn’t said much to me since we first came inside. Instead, he studied me from behind a countenance of confusion. I imagine the wheels were turning now. If I wasn’t a binge drinker, what was I? I didn’t think the bulimia explanation would work on him. He struck me as smarter than he let on; the street was no place for intellectual pursuits. And I know I did not fit the rest of the profile of a person with an eating disorder. Later I would worry about how to explain my lifestyle and the induced vomiting. I was here, and I wanted to enjoy the meeting. It was my first in over two years.

The late afternoon light enhanced the mood. Dust motes floated lazily – a dismal substitute for the layered cigarette smoke that used to be a standard of facilities like this. Gaylen seemed to be studying his NA book, opened to the chapter we were discussing. I attempted to push the potential problem into the back of my head and concentrate on the sharing. Someone came in the back door, framed by the blinding sunshine. He sat in the shadows, as so many “new people” were fond of doing. I smiled at his general direction, turning back to the current speaker. It was good to be home. I hadn’t felt like this in a long time. My guts gurgled threateningly, but I didn’t care. It was impossible to purge all that I ate in my “other form.” There would be time to deal with the aftermath later.

Suddenly, it was my time to share. I was feeling so good, I took a shot at something. In the distant past, I had been known “around the tables” for my dry, absurdist wit.

“Hi. My name’s Orville…and I’m a vegetarian werewolf.” There was a pause, then raucous laughter. I smiled in response. Thumpin’ Jack had always insisted on honesty “at all costs.” I also knew that sometimes, the least likely thing anyone will believe is the absolute truth. Case in point.

But not everyone was laughing.

Like Gaylen, who seemed to have replaced his befuddlement with a more perturbed look.

And the new guy in the back. The one in a dark suit.

The one that appeared out of place in this part of town.

He stared at me steadily – no confusion whatsoever.