Chapter 4

Ezra walked up to the door of Nathan's clinic, scratching at his ear, and hesitated turning the knob. Should he enter? They was a dying, or dead by now, man on the other side of the door, and Ezra was never comfortable around the sick or the demised, a habit he had inherited by his mother. What if he were to disturb the man's peaceful sleep, putting him in a world of hurt?

A sudden crash from inside of the clinic broke Ezra from his thoughts, and he cursed that his guns were somewhere out in the desert. How dare someone rob from his friend's clinic, especially when their was a gravely wounded man lying in there. Opening the door, he was shocked to discover it was the red-headed man from yesterday, looking, not gravely ill, but relatively healthy. He had put on what, apparently, was one of Nathan's trousers and a shirt that was half-way on his body, and he was cursing after having broke one of the healer's medicine bottles.

"What is going on here?" Ezra demanded, causing the man to jerk in surprise.

Looking closely at him, he couldn't have been older than JD, if younger , and his eyes weren't the eerie color of red as they were yesterday, but rather a brilliant shade of baby blue. "Jeez, Mister! Ya scared the shit out of me!"

Ezra rolled his eyes. He did not like the use of foul language, even though he was using it a lot recently without any warning. "I apologize, son, but I must ask why you have suddenly made such a wonderful improvement in health in order to steal Mr. Jackson's clothes."

"Oh, well, I'm a… I'm kind of a fast healer." He opened up his shirt to show that the mortal bullet wounds that Ezra saw yesterday were now beginning to scar. Ezra was amazed. Although he valued Nathan's skills in patching up bullet holes, it usually took weeks before any of his own wounds looked like the boy's. "And as for the clothes… Well, I couldn't just walk out of the clinic in my birthday suit. My names Kirk by the way."

"Ezra Standish, nice to meet you," he said, hiding his shock over the scars. "however, I insist you ask before GAAH!" Ezra violently started scratching the back of his head. "Damn it! How could I get fleas in the first place!" Scratching for at least two minutes all over his head, he looked up to see the bay staring at him. "Do I amuse you?"

Kirk's face had gone completely white, and his mouth was open in shock. "I smell myself… All over you."

Ezra quirked an eyebrow at him. "You smell yourself on me. My dear boy, the only time I saw you was yesterday afternoon and I don't quite recall you on me at all."

Kirk shook his head slowly. "I swear I smell myself on you. It's very faint, probably a couple of days old, but I swear I smell you. Once I get past the smell of whisky, sweat, and-" he inhaled loudly, before proceeding "sheep meat, I smell me."

Ezra tilted his head ever so, a suspicious gleam in his cool green eyes. "How did you- HEY!" Kirk had raced over to his side and gripped his arm, and the rage that he felt yesterday came back as he pushed the boy to the floor. "Get your filthy hands off me, you little whelp!" The anger fled him as the boy stared at him crumpled on the ground in shock. "I apologize. These last couple of days have been-"

Kirk bowed his head in shame, his voice breaking as he spoke "I know… I've been there myself. The first week is always the worst… Uncontrollable rage, the hunger you can't seem to stop, the fleas… And when you change, the pain is so great and you lose control of everything… Letting it take control… And waking up finding that you did… Horrible, unspeakable things. And you learn that you can't stop the monster… Nothing can."

Ezra was intrigued. All of the things that Kirk said made him reflect over yesterday, how no matter how much he ate he couldn't quell his hunger, and the horrible things he said to Nathan, and the sudden stinging bites of fleas. And he remembered the agony he suffered last night and the how he was drenched in sheep blood the morning after with no recollection of what happened. Ezra stared at Kirk in fear. Was he sick with some disease or was he going mad? "How do you know? What does it all mean?"

Kirk looked up at him. "Werewolves, Mister Standish… We're werewolves."

Ezra's eyes turned cold. "Funny, sir. Very funny. Now, since you are alright I would suggest you leave before Nathan catches you stealing from his wardrobe."

"I'm telling the truth!" Kirk said indignantly. "I can smell the demon's stench all over! Not to mention spit and all those other things I smell when I transform myself."

Ezra smile sarcastically. "So does that mean that you yourself transformed last night when I supposedly did?"

"No." Kirk said innocently. "I was healing. When a werewolf is hurt in a way that would kill a normal man, they skip their transformation in order to heal from their wounds. In fact, the only things that can truly hurt a werewolf are silver and wolfsbane. Other than that we're practically immortal. Heck, even I'm sixty-three years old!"

Ezra had had enough. "Alright, I suggest you leave, sir, before I put you away in a hospital." This boy is insane, he thought.

"Fine. I'll leave then." Kirk hiked up his too large pants and made his way to the door, but before he opened it he turned back. "I also smell that long-haired guy on you. The one in the buckskins." Ezra stiffened and his eyes went wide with fury. "Are you and him-"

"Leave now!" Ezra barked, not knowing that his eyes, once again, turned a blazing red.

"Look, just a warning, werewolves always kill the ones they love. Nothing will ever stop that. Believe me, I know." Kirk sadly closed the door, leaving a seething Ezra in his wake.

"That bastard. That vile, son-of-a-bitch-bastard! I'll rip his fucking throat out!" Ezra roared, and gasped in surprise and fear. Where did that come from? Even when he was at his peak with strangers he never wanted to hurt them. In fact, when being accused of cheating at poker, he always warned the accuser to calm down unless he wanted to be shot. But he desperately wanted to kill that boy. No, not him. Something inside him. Something alien in his body, unknown to him his whole life, whose lust for blood would not stop until it was fully gorged, and then some.

Yes, there was a monster inside Ezra's soul, and he was just now becoming aware of it.

Nathan came in suddenly, breaking Ezra from his dark thoughts. "Did-did I just see-? But he was dying, I was sure of it! Ezra, did that kid say anything to you?"

Ezra turned to him and, with his poker face firmly intact, said, "Just that he got better, thanks to you. Also, I don't think I'll be needing any medicine after all, thank you." And with that he walked out the door, faintly hearing Nathan remark that the boy's clothes looked vaguely familiar.