Across a clear tarp on the floor stood lights illuminating two bare cots. Between them was a pair of IV stands. A barely-dressed man laid motionless on one of the beds. A dark red tube went from his arm to the sanguine bag on the stand. Jacqueline presumed plasma, but Anthony would know what she would be injected with. There weren’t any machines down here, nor any other professional equipment to reassure her.
Alex washed his hands at a sink behind the stairs. He said, “You can go say ‘hi’ to your donor. His name’s Daryl. He’s from the community college near here.” He turned back to look at Jacqueline still on the stairs. “Don't be shy, he won't bite!”
Jacqueline held onto Anthony’s arm as they approached the person on the cot. This was the person sharing his lycanthropy; a young man in only his jeans, deep in slumber. She wondered how Alex had convinced Daryl to go through with this. Was this student just following up on an ad he’d found? How much of her money would find its way to his pockets? She was grateful, all the same.
She found herself inspecting his tan body, searching for some abnormality or scar proving he was a werewolf. The only things she saw were his excess of body hair and the slight point of his ears, which was easily missed in his wild black hair. Jacqueline was astounded that someone so rugged could become like the ebony beauty in Jacqueline’s mind.
“Their eyes,” Alex said, wheeling a small metal table to the bedside. Syringes, gloves, rubber bands and thin metal tools on a paper towel were laid out. “You can tell by their eyes. Otherwise you’d never know. Now if you could have a seat.” He motioned toward the other bed.
Jacqueline stared at the tools. She put on a calm face. People got surgery and went on insane diets to get roles all the time. This was no different. She conjured the image of that sleek werewolf. It’d all feel good tomorrow in front of the casting crew. She followed Alex’s directions. “Let’s do this.”
Alex slipped the gloves on. “Let’s be brief, and quiet. Werewolves need their sleep, you know.” He carefully swapped IV bags, rolling the stand near Jacqueline, and directed Anthony to prep her arm, giving him a strip of elastic gauze. “Wrap a band on her and find a vein. Rub a little isopropyl and we’ll be nearly done.”
Under the fluorescent lights, the alcohol burned Jacqueline’s nose. She flinched when Anthony rubbed a thin cloth on her upper arm. His slight frown said it all. She shook her head; she had made up her mind. They were doing this.
Alex came around with the IV bag. The free end of the tube leading to it was affixed with a thin needle that glinted in the light. He checked Anthony’s work and nodded, “You’ll feel a pinch,” he told her, “and that’s the hard part done.”
She fixed a blank expression on her face to hide her nervous trembling and looked away from the needle. She felt Anthony squeeze her other hand. He was at the foot of the bed, tight-lipped. If he still objected, he kept it to himself. The needle broke her dark skin and pierced into her vein. She felt the lycanthropic fluid flow into hers. She breathed. It was starting! Trickling into her was the means for her dreams to be seized.