I looked around for my wife, Penny, worried she had already disappeared with the changing setting. Each alteration moved at its own speed; rarely was it ever slow enough for me to say goodbye. I thankfully found her downstairs making breakfast.
I ran to her and hugged her tightly. She let out a confused laugh and asked what was wrong. I quickly told her my worries: that werewolves now roamed the moors, hunting for their next victim. She smiled at me, and patted my head gently.
“Oh sweetie, this town may have been built upon a swamp, but it lacks the bogs to be classified as a moor. You're over thinking things.”
With her reassurance and a quick kiss I was on my way to the train for work. Since the station was on the other side of the park my daily commute always began with a walk. Halfway through my journey I heard a soft noise that could have been a car starting up, or the train leaving the station without me. It was at that moment I realized something: while my lovely fiancé, did reassure me, she never once denied the possible existence of werewolves. With a great feeling of dread I rushed to the train station, not in fear of a fictional monster, but in a heightened sense of urgency to make it to work on time. Or, at least, that is what I told myself.
The mists parted to reveal the train station, with two large lantern-style lights on either side. Were those always there? I looked around for a sign of life and was met only with concealing fog. The sound I had heard earlier must have been the train leaving without me.
The shape of a man appeared feet away from me; I saw his fedora and trench coat long before I saw his face. Desperate for reassurance, I quickly blurted something out.
“Good morning sir, this fog sure is crazy, isn't it? ...Sir?”
The man fell forward and grabbed my shoulders, a dire look on his face as he muttered something that sounded like “Fade Halcyon” and dropped to the ground. This is when I saw the blood: he had been shot. But what did “Fade Halcyon” mean? Was it some dubstep band? And, if so, aren't those the worst final words ever?
It took a few minutes after I called the ambulance to realize his last words were really "Jade Falcon." It helped that I found his notepad filled with details about a case he was working on, locating the Jade Falcon. On the last page was a phone number with the initials “E L” and a kiss left by a pair of red-stained lips.
I wasn't in a world of horrific werewolves; I was in a noir. I knew what I had to do: find the killer, and solve the mystery of the Jade Falcon.
I discovered I was a natural detective; once justice was done, and the Falcon returned to its rightful owner, I struck up an acquaintance with the mysterious “E L” -- Elaine Lambroe, the most popular singer at a local speakeasy called the Lounge. I knew Elaine was the wrong kind of dame the second I laid eyes on her. She had me on her hook the second I heard her sing in that “deep come hither” voice I couldn't resist.
My Girl Friday, Penny, quit after stumbling upon Elaine and I in a compromising position. Even though she had set it up by “accidentally” falling onto my lap, I couldn’t say no to Elaine. I was under her spell.
That is how I ended up on a case to locate a painting. Entitled “Moonrise,” it had been stolen from some local mob boss who owned the Lounge and wouldn't let Elaine out of her contract unless I retrieved the art. I was a sap, but at least I was a lucky one: it only took four bribes, three beatings, and two bottles of bourbon to discover the location of the painting.
That night I made my way to an old warehouse on the waterfront and slowly crept inside. I hoped the goons who stole the painting were stupid enough to leave it unguarded while they went out to enjoy the night's festivities. With a little bit of digging and more dumb luck I stumbled upon the painting in a large crate. I pulled out the painting and wrapped it inside a sheet and started to make my getaway. When I turned I saw the flimflammers that started this whole mess. There were three of them and one of them had Elaine by the arm.
“Easy there,” I said in a voice I hoped sounded confident, “we can make a deal, give me the girl and you get the painting. No one needs to get hurt.” They told me to put the painting down slowly and we could talk. I complied and pulled out my revolver as I stood back up and aimed it at the main schmoe's head. They backpedaled quickly but kept Elaine in their grip. Just as I felt like I was in charge, I heard a click behind me and felt the cold steel on my neck. It was Elaine's boss, the painting heist was a scam to get rid of me, and like a schmuck I had fallen for it.
Elaine and I were escorted towards the car, we were both in for the big sleep, we knew too much. I apologized for not doing more to protect her. She smiled at me, one of those deadly and heartwarming smiles she had perfected.
“Don't worry about it Mac,” she said in the sweetest voice possible, “you did everything you could, and this kitten isn't without a claw or two.”
She leaned over and kissed me deeply. I regretted the fact my hands were tied. I couldn't grab her, couldn't hold her close. She slowly parted from me and gave me a wink. She turned around and leaped at the closest lug. By the time she landed on the poor schmoe she had turned into an eight foot furry killing machine. After she had finished off the entire goon squad and her former boss she let out a piercing howl at the moon above.
When Elaine calmed down, I offered her my coat and with the painting in hand we scrammed.
Her head lay on my shoulder as I drove us out of town, she was so peaceful and calm, nothing like the heart stealing vixen I first met or the heart ripping monster she was an hour before. I knew we would be safe together; we just had to make sure no matter what setting we fell into next, we remained close. Who knew werewolves were able to jump genres too?
