Best New Werewolf Tales (Vol. 1) by James Roy John; Daley Jonathan; Everson James; Maberry Michael; Newman David Niall; Lamio Wilson Page A

not guilty.” Brad Raling closed his eyes, putting his head to the table. He heard none of the reactions from his side or the defendant’s. He’d gone to another place, a place only he could reach, deep in his mind. He felt his attorney pat his arm, bringing him back to reality. Brad shrugged the man off. “Leave me be,” he grumbled.
    Brad thought he had the man who murdered his family. The police arrested him; all the evidence pointing a guilty finger at the man, but an unthinkable act swooped in and ruined it all. A fucking recall. The damn breathalyzer––a new model, recalled due to failed meter readings. The man who killed his wife and daughter––Brad’s reasons for living, was free.
    Brad lay in bed for the next few weeks, drinking, throwing up and then drinking some more. He had vacation time and cashed it all in. With the bereavement leave, he totaled a little over a month of time off from his job.
    People came to his house, dropped off food, cards, and gave their apologies. He hated looking at them, their sorry faces. What did they care, they simply got to return to their wonderful lives, grateful they weren’t him.
    One visitor, his neighbor Marcy Conrad, proved different. The woman hardly left her house. She was a hermit, a recluse. The neighborhood kids thought her to be a witch. She wasn’t a witch, but she certainly knew one.
    “Oh, Miss Conrad,” Brad said startled, as he opened the door to retrieve the morning paper.
    “Morning, Bradley,” she said, her voice scratchy as if damaged from years of smoking. “I baked you a pie, apple.” She held out a plastic bag, revealing yellow-stained teeth as she smiled.
    “Thank you,” Brad said, accepting the gift. His mouth began watering as the sweet aroma of baked apples and cinnamon entered his nostrils. The pie smelled delicious, but there was no way in hell he’d eat anything from that woman.
    “Good day,” she said before turning around and walking away.
    Brad had always thought the woman strange, but at least she had a caring heart.
    Inside, Brad went over to the trash-can, opened the lid and was about to toss the bag with the pie into it, when he noticed a card inside the bag. He removed the card, placing the pie on the counter. Taking a seat at the kitchen table, he read the card.
     
    Neighbor,
    I can only imagine how you’re feeling. Your sweet, sweet, tender daughter and loving wife were savagely mauled by a monster. There are more paths to finding justice and avenging the dead than the means of which our flawed legal system allows. I know how you’re feeling. You want justice! Vengeance! I know of someone who might be able to help you. Go to 105 Cremlock Wood Lane and ask for the righteousness you and your dead loved ones deserve.
     
    The old bat was crazy; a smirk breeching his face as he tossed the letter into the trash along with the pie. Grabbing a bottle of gin, he meandered over to the couch and flicked on the television. He began gulping the liquor until he nearly choked at the image he saw––Martin Biggs, the man who slaughtered his family. He turned the volume up. Each word the man spoke sent shivers of ice down Brad’s spine.
    Martin was smiling, happy. He had his arms wrapped around his wife’s and daughter’s shoulders as they stood proudly at his sides. He spoke about the legal system and its just ways.
    “I’m indeed sorry for Mr. Raling’s loss, but my family and I just want to move on. We’re looking forward to our lives returning to normal. Thank you.” He took no questions, turning away from the cameras, got his family into a car and drove off.
    Brad’s fists were clenched, his right hand wrapped around the bottle’s neck. His face had become a deep shade of burgundy, salvia dripping from his mouth, like that of a wild, mongrel dog. He stood; the image of a content Martin Biggs––family man, the person responsible for his family’s demise, branded into his mind forever. Brad reached back, muscles