Fetch(Christopher Long) My name is Jessica Carter but everybody calls me Jessy. Like many young children I fantasised about what I could become when I am older: an astronaut who would go on adventures in space and single-handedly keep the earth safe from aliens, or a pirate exploring the high seas in search of treasure? Or maybe both! One day I made rockets out of a washing up liquid bottle and took to wearing an eye patch around the house, this amused my parents and when I would run through the living room with my rocket pretending to battle monsters they chuckled saying: “Hey, slow down little space pirate!” I could make people laugh and save the planet. This was the job for me. There was no doubt in my mind.

However, at the age of ten, my mind was changed. All thoughts of space and life on the ocean waves were forgotten. The eye patch and the rocket laid abandoned on my bedroom floor replaced by a magnificent glass. Detectives were my passion, watching and reading about their exploits captivated me. They seemed so cool, giving hope to the hopeless, voice to the voiceless and catching criminals to prevent further harm. I would rush home from school so I wouldn’t miss a single episode and stay glued to the television until my parents came home. Dad kissed me on the head, smiled and asked: “What's on detective Jessy?", “Shhh dad, Colombo is about to solve the case!” I would whisper. These shows would transport me into a world of excitement and high stakes action. When bedtime arrived, I begged my parents to stay up so I could watch the conclusion of a thrilling mystery. They agreed. I also read every short story or novel I could get my hands on, borrowing them from the library or putting them on my list for presents.

At school my passion for crime and the macabre meant my friendship group, once large, got progressively smaller until it extinguished entirely. I did not read the class assigned books. I tried but each time I found the characters dull and one dimensional in contrast to the colourful and exciting ones in crime fiction. I would sit alone at break and lunch, daydreaming about car chases and apprehending criminals. When I was called upon in class to give the weekly book report, my descriptions were so vivid that the colour would drain from my classmates' faces and a few would burst into tears. I acted like being a social outsider didn’t bother me but, secretly, I wanted to be accepted. When I told my parents that I was having trouble fitting in my mother told me: “Don’t worry, honey. You’re just different and unique. You will show the world one day,” and she was right.

I was an academically bright student and my weirdness and obsessions, that isolated me, became my greatest strength when I was accepted to study Criminology at University on a scholarship. When I graduated four years later, as one of the top students in my year, I could choose any police station I wanted. After spending months weighing up the pros and cons of each, I eventually chose a local one called Centerfield. My parents were thrilled and had saved enough to buy me a flat within walking distance from work. On the night they gave me the keys I hugged them and almost cried saying: “Thank you, I won’t let you down.” “We know you won’t, detective Jessy,” said dad. Mum smiled with tears in her eyes adding: “We are so proud of you sweetheart.” Finally I was going to have the life I always dreamed of.

On my first day I was so excited, I did not want to blow it. Luckily my work colleagues seemed friendly. Everything was going well until the day I was given my first assignment: a robbery. While I knew everything about the theory of catching criminals, when it came to putting into practice what I learned I struggled, proving myself to be clumsy and awkward when apprehending them. After a few months at Centerfield, my arrest rate was so low that I would regularly be called into my superior’s office to talk about my future. It was so embarrassing, I thought I would be better at this. Although I didn’t know what I could do to improve. My plan was to stay at Centerfield and be promoted one day. However, it was pure luck that I kept my job.

To unwind, after the stresses of the day, I would take a walk through a field on my way home and listen to the early evening birdsong, taking in the spectacular views of the town below and watching the sheep as they were herded by dogs to their nightly slumber. As I passed the sheepdogs would watch me carefully to ensure I would not walk too close to their charges. However one evening, deep in thought, I accidentally strayed too far into the field. A dog ran up nipping me on the calf, hard enough to draw blood: “Stupid animal.” The wound really hurt. When I arrived at my apartment I sterilised the bite and put a dressing on. I grabbed something to eat and flopped into bed, exhausted.

The next morning I awoke with a thumping headache and, fearing that I'd contracted rabies, made a doctor's appointment. When I was eventually called in, after the examination of the wound, he ran some tests, gave me a jab as a precaution and told me to drink plenty of water. The results will be back in a week or two. I thanked him and went to the station. At lunch time, the topic of conversation in the break room among my colleagues was the full moon party that Adrian was hosting at his home that evening. I was invited, but the headache hadn’t worn off and I did not feel in any mood to celebrate. All I wanted to do was take a hot shower and get an early night so I politely declined.

At home that evening, I sat in bed reading with a towel around my hair, when I suddenly felt a sensation like ants crawling all over my body. I scratched at my skin, but the more I did the more the feeling intensified till I could no longer stand it. Desperate to stop the itching and thinking it was something to do with my new laundry detergent, I stripped off. To my relief, the feeling subsided. A few minutes later, grey hairs started sprouting all over my body, my limbs elongated, my teeth sharpened and my nails grew into claws. My facial features were distorted to form a snout. The pain was unbearable. Then, as quickly as it started, it was over. I looked in my mirror, I couldn't believe what I saw: a wolf. ‘How did that get in?’ I thought, ‘Did I leave the window open?’ The wolf was enormous and I was normally so slight. My senses were sharper. I could smell the sausages and burgers cooking on the grill at the full moon party several blocks away. Saliva dripped from my mouth making pools on my polished wooden floor. ‘Was I the wolf?’ Gradually all my human thoughts had evaporated. I could only think of escape. I reached my apartment door and hurled my body against it repeatedly. Crash! Crash! Crash! The sound reverberated around my small flat. Almost immediately the wood began to splinter and cover the floor but, thankfully, the door held. Eventually, after numerous fruitless attempts, I slept.

The next morning I was woken by bright sunlight streaming through my window, slowly becoming aware that I was not in bed but lying naked face down on my floor. I tried to move, my limbs were sore and cramped in protest. My head was foggy. I couldn’t seem to get my thoughts in order, or remember anything about the previous night. I noticed splintered wood from my door surrounding me. ‘Did I have a break in?’ I showered, put on my uniform and had breakfast. I cleaned up and went to work. The day passed. That evening it happened again with the same blank spot in my memory. Over the next few weeks, the transformation occurred almost nightly and each time it occurred I could remember more in the morning. I knew for sure I had the ability to turn into a wolf and didn’t have rabies. Also, the agony that accompanied the metamorphosis eventually stopped. Transforming became as simple as putting on a new outfit. Also, the change was not solely dependent on the full moon but occurred during any visible moon phase.

One evening, bored of bruising myself on a closed door, I decided to leave it unlatched. That night I left the flat and made some remarkable discoveries. The skills that alluded me as a human became available. I could track, hunt and capture animals. I moved at incredible speeds. Nothing, it seemed, was beyond my abilities. I felt invincible.

While my secret nocturnal self was on an upward trajectory my professional one was spiralling downwards. I had been demoted to the dispatch desk and my boss had made it clear that this was my very last chance. If I messed this up, there would be no hope of redemption. I was very nervous when I picked up the headset for the first time. ‘What if I sent a patrol car the wrong way? What if I gave them the wrong address?’ All these thoughts tumbled through my mind. “Breathe, just breathe Jessy. You can do this,” I told myself. Once I relaxed, I managed to focus and reignite the passion I thought I’d lost for my work. The boss regularly called me into his office, but it was to praise me rather than berate me. I had finally found my place at Centerfield Police Station.

Six months later. Thick snow covers the ground. I have just directed unit 212 to a domestic disturbance at Fire Lane, I hear footsteps coming into the Dispatch Centre and a voice shouts: “Can I have everybody’s attention please!?” It takes me a few moments to realise all my colleagues have turned around to face the speaker. I take off the headset, put it down and turn my swivel chair towards the voice. Charles Baker, our Superintendent, is a short but imposing man. He tells us: “We need everybody in the briefing room.” We glance at each other bewildered. I get up from my chair and follow my colleagues as we make our way into the room. It is large with a whiteboard at one end and chairs facing it. A picture is pinned to the board. Charles faces us and says: “Thank you for coming everybody. We need all of you on this.” At ‘this’, he points at the picture. “I have received a disturbing video from this man Brad Harwick. He threatens to kill police officers. He seems to bear a grudge against us. He has given us an opportunity daring us to come and find him and even told us his location. He is hiding out in Fairground Forest. We will split into teams and apprehend this psycho before he can do any harm. Questions?” The entire room erupts into a cacophony of noise. I do not hear what is said. A feeling of dread grips me. Please don't let me die, the only thing I can hear is my own heart beat. Charles then shouts: “OK, let’s move out!”

Before I know what is happening, I am in the police van with my colleagues driving to the forest. When we reach our destination, it is eerily quiet. Our boots make a crunching sound on the snow as we move silently. Each member of the teams is on high alert expecting an ambush but as we reach the treeline with no incident the relief is audible.

Then: chaos. We hear a gunshot. Someone shouts: “Sniper!!” This is the last word he says. The speaker falls back onto the snow, blood blossoming from his chest. As he lays dying, several more officers are killed trying to reach him, staining the snow red. We scramble to find cover. My group succeeds although we are forced back behind the van. It is safe for now but for how much longer? Others don’t make it to shelter, gunned down as they run. A few think they can find cover in the trees. They are wrong, we are lambs to the slaughter. “Can anybody see him?” Charles yells over the sound of gunfire. “There in the trees!” someone's replies. We open fire but do not achieve our objective. Soon we are at a stalemate, unable to reach the forest because of Harwick’s constant attack.

Just before dusk, the gunfire stops. Silence. We look at each other bewildered. Then I spot a figure emerging from the trees. Adrian limps towards us. His progress is hindered by his right leg which he is dragging along the ground. It leaves a bloody trail behind him. Relief floods through us. He is badly injured but at least he is alive. When he finally gets to us, Charles says astonished: “Adrian, did you escape?” He shakes his head: “No sir. Brad Hardwick let me go. He has a message for you.” “What is it?” inquire Charles. Between gasps of pain, Adrian whispers: “Unless you agree to clear his criminal record, he is going to kill us all.” “I do not do favours for murderers,” our superintendent shouts angrily. “Is there any information you can give us that will help to stop him?” Adrian replies: “He is ex-military, highly trained. Just when you think you have a fix on his location, he moves. He's like a ghost.” The shooting starts again, closer this time. Periodically bullets ricochet off the van. “We are going to die here. Maybe we should talk to him sir,” I say. He shouts: “Out of the question Carter!” He turns and addresses our group: “Listen up. We are running out of officers and daylight. We can't let him go unpunished. Has anybody got a plan?” One by one we shake our heads. Charles looks around desperately: “There must be something we can do…” The team remains silent looking at the ground. A few minutes later the moon appears over the treetops. No please, not now, I think in panic.

I wanted to keep the two sides of myself separate. Silly really. It was inevitable that, some day, this would happen. My body armour begins to rip and my limbs elongate. I wonder how my fellow officers will react when my physical transformation is complete. I hear the sound of guns cocking…not well I conclude. Facing my death, I do not panic as now I am a wolf and my mind is calm. The seconds tick by: I’m alive. I glance sideways and see my colleagues slowly backing away in fear aiming their guns at me. Charles states in commanding tone: “Stay where you are wolf or we will shoot!” Their eyes dart between me and the forest trying to decide which one is the bigger threat: me or the sniper? Eventually, deciding on Brad, they stop pointing their guns at me. When I speak my face contorts painfully as I struggle to form the words: “ It is my turn now. He won’t get away and go unpunished. He will pay!” These are the last words I can utter before my vocal cords change and all I can do is growl. Leaping over the bonnet, showering my team with snow, I look back at their stunned faces then dash across the frozen ground towards the forest. The moon casts an enormous shadow on the snow. My human thoughts slowly diminish until only one remains: fetch.

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