The TV was a cracked mirror holding up a distorted view of a world Amy barely remembered. After a few hours, it were as though that she hadn't really watched television at all in The Music Box. The screen they had installed in her little room had been nothing but a mirage.

Where had these advertisements been? Why wasn't she interrupted every few minutes with urgent pleas to buy medications to help with arthritis, insomnia, constipation, sadness, shyness, high cholesterol, high blood pressure, erectile dysfunction, and traveler's diarrhea? Where were the breakfast cereals, diet shakes, and limited time burgers made out of reprocessed, remolded, re-flavored all-natural but unspecified meat? The robot vacuums and laundry detergents? The magical dusting cloths and the toilet gels guaranteed to last in your bowl for a month? The lawyers, mortgage advisers, and men yelling at the camera about giving you money for your gold?

The motel room's twelve channels showed an unsheltered world where people got into screaming, clawing fights in front of a studio audience, news casters droned on for hours about a senator's affair, doctor's sold herbal supplement as miracle cures, and bakers battled to make the best cookies for cash and prizes.

Amy spent the afternoon swinging between emotions of anger and fear. She was furious that she had been kept in the dark by the people who were caring for her. And she was grateful that she had been spared from the sickness that seemed to permeate the surface of this world. Amid her music and her books, Amy had been allowed a respite from this obscene culture of narcissism and joyless consumption. Had she never been imprisoned ,she would have grown up in it and thought it was perfectly normal. She would be a twisted version of herself, tainted by the putridness she was watching. But how dare they hide so much of reality from her? How was she to cope in this world now?

Of course, she was never meant to be allowed back into this reality. Even now, it was temporary and fleeting. In another year, she could be living in Columbia or Brazil. What would reality look like then?

She flipped the channel. Sitting so close to the set, she didn't need to raise the remote. She was on the floor leaning against the bed so she could watch with the sound turned down low, while R.J. slept on one of the double beds with a thin sheet over his clothed body. Occasionally a snore would drown out some of the inanity.

The news channel was still treating the senator's scandal like Armageddon, Amy was done with it but stopped on the channel because the crawling text at the bottom of the screen mentioned her. In the corner, a minuscule picture of her appeared. Amy could tell from the shirt with the drawing of a river that the photo had been taken the other day during her session with Dr. Tan. The Agency had probably selected a still from the video surveillance to give to the media.

It wasn't the first bulletin she'd seen. They were run regular. Even some of the other channels made the silent announcement over scenes of TV courtrooms and women jumping up and down, excited to win a new luggage set. She hadn't gotten used to seeing herself as the subject of a report. The little girl in the picture looked so sweet that Amy felt sorry for her and the tragic fate that might be befalling her at that very moment, until she remembered it was her.

Every fifteen minutes or so, Amy became news. Just another fragment of the great noise of the world via TV. To others she must have already faded to the background of their thoughts, reduced in significance by repetition, until her little picture in the corner signified nothing more than the passing of time.

Hunger was growing inside of her along with agitation. She could smell the grease from the wrappers filling the trash. Far from making her sick, like R.J. had feared, the feast at lunch only made her want more. It had merely served as a down payment on other meals to come.

Her chance to sleep in a bed was quickly passing but she wouldn't have been able to if she tried. There was an itching beneath her skin like thousands of hairs bristling beneath the surface.

Amy's hands clamped down on the motel room's carpet and she hung on as though to keep herself from floating away.

Outside the closed drapes, the sky had been slowly darkening. She didn't need to look out to see it. She could feel the night coming. The pull was so much stronger up here on the surface. The moon was trying to draw her to it. But it could float in the darkness of space whispering words of seduction to her all it wanted, Amy had spent years mastering control over herself, it wouldn't be relinquished so easily.

Deep breaths overshadowed the sound on the TV. She closed her eyes in silent meditation. The moon hadn't risen yet and wouldn't be full when it did. She could fight it.

In the early days, bad headaches had been her downfall. That was the way it wheedled the control from her. The migraines would weaken her, make her beg for release. She gave in because she would have given in to anything. Amy gave in without even knowing what she was giving away.

The headaches stopped a long time ago and then it became more of a contest.

As she explained it to Emily during one long night in the cell, "It's like a staring match."

She was on the bed wrapped in blanket. All the lights were out but with the moon at its zenith, her eyes were hypersensitive and every object around her was clear as day. Emily was in the Observation Center keeping her company over the intercom. Looking back, it must have been one of the first times they didn't put her in the wolf room for the full moon.

"So it's a battle of wills?" Emily asked.

"No. It's about concentration. When the pull is strong, like it is tonight, it is easier to give into it. Like it's easier to blink than to keep staring. If you lose concentration then the eyelid closes by itself. But so long as I focus on the goal and stay in control myself, I win."

"It sounds hard."

"It can be." It could be murderous. The fatigue would wear her down. It would be so easy to daydream and slip into a fantasy of running through the woods and chasing prey. The room around her would feel so stark and uncomfortable that she began to question her own sanity about struggling against what was natural.

"Why not let us put you in the other enclosure and just accept the change?"

Why didn't she? Was there anything beneficial about sitting up all night sweating and digging her nails into her skin until red welts covered her arms and legs? Was she just stubborn and trying to prove something? What were her real motives?

Amy allowed herself a brief moment to remember the wolf. Dr. Horus used to talk about it as though they were two separate beings, but that wasn't true. Amy was always Amy. Although, being in the wolf form was different. The changes didn't just affect her body. They altered her thoughts. Instinct took over and silenced the noise in her head. What little conscious thought there was became subservient to those instincts. The body had needs and the wolf's body had the power to satisfy them without the confusion of either logic or emotion. The only thing that limited her and all the power of the wolf was the prison.

She finally answered Emily by saying, "Because I don't like being a wolf in a cage."

"Yes," Emily agreed. Her voice sounded light, like she was remembering something that was taking her away from her conversation with Amy. "It's important to maintain your humanity in the worst of situations."

Amy opened her eyes and felt the glare of the TV burn into her. The images on the screen were lost in a blur. Tracking lines scrolled down the screen making the pictures they painted indecipherable as though time had slowed to an infinitesimal crawl.

Emily had misunderstood her that night and Amy was only too happy to let her believe that the thing she hated was being the wolf. But the real problem had been the cage that held it.

A yawn came from behind her. She looked up to see R.J. glancing at his watch on the bedside table.

"Damn. I didn't mean to sleep so long." He rubbed his eyes and noticed Amy looking at him.

"Are you alright?" he asked

Amy nodded.

"Did you get any sleep?"

She shook her head. There was a fear to speaking. She didn't trust the sound that might come out.

"Feeling up to getting going?" he asked.

"Yes, let's go. I feel cooped up in here," she managed to say grateful for a change of scene and something to distract her from the lure of the moon.

***

The car had a grungy feeling. It had only been a day and the freshness of the new Ford had been replaced with a lived-in stink of stale coffee, sweat, and sunbaked takeout containers. Alicia turned the key in the ignition, so she could get power to roll her window down. Brett snapped to attention in the driver's seat and switched it off immediately, like the battery would die if they used the least amount of electricity without the engine running.

"Ooh, it's cool out there," Alicia said. "It feels good."

She leaned out and sniffed the night air. The wind chilled her hot skin. They'd been sitting there for hours in that closed up car. It was going to be murder on her skin. She'd have to remember to moisturize on the next bathroom break. Thoughts of her skin got the new ink itching again. Her left forearm was still covered to protect the raw flesh. There had been more blood and chaffing with this one than her other tattoos. The edges of the large bandage were fraying and coated in gray, gluey gunk. She should change that too, when she had the chance.

"You think they'll stay in there all night?" Brett asked.

How the hell should she know? "Could be," she said.

Of all the assholes she could have been partnered up with, Alicia couldn't believe she'd drawn Brett. She couldn't figure out what he was even doing here? He was such a prissy little geek. He belonged at a comic-con speaking Klingon. Not here. Not with Alicia dealing with matters of life and death. He was a whiny little punk, who couldn't drive for shit. They'd be much better off with her behind the wheel but his dick was too small to let her have the keys.

"What should we do?" he asked.

"Wait. That's what a stakeout is all about."

"But the others wait in Casablanca, and wait...and wait...and wait." He muttered the words to himself as he stared off at the parking lot. Then to Alicia, he said, "Will the others relieve us at some point? We're going to have to sleep."

"Hell, no. We were here first. I'm not turning the glory over to any of those bums. Screw them. When the time comes, we'll take turns. In fact, I might just catch a few winks." She leaned the seat back a few notches and swung her boots up onto the dash.

Brett swatted them back down, "Hey, hey, hey. Watch the leather, man."

"It's vinyl. And what do you care? It's a rental."

"It's in my name. They'll charge me for cleaning it."

"Well, I guess we know who wears the panties in this relationship."

"Fuck off."

Serious, he was worried about a car rental company. When the shit hit the fan he was going to be dead weight. Alicia would have to be prepared to cut him loose.

Alicia was about to ask him if he was worried he'd get his mouth washed out with soap, when a figure stepping out into the motel parking lot and caught her attention.

"We've got movement." She pointed out the tall man lugging bags to a decrepit pickup parked next to the door of a unit on the far side.

Brett glanced down at a photo before returning it to his shirt pocket. "That's him. Where the hell is she?"

"Still inside, you doofus. Look at him. He's not packing the car, he's scoping out the surrounding area. See how he keeps moving things around in the back to get different angles."

"Do you think we'll get to see her?" He bit his lip in nervous excitement looking like an eight year-old on the way to the circus where there might be clowns, who may or may not murder him.

Alicia chose not to answer. She wondered if Brett was ever allowed outside before he joined up with the cause. He was so painfully naïve. So desperate to believe in everything.

"Do you think it's true—what they say about her? That she can transform into a great wolf?"

"I wouldn't take everything they say so literally. Just because I'm committed to the cause doesn't mean I believe all their fairytales."

"You will, Dr. Jones. You will become a true believer."

Alicia rolled her eyes. Brett's non-stop movie quotes were making her homicidal. Why couldn't she have been paired with Malone? She'd have to fight him off every second they were alone as he tried to grope her and force himself on her. But it was better than listening to this crap.

They watched as the man returned to the room and waved for someone inside to come out. The flapping of his hand silhouetted in the lit doorway said: Now. Quickly.

The target didn't look like much. She was just some slight figured, blonde teenager. Not much different from one of those snooty cheerleaders that made Alicia's life miserable in high-school. She couldn't have weighed more than one-ten. Alicia could kick her ass, if it came to it. But then, it would never come to it. She couldn't suffer any harm, they had told them—not one hair on her head, they had said.

"Looks like they're clearing out. Get ready to follow them." Alicia told her partner trying to ignore the way he patted the man bun at the top of his head. As disguises went, it was as idiotic as everything else about Brett. The order had been to stay inconspicuous. Somehow, Brett interpreted that as permission to dress up like a total douche-bag.

"Alright, it's a hundred and six miles to Chicago, we got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes..."

Alicia tuned him out and got the phone from her purse. There was no response from headquarters. It was strange. Everyone was supposed to be on high alert. McMillan was probably taking a leak or drunk. Still, Janet should be covering for him. Not my problem, Alicia thought. Let them take shit from the elders. She canceled the call and rang up the senior team.

"Hyena, this is Bobcat. Target is on the move. We are on their tail."

"Roger that. We're ready to pick them up at the corner of Chestnut and 1st."

By this time tomorrow, she'd be heading back to base as a hero. Alicia would prove to them she was worthy of the name Kyle Silver.

***

Author's Note: Phew! Finally through chapter 4 and about a third of the way through book 2. I hope the direction this book is headed in is becoming more clear now. I put these scenes up together today because it's been a slow update schedule with NaNoWriMo on the go, not that they were related (other than sequentially). How are people thinking about Amy? Is everyone still rooting for her or is anyone out there thinking rescuing her was a bad idea? And here is the first new POV character in a while. What do you think of Alicia?

Note on the Music: I knew at some point in TTWB  I wanted a track from Tom Petty's Full Moon Fever. The lyrics of the song I borrowed the chapter title didn't really work for me here, so I went with another cut from the album, which has a good road trip vibe.