These Violent Roots

by Nicole Williams

  Noah had taught me that. He personified embracing the storms of life until he’d transformed into his own brand of hurricane, leaving destruction and dealing demise to the evil beasts inhabiting the world.

  I had a long way to go, but at least I was now part of the journey.

  A mile sped by, the following three faster than the first. I was nearing the office when a call cut through the raging chorus of my song. It was a call I had to take. The task force had officially dismantled, but I continued to play my part as I knew I must. I was learning the art of camouflage and the guise of hiding in plain sight from my husband. Nothing had or could change following the Huntsman’s capture. We had to behave as if life was continuing as normal, giving no one any reason to question our actions.

  “Titus, what’s up?” I asked, holding my pace.

  “Did I catch you at a bad time?” his cavernous voice rumbled.

  “No. I’m on my lunch break. It’s a great time.”

  “You sound like you’re a few heartbeats from hyperventilation,” he replied.

  “I’m running. It’s good for your heart and lungs to stress them every once in a while.”

  “Stress. Not destroy.”

  My eyes rolled. “I’m guessing you called for another reason than concern for my internal organs?”

  A low-timbered chuckle echoed on the other end. “I just wrapped up my investigation down here in LA. I already spoke with your dad, but I figured you were next on the list to inform what I found out.”

  I checked my watch. I still had fifteen minutes before I needed to be back. “What did you dig up?”

  “There’s no way Sullivan could have killed all thirty-three men like he’s claiming.”

  Ice spread through my veins, forcing my legs to come to a succinct halt. “What? How do you know? Are you sure?” My questions came out in raspy pulses.

  “I’m sure. I’ve got an alibi who confirms he was in LA when at least three of the murders took place.”

  Moving away from the main current of bodies, I leaned into the building behind me. “Is this alibi reliable?”

  “Well, yeah.” Titus hesitated, a low grunt following. “She has nothing to gain from confirming his presence and everything to lose.”

  My eyes closed. “A lover?”

  Titus mumbled, “A married lover.”

  A curse slipped past my lips. “Water tight?”

  “Fucking A,” he grunted, sounding proud of himself. “You know what this means, right?”

  Leaning my head against the wall, I tipped it upward, staring at the mottled skies. Another storm was brewing. I hoped the one growing within me was strong enough to battle it head-on.

  “Sullivan must have had an accomplice,” I surmised, as I had to. Any seasoned lawyer had toiled through enough cases to know when A led to B led to C.

  “Damn straight he must have.”

  I worked to regulate my heart, itching to race from the emotions flooding my system. “You’ve already told my father this?”

  “Called you the second I hung up with him.”

  After inhaling slowly, I asked, “I’m guessing he’s resurrecting the task force in hopes of finding this accomplice?”

  “Would you really expect anything different from Silas Payne?” Titus huffed. “He wants to come at this accomplice thing hard, while everyone is still busy celebrating or lamenting the capture of Sullivan. Before the police really dig into the details and uncover the holes in his story.”

  An accomplice. It was better than arriving at the conclusion that they’d caught the wrong man entirely. But still, it meant people searching, eyes narrowed in concentration. It meant Noah wasn’t safe . . . not that he’d ever been safe since he’d sacrificed part of himself for the Huntsman’s mission.

  Not that safe was a state he placed any importance on where his life was concerned. Safety—the illusion of it—was what all of us must sacrifice at some time to truly reach our potential, to arrive at the unique task laid before our feet, a duty most of us chose to forgo in exchange for a deception.

  Noah was different.

  So was I.

  “When’s the first meeting?” I asked, already anticipating the answer.

  “Tonight. Oh, and your dad said to tell you to ask Noah to join the team. Officially. His shrink perspective will be valuable in tracking down the partner. Not to mention he has a personal stake in taking a killer of this sort off of the streets.”

  “He’s in.” The corner of my mouth pulled as I turned down the sidewalk, continuing my run to its completion. “Noah would love the chance to hunt down a predator.”

  Epilogue

  “You look good in black.” Noah glanced at me from the driver’s seat, a smile threatening the shadow veiling his face.

  “I heard it was the color of the season,” I replied, motioning at the gloves in my lap. “And matching leather gloves the must-have accessory.”

  His chest moved from his silent chuckle.

  “You look so . . . normal,” I said, staring at him from the passenger seat where I guessed I’d left a sweat imprint of my body.

  He flicked on his signal to make a turn, the car’s speed hovering a couple miles above or below the speed limit. No sweat dotting his forehead, no incessant rearview mirror checking, his posture relaxed and his expression calm. Like any other day in the life of Noah Wolff.

  His brow arched. “Normal?”

  “Not bad normal, just . . . like yourself any other day of the week.” I gestured at him as the streetlights cut fractals of light into the car, highlighting and shadowing his face as though it were a collection of puzzle pieces.

  “Like I didn’t just end the life of a man?”

  A slow breath bled from my lips. “Exactly.”

  He slowed the car to a stop at the red light. Downtown Salt Lake was quiet at this time of night, the occasional car passing the only sign of life.

  “A man who hurt six children will no longer walk this planet,” he said, unflinching as a police car with its siren blaring came tearing through the intersection. “That’s not cause for conflict. It’s a relief.”

  “I know, it’s just strange to see you after. Right after.” My eyes fell on his hands curled around the steering wheel.

  “You’re having second thoughts about coming with me on this one?”

  “No. I’m just taking a moment to adjust my imagination of what this would be like to the reality of it.”

  Noah glanced at me. “I’d imagined killing Robert Creeden millions of times, envisioning thousands of different ways, but the reality of taking his life couldn’t have been any different than those pictures in my mind.” For a few moments, Noah went to a place where a visceral reaction registered on his face. It cleared when he took a slow breath. “Let me assure you, I was nothing like this after the first couple of kills. A ball of nerves, checking over my shoulder compulsively, I jumped if someone so much as tapped my shoulder. This level, almost meditative state I embody following a kill took years to master.”

  “Years and thirty-three—thirty-four—deaths.” When I twisted in my seat, my eyes fell upon Noah’s dark backpack on the floor behind his seat. At the start of the night, I’d decided I didn’t want to know the how—the why was enough for now.

  My mind had changed in the few hours since.

  “How did you do it?” My voice came out almost a whisper, as though the night itself could have been spying on us.

  Noah’s throat moved as he turned down another street. When he glanced my direction, uncertainty pulling the planes of his face, I met his eyes.

  “I want to know.”

  He rolled his head one direction, then the other, his fingers flexing around the column of the steering wheel. Then all at once, the tension left him.

  “I made it look like an accidental drug overdose,” he said, no hint of hesitation or remorse in his words. “Dallas Dubois was a known drug user and has several charges to prove it. When the cops find him expired, with a n
eedle still lodged in his skin, they’ll rule it an overdose.”

  My head cocked. “You’re changing the manner of death from suicide to accidental death?”

  Noah nodded. “The suicide of a pedophile anywhere in the country is going to raise a dozen red flags now. Not to mention a task force is busy searching for an accomplice. I can’t do anything to arouse suspicion if I want to continue taking out these child rapists, so the Huntsman is modifying his MO.”

  “The Huntsman is in prison,” I said, tapping his arm.

  “And lining up book deals and exclusive interviews like the good poser he is.”

  “Taking one for the team.” My tongue clucked.

  “How messed up is it that I get this warm, tingly feeling when your dad’s face does the twelve states of red as he breaks into his chorus of how useless we all are since we haven’t drudged up a single lead the past month?” Noah’s chest moved. “‘This SOB is out there, making you all look like assholes,’” he said in a tone similar to my dad’s, matching his expression as well. “Yeah, that son of a bitch is out there all right. Sitting across the table from you at every meeting.”

  I found myself laughing silently from the irony. This was a story no one would ever believe if it were exposed. It was too far-fetched.

  I bit my lip and asked, “When will I be able to assist at the next level?”

  “The next level?” Noah motioned at himself, dressed in head to toe black and driving the getaway car after committing a murder. “This isn’t some Fortune 500 company. The next level is taking a life. Are you ready for that?”

  His succinct question made me pause. Was I ready to watch the light fade from a man’s eyes at my hand? Could I handle the responsibility of knowing I was the reason the world was one human less?

  “I think so,” I answered after a minute.

  “Until you’re sure, we’ll keep you where you are.” Noah’s hand capped around my knee, squeezing it gently. “Besides, in this organization, you start at the bottom and work your way to the top.”

  “So what? I’m your apprentice or something?”

  His eyes lightened. “Or something.”

  As the lights and buildings of downtown faded behind us, Noah pulled a piece of paper from his back pocket and unfolded it onto his lap. On it were six addresses listed around the city.

  The weight of what he’d just done receded from the knowledge of what came next.

  “Letting me come with you tonight, allowing me to move on to the next level one day, you know that means I won’t be safe?” I angled in my seat so I was facing him.

  “As difficult as that is to concede, I’ve accepted that.” His fingers flexed around the steering wheel when his eyes fell on me. His hand moved from my knee to my face, the span of his hand seemingly endless. “But there are more important things I can give you.” His words were quiet, edging on pensive. “Like a purpose. A partnership. My allegiance.”

  I pressed my face into the camber of his hand. Home. “I can live with that.”

  A smile teased at his lips. “Good.”

  When Noah consulted the address list again, his forehead furrowing when he checked the next street signs we passed, I pulled out my phone. “Want me to plug the addresses into Maps?”

  Noah gave me a look.

  “Never mind.” I tucked my phone back into my pocket. “If there’s no trail of evidence, they’ve got nothing to follow,” I said, reciting one of the many tenets Noah had been instilling in me over the past month.

  He’d remained anonymous for so long because he was meticulous when it came to hunting demons. His goal wasn’t to be invisible, but to be untraceable. In this modern age, it was impossible not to leave some kind of digital footprint; a scattering of breadcrumbs was inevitable. But where Noah’s genius lay was how he left his own breadcrumbs. They were sprinkled in erratic dots and dashes in lieu of seamless trails and in so doing, stymied cohesion. Noah was both hunter and hunted, forcing his ingenuity into extremes to evade capture.

  “That’s right. Never give them anything to follow far, no more than a step or two forward.” A shrewd smile carved into his face. “Before turning them the wrong direction with a red herring or two.”

  “That’s why you gave the guy at the rental car place a fake driver’s license and paid with cash.”

  “One of several fake driver’s licenses in my possession, and yes, always pay with cash. Always.”

  “But they require a credit card in the event of damage,” I argued.

  “True, but there’s always some shady rental company with a seedy manager who’s willing to overlook a credit card on file in exchange for a generous gratuity.” Noah bounced his brows at me. “One of the many tips of the trade. I’m also a fan of public transportation. Mix up your methods, and there’s no pattern to track.”

  “Okay, information overload.” I rubbed my temples. “I’m convinced you are the master and I barely qualify for fledgling status.”

  Noah chuckled, squinting to read the next road sign up ahead.

  “We’re getting close to the first house.” He checked the house numbers when he turned on the next street. It was an older part of town, small houses where pride of ownership still thrived. “Are you sure you still want to do this?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “If there’s any type of surveillance I see or sense, we’re on to the next house. We’ll have a florist make the delivery. This isn’t worth getting caught on some doorbell camera or neighbor’s surveillance video.”

  “I understand.” Reaching into the back seat, I made sure to select the correct pot before resting it in my lap. The first of six white clematis plants we would deliver tonight. Noah didn’t personally deliver the plants following a kill—he left that to some local floral company—but tonight was special. From this night on, we were a team. “Is it strange that what saved our marriage was this? Conspiring and committing crimes the general population would never consider, let alone condone?”

  Noah glanced at me, a surprised tenor in his eyes as he pulled up to the curb, careful to keep the car spaced between houses.

  “Yeah, I suppose it is.” He shifted in his seat after putting the car in park, staring out the window. “But when I really stop to think about it, maybe not.” His hand found mine without looking, our fingers braiding together. “I knew that young woman I noticed from across the room one April night was going to change the world one day. And here she is”—he smiled at me—“changing it.”

  His words sent a balm of calm through me, taming the nerves. “At least this corner of it.”

  “Lots of people to tend to lots of corners,” he replied simply. As though this was the answer to all of the questions.

  While I pulled my hair into a quick braid, he watched me, the corners of his eyes creased. “You seem different.”

  “I am different,” I replied, knowing it was more than my exterior that had changed. Turning to him, I was exposed, no layers left to hide behind. No makeup or highlights, off the pills and alcohol, naked from the skin of numbness I’d coated myself in for years, I felt free.

  Noah twisted in his seat so he was facing me, his eyes earnest. He stared at—admired— me in a way that needed no translation. “The same, but different,” he said at last, slipping his hand into mine in the gesture of a handshake. “I’m happy to meet you, Grace.”

  The warmth of his skin bled through my glove, rooting inside me until I could feel his presence within. “Happy to meet you too, Noah.”

  His lips brushed mine, lingering as he inhaled slowly. “We’ve got work to do,” he whispered before leaning back into his seat.

  In sync, we looked at the first house we’d be visiting tonight. Like the rest of the homes on the street, it was dark, tucked away for the night. Unlike the other homes, this one had fallen into some degree of disarray. The yard had been neglected for a while, the windows lacked a luster that suggested regular cleaning, and no signs of any children living inside were visible f
rom the outside.

  Around this house, bikes and balls littered lawns, chalk drawings decorated driveways, and tiny shoes dotted porches. But not at this house. This one was still reeling from loss, a wound that refused to heal. It was a home that exuded suspicion, shades drawn in a way that suggested it was more than light they were trying to keep out. One could feel the pain pulsing from the confines of those walls, sense the innocence lost, the raping of childhood.

  When a ragged exhale emitted from my lips, Noah reached out to me as though he felt the same pain I was experiencing. I knew he did, though in a more intimate way.

  Natalie’s assault, and her ensuing suicide, had changed him wholly. Just as the past few months had changed me, making my past self seem like a cheap fabrication of the true version that had been waiting its turn.

  Like Noah, I’d managed to fix myself by breaking.

  To properly repair oneself, sometimes you had to break entirely. Bending wasn’t enough—a total break was the only way to mend what had gone wrong. It was the same way with society. Some problems could not be fixed until they’d been snapped in half and put back together in a new manner.

  My eyes dropped to the plant in my hands, two words etched on thick paper stock.

  For Grace.

  It didn’t seem insignificant that I was to leave this first surreptitious gift for a child who shared my name. Both of us had lost our innocence, though I would use the loss of mine to avenge the stealing of hers. Because of a sick human’s inability to cage his malice, a dark stain would mar the rest of her life, sneaking up on her when she least suspected it, visiting her happy moments decades from now with its reminder of its permanence. It wasn’t right.

  From the driver’s seat, Noah took his time scanning the home for any signs of home security, his vigilant eyes sweeping the nearby houses with the same degree of scrutiny. “It’s time,” Noah whispered.

  I didn’t need a moment to compose myself—not one. I was ready, seemingly created for this. I sprang from the car and strode powerfully up the walkway of the house where a young girl slept within, fighting nightmares of both the sleeping and waking variety. It made the fire within me burn that much hotter.