by Chris Carter
It was not the first time that Hunter had heard similar stories about ex-soldiers who were ignored and treated like outcasts by the country they had been prepared to die for.
‘Darren and I,’ the Werewolf continued, ‘we were already traveling down the same road as Josh, Milo and Stu. I know that because I also saw the desperation in his eyes . . . just as intense as it was in mine. He was battling with the same dark thoughts as I was.’ The Werewolf paused and took a breath. ‘Then Darren said something like . . . we had two choices – get busy living or get busy dying – and that got me thinking, Detective. We did save thousands of American lives, so what if we took a few of them back as payment? We’d earned it. They owe us. This country owes us. What do they expect us to do when our own government betrays us?’
The Werewolf paused and cracked his knuckles against the palms of each hand. The look in his eyes became distant.
‘That day,’ he carried on, ‘just before Darren came to my door. The reason why I had decided to end my life was because I was wandering the streets in downtown LA and I saw this veteran sitting at a corner – unwashed, ripped clothes, hungry. He had a piece of cardboard in his hands that said something like: “Homeless veteran. Just trying to survive out here. Please help me out. Anything you can give is very much appreciated. Please don’t discard me like my government did. God bless you.” That day I came home and the thought in my head was – what’s the point? I would rather be dead than end up like that . . . and I would be, if Darren hadn’t turned up at my door.’ The Werewolf shrugged at Hunter. ‘It wasn’t like I had to do something I had never done before. Killing is what I was trained to do . . . what I was programmed to do . . . and what I do best. When you’re that good at something – I mean, really good at something – then you just keep doing it. And I was great at it.’
Hunter saw pride and ego flare up in the ex-soldier’s eyes like Christmas lights – the narcissistic side of the psychopath inside him making itself known.
‘Darren had a lot more experience with the Dark Web than I did,’ the Werewolf continued. ‘We used one of the sites he showed me that first day to very subtly put out a “suggestion” about his idea.’ He used his finger to draw quotation marks in the air. ‘Within a day we got contacted by someone. The creation of a very private chat room was suggested.’
‘The voices,’ Hunter said.
‘The voices,’ the Werewolf confirmed. ‘In one week, we had ten of them. I should have started the diary then, when we got the first request from one of the voices, but for some reason all that escaped me back then.’
‘How many were there?’ Hunter asked. ‘Before you started the diary . . . how many subjects were there?’
The Werewolf sniggered. ‘Do you really believe I’ll be able to remember it?’ He shook his head. ‘I have no idea. A few for sure. But there’s one thing I can tell you, Detective – throughout our military missions, I thought that I had seen the kind of evil that beggars belief. Every sort of torture . . . every sort of degradation and humiliation possible . . . but I was wrong. Some of the things the voices ask for blow anything I have seen or done in the frontline straight out of the water . . . hands down.’
‘Do you have any idea who the people behind the voices are?’
The Werewolf laughed. ‘You do understand the concept behind the Dark Web, don’t you, Detective? These are anonymous people, very rich and powerful anonymous people spread all around the globe. We’ll never find out who they are, unless they want us to find out, and trust me, Detective, they don’t. But what I can tell you is that Darren was wrong. Being able to afford a loaf of bread . . . being able to feed himself and his family . . . none of that was able to save him. A year and a half ago, during one of his most severe depressive episodes, he stepped off the top of a building in downtown LA.’
Right then, Hunter was hit by two different emotions – relief from knowing that there wasn’t a second killer on the loose, and sadness from learning that yet another ex-soldier had taken his own life because the government had failed to give him the help he so desperately needed and deserved.
‘As far as I know,’ the Werewolf said, ‘I’m the only one left out of my squad. They’re all gone. Killed not by an enemy, but by the country we defended so many times. ’
The room went quiet for a moment. Hunter had no response.
‘So now that you know the truth about who I am, and about why I kill, we need to get back to business, Detective. The codes. I need them, and I need them now.’
Hunter shook his head. ‘Let Angela go and I’ll give you the codes. Not before.’
The Werewolf looked at Hunter in disbelief.
‘Just because we had a little chitchat you think that you can now negotiate with me? Really?’ He picked up the semi-automatic weapon he had left on the control desk.
‘Let her go, and I’ll give you the codes,’ Hunter said. ‘You have my word.’
‘OK.’ The Werewolf nodded at Hunter, a little sarcastically. ‘The codes for her life. Sounds like a fair trade. We can do that. But first, do me a favor, will you? Have a look at this.’
He reached for a switch on the console and flipped it on.
Ninety-One
The large computer monitor mounted on the wall directly above the control desk came alive. It took less than a second for an image to appear on the screen.
Hunter’s eyes moved to it and he felt his hands clam up behind his back as a hollow cavity filled his chest.
The image showed the view of a small room. Just like the one he was in, the walls were made of cinderblock and the floor of solid concrete. Pushed up against one of the walls was a metal-framed single bed.
On the bed, curled up into a human ball with her head tucked into her arms, hugging her legs, was Angela Wood. Hunter didn’t need to see her face to know it was her.
As the image materialized on the screen, Hunter saw Angela’s body jerk ever so slightly before stiffening. Her head lifted from her arms in a half-surprised gesture, before she blinked a few times and looked around the room for a couple of seconds. After that, she looked up and directly into the camera. Her eyes were cherry red and puffy. From the way she’d looked around the room and then up at the camera, Hunter was able to arrive at two conclusions: one; the room had probably been in the dark until then, and two; she knew exactly where the surveillance camera was inside her cell.
‘She’s just through that door,’ the Werewolf told Hunter, his thumb thrown over his right shoulder to indicate the door behind him.
‘I’ll give you the codes,’ Hunter said again. ‘But you need to let her go. You have no use for her. She’s only twenty-one years old. She’s just trying to rebuild her life after losing her little brother.’
Hunter paused because he saw the surprise in the Werewolf’s eyes. He didn’t know about that. That could be the angle Hunter needed – at least for Angela.
‘Angela’s brother, Shawn, was only eleven years old when he was abducted, raped and murdered.’
Hunter used names instead of pronouns – it humanized them. If there was still any humanity left inside the Werewolf, Hunter needed to appeal to it, especially because the Werewolf seemed to have a suggestion of a moral code around rape. That was made clear by the story he’d told Hunter.
‘Shawn’s savagely mutilated body was found five weeks later,’ he explained. ‘It destroyed Angela. It destroyed Angela’s family as well. Angela is really just trying to pick up the pieces of her mind. She’s a broken soul who is desperately trying to fix herself. Just like you and the soldiers from your squad. Give her a chance to do so.’
‘She’s trying to fix herself by becoming a thief?’ the Werewolf countered. ‘A pickpocket? That’s great.’
Says the guy who sells murders online for a living, Hunter thought, but kept it to himself.
‘People make mistakes,’ he said instead. ‘We all do. We’re humans. When the mind has been darkened by grief, rational thought sometimes loses the battle and pe
ople make mistakes. No one can escape it. It’s part of the healing process. It’s part of us trying to get back on our feet after a loss that has thrown us down. Please give her a chance and she will realize that she’s made a mistake. She’s a good person, but right now she feels lost and in pieces. She feels broken, but I know that she’ll find her path. Please . . . I’ll give you the codes, just let her go. Give her a chance.’
The Werewolf’s gaze intensified as he studied Hunter again.
‘Since you’re so concerned for her life,’ he said, ‘let me ask you something, Detective. Would you give your life for hers?’
It was Hunter’s turn to study the man in front of him. Was he serious?
‘Would you die for her, Detective?’ the Werewolf asked again, as he looked at the gun in his hand. ‘If right now I offered you the chance to exchange your life for hers, fuck the codes, fuck everything else . . . would you do it? Would you die for her, right here, right now?’
It was the determined look in the ex-soldier’s eyes that told Hunter that he could not have been more serious.
‘Would you die for her, Detective?’ the ex-soldier pushed.
‘Yes,’ Hunter replied, his voice firm, his tone assertive. ‘I would.’
The Werewolf paused and scratched his left cheek with the barrel of his semi-automatic. ‘You would? Are you sure?’
‘If you’re serious about exchanging my life for hers . . . then yes,’ Hunter reiterated his reply.
‘So if I set her free,’ the Werewolf said, ‘I can shoot you in the face right now?’ He extended his arm and aimed his weapon at Hunter’s face. ‘I can blow your head off?’
‘If you let her go first and I have your word that you won’t go after her ever again, then yes, I would swap my life for hers.’
The Werewolf’s eyes narrowed at Hunter. Two seconds later, his weapon arm relaxed and sank back to the side of his body.
‘Why?’ the Werewolf asked. ‘Why would you give your life for someone who you barely even know? I’m curious, Detective.’ His concern sounded sincere.
Hunter tried without success to shake off some of the tension, which had traveled up from his bound arms and legs, to gather in a knot at the base of his neck.
‘Because I swore to protect and to serve,’ he explained. ‘Because I’ve been in this world much longer than she has and I’ve lived my life. I’ve fought my demons. With some I’ve won the battle, with some I’ve lost. Angela is still young. She has so much to live for . . . so much to see . . . so much to experience. She deserves a chance at life. I spend my days dealing with death, and pain, and suffering, and evil . . . and all that is bad, in a world that isn’t getting any better. A world that isn’t getting any more compassionate or understanding. Maybe I’ve had enough. And if the bargain is to save the life of someone who has a lot more to live for than I do, then I consider that a good exchange.’
The sincerity in Hunter’s tone surprised the Werewolf.
‘That’s very noble, Detective.’
‘Not that different from you, really,’ Hunter added. ‘You were prepared to give your life for the citizens of this country. People you don’t know. People who you’ve never met. People who you’ve never even seen.’ Hunter shook his head. ‘You were miles ahead of me there.’
The Werewolf nodded as he mulled over Hunter’s words. ‘Great speech, Detective, and I can completely sympathize with the bit about having “had enough”. But if you were really prepared to die for that thieving bitch, then I have a surprise for you.’ He turned and typed a command into the keyboard on the control desk.
Instinctively, Hunter’s eyes moved to the monitor on the wall and what he saw made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
The picture on the monitor changed into a four-way split – two images on the top row and two on the bottom, each occupying a quarter of the screen.
The pictures on the top row showed two women who Hunter had never seen before. They were imprisoned in cells identical to the one that Angela was in.
The woman in the first image – top left – looked to be around twenty-five years old, with longish blonde hair that had been tied in a loose chignon. She was sitting with her back pressed hard against the cinderblock wall and her knees pressed against her chest.
The second image – top right – showed a woman with short, curly black hair, Betty Boop style, who looked to be a few years older than the one in the first image. Just like Angela’s, the woman’s eyes looked red and raw.
The two images on the bottom row showed an empty confinement cell – bottom left – and the scene from Angela’s cell – bottom right.
‘Who are those two women?’ Hunter asked, his attention playing tennis between the Werewolf and the monitor.
‘Who they are isn’t important. What’s important is that you understand that they’re all going to die if you don’t give me those codes.’ The Werewolf’s arm came back up, once again aiming his weapon at Hunter’s head. ‘Now, Detective.’
Hunter was surprised at the Werewolf’s mistake. He should’ve showed him those images after Hunter had given him the codes, not before.
‘No,’ he said, holding the Werewolf’s stare.
The ex-soldier blinked in disbelief. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘You’re not listening to me. I’ll swap the codes for their lives,’ Hunter said. ‘Let them all go and I’ll give you your codes . . . and . . . you’ll still have me.’
The Werewolf chuckled. ‘You are one stubborn sonofabitch, aren’t you?’ He scratched his chin, as he considered Hunter’s proposal. ‘OK,’ he said after a long moment of deliberation. ‘You wait here. I’ll be right back.’ He turned and exited the control room through the metal door behind him.
Ninety-Two
Just before leaving the control room, the Werewolf typed another command into the keyboard on the control desk and the image on the monitor changed again. It went from the four-split screen back to a single image, but it didn’t show Angela Wood. This time, the entire screen was filled with images from the CCTV camera inside confinement cell number 1 – the blonde woman.
On the screen, Hunter saw the woman use her hand to protect her eyes from the bright light before looking around the room like a small bird that had just perceived danger, her head moving in snatches. Her eyes filled with tears and she curled herself up into a ball by the head of the bed, clasping both hands together as if in prayer. A couple of seconds went by before her eyes shot in the direction of the cell door. An instant later, the door was pushed open and the Werewolf entered the scene.
The woman looked up at him with fearful eyes, but as she noticed the gun that he was holding in his right hand, fear morphed into terror.
The Werewolf pinned the woman down with an ice-cold stare, but said nothing – no explanation, no angry words, no merciful ones either. He simply lifted his weapon, aimed it at the woman’s head and squeezed the trigger.
Through the screen in the control room, Hunter saw the woman’s head practically explode, as the bullet hit inch-perfect at the center of her forehead. Blood misted the air as if the Werewolf had shot a can of red spray paint. The wall directly behind the woman was stained with blood, bone fragments, skin, hair, and brain matter. Her body went instantly limp. Her arms, still held together by her clasped hands, dropped down to her lap.
‘No,’ Hunter shouted at the top of his voice. ‘You motherfucker. No.’
The Werewolf stepped back from the cell door, closed it behind him and returned to the control room. In there, he typed a new command into the control-desk keyboard and the image on the large wall monitor changed once again. This time, the screen was split into only two – left and right. The picture on the left showed the woman with the Betty Boop hairstyle. The one on the right showed Angela Wood.
‘Why did you have to kill her?’ Hunter shouted at the Werewolf. ‘Why?’
The Werewolf replied with a cynical smirk.
Hunter took a deep breath and did something
he usually never did – he allowed anger to propagate through his body.
‘Why did you have to kill her?’ he said again, his voice shaking with rage.
‘Because you insist on trying to bargain with me, Detective.’ The Werewolf’s voice, on the other hand, sounded calm and calculated. ‘You seem to refuse to understand that you have no power here. Maybe this will convince you.’ He paused and placed his weapon on the control desk once again. ‘So, let’s try this again, shall we? The codes, Detective.’
Hunter squeezed his eyes tight as he tried to get control of himself. ‘You didn’t have to kill her. Who was she?’
‘There you go again,’ the Werewolf said. ‘I need you to focus, Detective. Forget about the blonde woman. Forget about who she was or how old she was. She’s gone.’ He pointed to the screen. ‘And the same will happen to those two if you don’t give me those codes.’
Hunter was playing a loser’s game and he knew it, but the cop in him still wouldn’t let go. He needed to try and save Angela and the dark-haired woman.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘The codes and my life for those two.’
The Werewolf looked like he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. ‘Jesus Christ, you’re still trying to bargain with me. Are you nuts? Do you actually want them dead? Because that’s fine by me.’ He turned, picked up his weapon and took a step toward the metal door.
‘No, wait,’ Hunter pleaded. ‘Please hear me out. It’s a fair trade. One for one – the codes for the dark-haired woman, my life for Angela’s.’
The ex-soldier’s eyebrows arched awkwardly.
‘You can’t ask for a bigger compromise than that,’ Hunter added. He knew that he had to appeal to something that the Werewolf could relate to, something that he understood . . . the sort of honor that the ex-soldier once believed in. ‘I’m willing to end my life for this. It’s the same sort of compromise you made for this country years ago. It’s the ultimate sacrifice. A life for a life. You would’ve given your life for this country . . . for the citizens of this country. I’m giving my life for hers. And you’ll still get the codes.’
