by Unknown
The second face that I recognized, and the one that shook me out of the cockpit of Shane’s mind, was FBI Agent Kirk Cutter.
Without even realizing it, I had stepped directly outside the parameter of the crowd. I stood just beyond them.
In that moment, Kirk Cutter turned and looked at me in a horrifying dead stare. I retreated into Shane, leaving behind his human form. As I did this, Kirk Cutter’s eyes turned slowly into a shade of black crimson, like blood mixed with crude oil.
Must have been the reflection from the police light bars, I thought.
For the first time in my life, I retreated. The feeling that overwhelmed me wasn’t fear. I never felt fear. It was defeat. I had hunted the Woodsman, planned to kill him until he evaded me, and now Kirk Cutter had him.
Cutter was becoming a much bigger problem than I had originally thought.
Cutter cracked a mischievous, demonic smile, the kind of smile that Hamlet’s uncle would have cracked the moment that he was crowned king after murdering his brother.
Shane slipped back into the shadows and hid around the corner. We returned to the side street.
What are we going to do about that security feed? Shane thought.
His nerves constricted, shaking the walls of my lair. His bones rattled like the beams of a large mansion during an earthquake.
He had to forget about killing Townsend for now. The goal that he had to focus on now was retrieving the security feed that showed Shane inside of Townsend’s house. He had to get that back before the FBI viewed it.
The Woodsman’s destruction would have to come later. His freedom, his secret, was at stake.
5
Bits & Pieces
“I took the right leg of that woman’s body, from the knee to the hip, took the fat off and ate it while I stared at the other girl. When I bit into it she just urinated right there.”
––Arthur Shawcross, Genesee River Killer
|||||
Shane had taken courses on mental conditions. One such condition was known as sociopathic. He had hoped that it would help him to understand himself. He’d tried to understand me.
I used this course to learn about others of my kind so that I could better hunt them. He also took classes in criminology. One of the things that he had learned was that there are two basic types of serial killers, according to the FBI anyway.
The first type of serial killer was like Ted Bundy: refined, elegant, methodical, and highly intelligent. The second was more like the Green River Killer. They were controlled by rage. They killed at random. The demons in them couldn’t help themselves.
Serial killers of the first type were easier to predict because they held onto the same patterns. They followed the same routines. They could be profiled. Those of the second type were easier to spot because generally, when they went into a rage, they kept killing until they ran out of fuel.
The second type of killer usually portrayed telltale signs in his daily life. These signs were easy to spot. So normally, the maniac serial killers were caught because their behaviors gave them away.
For me, the first type was easier to catch because I could study the killer and plan the perfect trap.
Native American hunters, hunting deep in the wilderness, would construct a deadfall. This was basically a deep pit; jagged spikes layered the ground at the bottom of the pit. The roof of the pit was covered with loose brush which camouflaged the hole. The prey came along, stepped through the fake floor, and fell onto the spikes, impaling themselves. Gravity was the force that killed the animal.
Deadfalls were especially effective in trapping bears. All you needed was the right bait hanging over the trap. The bear reached out to snag the bait and toppled over into the deadfall.
With the Woodsman, I’d used Detective Sandy Parks as bait, and now she was dead. I lost that one. He’d gotten away from me. That wasn’t going to happen again.
Agent Cutter was another story. He was a different kind of serial killer. He was a vigilante and a cop.
The other thing about Agent Cutter that Shane picked up on was that he was a combination of Type A and B.
He was methodical and highly intelligent and he stuck to a cop’s routine. But he was also capable of fits of rage.
At the end of Ted Bundy’s killing spree, he’d changed into the second type of killer. He’d gone on a rampage and murdered five girls in their sleep.
Kirk Cutter was the best of both worlds.
Shane would deal with Cutter when the time came. For now his top priority was to get that video feed.
Cutter used his office as a place where a monster plotted and schemed. I sat behind his desk, studying the blueprints of the local jail. On the corner of 4th and Metro, there was a precinct with holding cells in the basement. That was where Cutter had taken Dry.
Just then, as Shane’s eyes were hidden somewhere behind my black ones, Dylan Range entered the room unannounced. Tina stuck her head in at the same time that he passed underneath the large doorway.
“Mr. Range is here to see you,” she said. She remained in her swivel chair.
Shane nodded.
My eyes receded into the blackness of Shane’s skull. I was absorbed back into his brain like a subterranean predator seeping back into the desert sand. Small grains of his dark mind consumed me.
“Mr. Range,” Shane said. He rose from our chair.
“Good morning, Shane,” Range said.
He approached the desk and reached out his hand, offering a good morning handshake.
Shane took his hand and firmly shook it and smiled. Shane’s expensive, all-white teeth impressed Range.
“It has been quite an ordeal here today,” Range commented, shaking his head.
“Yes, it has,” Shane agreed. “I’m surprised that so many of the employees have shown up.”
“Many of them are staying out. Believe me. We are hurting from that thing that was left in the lobby. Many of them are scared to return.
“But that’s not why I’m here. I’m sure that you know that Townsend Dry was arrested last night,” Range said. He removed his wire-rimmed glasses. That was the first time that I ever noticed that his face was slightly crooked. His jaw seemed to be off-center, making the rest of his features asymmetrical. His eyes, nose, and even his mouth seemed off-center. The only things on his face that were normal were his ears.
“I heard. What of it?” Shane said.
“He just called,” Range said.
I straightened my back, allowing my muscles to contort and contract. I didn’t have a spine. No vertebrae. I was more snakelike than other creatures.
Shane and I listened contently.
Range had paused, as if he waited for a response. When he didn’t get one, at least not one that he recognized as human, he continued, “He says that they are charging him with murder. They believe that they can link him to the Woodsman killings.”
That’s too fast! I thought.
“He has requested you,” he said, tilting his head in the other direction. This movement rendered his face, making it seem straight.
Shane couldn’t help but smile.
“Does that mean that you want to meet with him? ‘Cause Shane, if you need more time before you get involved then we can wait.”
Range sounded nervous.
“I will meet with him. It will be a pleasure to take on a real case again. I’m eager to get back to work.”
“You know that we were never punishing you. The truth is it was best to keep you out of the spotlight. But now we need you again,” Range said.
Then he said, “Townsend might be guilty. He was here yesterday after the corpses were found. It doesn’t look good for him. We need you, Shane. Will you work on his case?”
“Yes,” Shane said.
Then he said, “I will.”
|||||
Shane donned his kill-suit, every stitch minus the red scarf that covered his face, hiding my grisly features from the world. He entered the precinct house
where Townsend was being held until tomorrow’s arraignment.
The sun had passed over the buildings and begun its descent into the western sky. Shadows were cast and merged into each other, creating a false nighttime feel alongside some of the taller buildings.
The FBI had set up a checkpoint just inside the doors to the station—something else for Shane to deal with.
Shane remained perfectly composed as the two guards checked him for weapons. The first ran a metal detector over his body. The second rifled through the papers in Shane’s kill-case. Luckily for us, his garrote remained nicely concealed beneath the leather surface of the case.
Of course, killing the Woodsman tonight might not happen. Tonight he wanted the video feed. After that matter was handled, then I could watch the Woodsman’s monster asphyxiate to death under our garrote wire.
After the guards cleared Shane, I came to the surface.
I glanced around the precinct on my way to Townsend’s cell. I saw no sign of Agent Kirk Cutter. That was one good thing that was going my way.
I walked through a series of doors and hallways. Then I followed an armed officer down a staircase and into the basement. I arrived at a steel door. The guard pressed a button on an intercom. He flashed his face up at a rusted, old surveillance camera and smiled. The door buzzed and opened.
“This way,” the officer said, glaring back at me. He pointed through a door that was even more rusted than the surveillance camera.
“Lot of security here,” Shane said.
Ancient security, but still a lot, I thought.
“Yeah, only in the basement cells. We get a lot of transport criminals and this is where we detain them.
“We’re the closest precinct to the downtown courthouse complex. The U.S. Marshals’ office comes through here a lot. They insist that we maintain more security than other locations.
“Of course this strains our budget.”
“Interesting,” I said; the words slithered off my tongue and out of Shane’s mouth. The sound made me think of the serpent in the Garden of Eden when it spoke to Eve.
Pick the apple. No one will know. What harm can it do?
I walked through the door and into a room with a thick glass partition. It separated one side of the room from the other.
Through the well-polished glass, I saw Townsend Dry. He sat and stared up at Shane with an impatient look on his face. He appeared to have been waiting a long time for us to arrive.
I evaporated into Shane.
He nodded to his client. There would be no strangling him through the glass barrier, no need to reveal myself now.
After Shane acquired the video feed, then he could figure out how to get at Townsend beyond the security measures.
“Shane.” Townsend greeted us with a smile.
“You look tired, Townsend. Have you not been sleeping?” Shane asked, patronizing him.
“Cut the shit. Let’s talk about what I have,” Townsend said. He leaned forward, aiming his words through the circular metal center embedded in the window.
It was a shiny metal ring that had several holes pierced through it. It looked like the top of a gold-colored peppershaker.
Shane shrugged and sat down directly across from Townsend.
“You know why you’re here?” Townsend asked.
A blank expression fell across Shane’s face. Townsend wanted Shane to represent him, but beyond that, who knew?
Finally after clearing his throat, Shane shook his head.
“There is a devil living inside you. I see it. You are like me.”
“Devil? I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Shane retorted.
I coiled up in a striking position and angled my head so that I could get a straight look at Townsend’s eyes through Shane’s blue ones.
Townsend calmly smiled back at Shane. The orange jumpsuit that clung to his body illustrated his muscular features. He was considerably smaller than Shane in size, but he was built like a brick.
“You know she liked you?” he asked.
“Who?”
“You know who?”
I looked back at Townsend, puzzled.
“Sandy. She liked you. Did you know that?” he said.
Shane said nothing. He paused. Then he said, “So you are the Woodsman?”
“CUT THE SHIT, I SAID!” Townsend screamed into the glass. The monster came straight out of him and stared at Shane with cold eyes.
Shane flinched, startled. I quickly reinforced him. I uncoiled and wrapped my tail around his spine. The scales on my body expanded and then contracted with my tail. I tightened my grip on him and strengthened his backbone. He would not flinch a second time.
“Everything okay in here?” a guard stuck his head in and asked Shane.
“Yes. Just another day at the office,” Shane answered, smiling back at the guard.
The guard hesitated for a second and studied Townsend. The Woodsman had retreated back into his hole and the mild-mannered architect had replaced him.
I watched as the guard retreated out the door.
“The girl begged for her life. She begged for it. She sniveled and cried and begged. She was pathetic,” Townsend repeated.
“What do you want?” Shane asked.
“I want to see it.”
“See what?”
“Your creature.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Townsend stayed quiet. The two men stared at each other through the glass. Not a word came between them for a long time.
Sensing that I was not going to appear so easily, Townsend switched gears.
He said, “Why were you sneaking around my apartment the other night?”
“You don’t know that was me.”
“Don’t play with me. We both know what we have living inside of us. The voice, the twisting feeling, the noise.”
Shane half shook his head in a soft attempt to reject Townsend’s insinuation.
“What about Sun Good?”
“What about her?” Shane asked.
“Does she know about you?”
Shane said nothing, but I could sense something churning and boiling inside of him. Sandy Parks was dead. Nothing that I could do about that. But Sun Good was alive and healthy.
But now Townsend knew about her. No good.
“How do you know about her?” Shane blurted out, his gloved fists clenched tightly on the handle of the kill-case.
Townsend watched and narrowed his eyes.
“That’s the one. That’s the one that keeps you human. Sun is your totem. Your anchor. Isn’t she?”
Totem? Anchor? I thought. What was he talking about? Sun wasn’t Shane’s totem or anchor. He was suggesting that Shane loved her. Maybe he had loved her.
“I wonder what she’ll sound like when I skin her and solidify her body in wood.”
Shane’s grip around the kill-case’s handle tightened even more. The muscles in his right forearm twitched. His heart began to race.
Suddenly, I realized that Townsend might be right. Shane was acting on his own and against my control. This was not like the feelings of guilt that ate away at him from time to time.
Sometimes guilt had manifested into his stomach and he’d acted irrationally and without my control. No. This was something different.
Townsend’s eyes turned to black. His creature had surfaced.
“Sun Good will be my prized kill. I will boil her blood with my liquid wood and position her in some kind of monumental act.
“Perhaps a sexual one.
“Perhaps I will experience her before I kill her.”
Shane jumped to his feet and slammed the kill-case up against the glass. The sudden act of violence against the glass barrier startled the Woodsman. Even with his demon out, he leapt from his chair, knocking it over.
Without my own consent, I was on Shane’s surface. Like a reaction, I quickly seeped from Shane’s pores. My black eyes emerged and stared at the Woodsman.
>
“IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED? TO SEE ME? HERE I AM! WHERE IS THE VIDEO?”
“Keep your voice down. Someone could hear,” Townsend said.
“Where?” Shane repeated.
