by Tony Urban
All of the animals were mutilated and torn apart. Looking at them made Carolina’s stomach sour and she dropped the remnants of her sundae into the trash can. There was something about seeing mauled animals that affected her in a way that viewing humans in a similar condition did not. Maybe because she’d trained herself over the years to become detached from people.
It was a survival mechanism that many police adopted, and she was no different. The bodies at crime scenes didn’t have names or family members or lives. They were evidence. At least, that’s what you told yourself so you could sleep at night.
But she hadn’t seen many animals butchered like these during her career. In fact, she hadn’t seen a single one. So, viewing those photos made her immediately think about the pets she’d had throughout her life and imagine the same terrible things being done to them. It was too much, and soon she had to put the photos aside and focus on the paperwork.
One of the final reports detailed a pair of beagles, stolen from their owners’ fenced-in backyard. The male had been nearly decapitated. The female had had her side torn open from ribs to pelvis but, after emergency surgery, somehow survived.
Carolina didn’t buy into the bullshit devil-worshipping theory. She thought Hank might be right that these were the acts of some especially-rotten teenagers. But maybe it was something else.
Maybe it was the work of a man learning how to play his game, starting small until he was ready to take on larger prey.
Chapter 47
Leigh was near panic as she explored the dark street. She panned her flashlight, shining the beam into every crevice and corner, all the while doing her best to hold back tears. But it was hard. Jelly Jam had never stayed away longer than a few hours and a sick feeling inside told her to expect the worst.
“Jelly Jam,” she called out, not caring that it was nearly eleven p.m. and most of her neighbors were already asleep.
She tried to keep her voice as level and calm as possible, using the same tone and inflection as when trying to cajole her cat to hop onto the couch. But her voice cracked every time she called. “Jelly Jam, please come!”
Her mind went to all the bad things that could happen. Did she get run down by some careless driver? Did she climb into the storm drain runoff? Did a coyote or big dog grab her?
None of the worrying helped, of course. It just sent her closer to hysteria. As if the day hadn’t been bad enough already. Agent Billington had ridden her hard at work, snipping and sniping at her every time she’d opened her mouth. With Carolina out of the picture and Hank mentally unavailable, Leigh was left to catch all of the woman’s wrath, and there was an abundance.
Then came the awkward moment in the motel room. She believed Carolina when she said she wouldn’t let things get weird, but Carolina wasn’t the one who’d been rejected. Leigh didn’t know how she could even look her in the eyes again.
After that, all she could think about was getting home to Jelly Jam and cuddling on the couch while they watched The Challenge. Her cat never rejected her or made her feel like a fool. Until now.
Leigh had checked all the cat’s usual hiding spots. The hamper. The little nook under the pantry. The basement corner where the Christmas tree lived from January second until the day after Thanksgiving. But the cat was in none of those spots. So, Leigh had stood by the rear door, the one with the flap that granted Jelly Jam access to the great outdoors and shook a box of her favorite treats, calling her name for going on half an hour.
When the cat didn’t come back, her worries had kicked in and she went searching the neighborhood. She remembered reading once that the average cat travels half a mile daily. If that held true, Jelly Jam could be almost anywhere. With no set direction, she found herself heading to the park that was a few blocks from her home.
Part of her expected to find Jelly Jam there, stalking mice or chipmunks. Clueless to her owner's worries.
But once Leigh reached the empty park, she didn’t see anything of interest. Certainly not her cat. A couple of lights dotted the playground, shining above the swings, the monkey bars, and the sand pit. She found the quiet downright eerie.
She continued toward the other side of the park, toward the tree line. Just at the edge of the light, she spotted movement. She got closer, saw that it was a small animal, and her heartbeat quickened as she increased her pace to a quick jog.
Then came a meow as it stepped into the green shine of the arc sodium light. It was Jelly Jam. Leigh, so happy to find her cat after one of the shittiest days of her life, began to cry happy tears. She wanted to be mad, but more than anything, she was relieved.
“What are you doing so far from home?” she asked, crouching next to her purring, contented cat, running her fingers through Jelly Jam’s soft fur. “You had mommy so scared,” Leigh said. “So scared.”
She scooped the animal into her arms, cradling it like the baby she would never have, pushing her face against the cat’s warm, sleek body. And suddenly everything was right in the world again.
Except, it wasn’t.
Before Leigh could stand, the light spilling over her vanished. At first, she thought the bulb had burned out. Bad timing, but something that happens. Then she realized the light was still there, spilling around her, but a black hole clouded the center. Something was blocking the light from hitting her.
Something - someone - was standing behind her.
She spun around and saw the outline of a man. The backlighting of the streetlight made it impossible to see his face, discern his features, see anything at all aside from his large frame.
Her arms full of cat, Leigh was helpless as he lunged forward and grabbed a fistful of her hair. He jerked her hard, spinning her into him like a child reeling back a yo-yo. which had been sleeping.
Then her back was tight against his chest and an arm was around her neck with vise-like force. The cat, startled by the commotion, clawed herself free of her grasp and Leigh saw her dart into some nearby foliage before disappearing.
Leigh shoved all her weight into the man, causing them both to careen into the light pole, making the illumination quiver and giving the landscape a strange, surreal movement. She stomped on his foot, eliciting a pinched yelp of pain, but he kept his arm locked around her throat. All the while her air supply grew thin from the pressure and a galaxy of stars exploded in her vision.
She dropped her left hand away from his arm and to her belt, reaching for the service weapon that would have been holstered there if she were still in her uniform. But she wasn’t. She was dressed up and trying to look pretty to impress Carolina and all her hand found was emptiness.
What am I supposed to do now? She thought back to her training, all one hundred and forty-two hours of it, and only a precious few of those hours pertained to self-defense. Most of those gave her instruction on how to use her gun or taser. All she had at the moment were her wits and they were failing her as the man choked her closer and closer to unconsciousness.
His balls, she thought. It was a man’s balls she found most repulsive. Dangling in their pale, hairy sack like a revolting pendulum. Cocks weren’t much better, but she hated the balls the most.
But balls did have one good quality. They were delicate.
She slammed her fist into the man’s crotch, feeling her hand sink deep into the tissue with a stomach-churning squish. He howled and released her, dropping to a knee.
Coughing and gagging as she gulped in desperate mouthfuls of air, Leigh made a staggering three-sixty, stopping when she faced him. She took no time to study his features, instead striking out with a roundhouse kick aimed at his face.
But he caught her foot with one hand.
Before she could react, Leigh was careening sideways, falling. Her chin collided with the cement in a hard crunch. Blood flooded her mouth as her teeth nearly severed the front quarter of her tongue. Her entire lower jaw was numb from the blow.
There was no time to dwell on the pain. His hand crawled up her leg, like a spider m
aking its way to her privates. A rapist, she thought as she flipped onto her back and finally saw him. But she couldn’t make out any details. Long sweaty hair was slicked across his face, blocking any recognition she might have had.
His hand still clutched a fistful of her pants, and he was dragging her nearer and nearer. She bucked with her other leg, her foot connecting with his hand, knocking his fingers loose. He grabbed again, trying to reclaim his grasp on her, but Leigh kicked again, connecting with the side of his face.
Her attacker rocked onto his side, and she saw a smear of blood on the concrete next to his head and knew that she had gotten him good. In the flight-or-fight camp, this was the time to run. She rolled back onto her belly, planting her hands and feet on the rough concrete.
She was on all fours, in a pose she’d learned to be the four limbed staff during her two weeks of yoga classes before losing interest. Then, just as she pushed up, she felt a pinch in her calf.
He came around to the front of her, squatting near her face. His hand held a syringe and she realized that the pinch had been an injection. He’d drugged her. But her mind was already clouding over, and she felt like everything was happening in slow motion.
“What did you do?” she demanded.
“Ketamine,” he said. “Don’t fret, you won’t remember any of this.”
Suddenly, she lunged for him, her hands catching gobs of his hair. Caught unprepared, he stumbled sideways, dropping to his knees.
Leigh wrapped her arms around his neck, locking him in a chokehold. She felt like she was cradling a lover in her lap from the positioning. He coughed and gasped, trying to stay awake until the drugs put her down.
And she could feel the ketamine coursing through her veins, weakening her muscles. Everything was soft and unfocused. No matter how much she tried to keep hold of him and stay conscious, she was helpless and out of control.
When he lifted his hands to pry her arms free, she noticed that he only had one hand.
The other was just a mangled stump.
And then everything went black.
Chapter 48
Mitch dragged Leigh from the trunk and eased her onto a newly-purchased tarp. Things had not gone as easily as he expected, leaving him sore and exhausted. None of the other women had as much fight in them as Leigh did. She’d shown what she was capable of.
And her strength only made him more excited for the hunt.
He used the tarp to slide her unconscious body across the dirt and to the bulkhead doors leading to the cellar. Bound and gagged, she would be no threat if she were to wake up early.
But he didn’t expect her to. He had loaded enough sedative in that syringe to knock out a Newfoundland for a few hours. She seemed of similar weight and slept soundly, even peacefully.
As he opened the doors, the creaking of the hinges sounded like a wailing wraith against the peaceful night. He bent and took her in his arms, feeling her warmth against his chest. It would have been easier to let her tumble down the stairs, but that wasn’t his intention. Injuring her before the hunt wasn’t playing fair, and he didn’t need the advantage.
Her weight proved barely an inconvenience as he carried her down the stairs, then pulled the chain attached to the bulb hanging from the ceiling. It flickered to life, and he set her down gently.
No need to bruise the meat.
He locked the chain around her foot and checked the strength of the bolt it was connected to in the floor. She wasn’t going anywhere when she woke up.
Satisfied that she was secure, Mitch brought his fingers to his head, where the sting of her kick lingered. It was mere inches away from an old scar, one somewhat covered by his hair. Initially, that scar was the reason he’d let it grow out, to cover his wounds. That was before his destiny had been revealed to him.
His fingers pushed past the bruise left by the woman’s foot and to that gnarled, old scar which felt like a wood knot above his ear. Warm, wet blood oozed out and he realized she had opened both new and old wounds.
In a flash the attack came back to him. The attack that had created him.
His breathing quickened and he retraced his scars, remembering.
Remembering.
Remembering his death.
Remembering his rebirth.
Chapter 49
BEFORE
The vacation to northern Minnesota had been Gina’s idea. And the further they’d trekked into the vast nothingness, the more wary he grew. There was no denying the beauty. Vast forests of pines, ponds, and lakes, all unspoiled by man. He’d never felt so far from humanity in his life, which both awed and worried him.
They seemed so cut off. So alone.
The days weren’t bad. Crystal-clear skies, a purity in the air unlike anything he’d ever experienced, even in rural Ohio where smog was an abstract concept. The nights were beautiful, too. Skies so full of stars he felt like he was peering through a telescope. The Northern Lights danced across the heavens, putting on a magnificent show of greens and pinks and purples.
But the land felt so far removed from regular life that it carried an eerie sense of foreboding. He felt like he’d been dropped onto an alien planet where man could live and thrive, but everything was different. Everything was off.
Plus, there were the animals.
He was comfortable with domestics. Cats and dogs. Assorted reptiles, the types usually owned by ten-year-old boys who lost interest before the age of eleven. Living in farm country, he also had experience with livestock, and on more than a few occasions, found himself elbow deep in a sick cow or horse.
The job was not glamorous, but he loved it.
Wildlife, however, was different.
On their hikes they’d seen moose taller than an NBA basketball star. Bears that looked as stout as rhinoceri. They even saw feral pigs, so far removed from their tame, timid cousins that they may as well have been a different species.
But it was the wolves that made him most anxious.
Four days into their camping trip and they hadn’t seen any of the creatures, but they heard them each night, far in the distance. Their mournful howls serenaded them to sleep. Or would have if Mitch had been able to sleep through such commotion.
Gina, on the other hand, slept like a stone. She’d always been the outdoors type, craving new experiences, thriving in the wilds. Mitch…not so much. He wasn’t averse to camping but preferred to do it in a cabin versus a tent. He chose campgrounds with latrines over rough camping and burying his waste in a hole. He preferred wildlife at a distance, or in a zoo, to up close and personal.
But she loved it, so he went along.
Anything for her.
He stared at her that last night, mesmerized by her looks as the flickering orange glow of the fire illuminated her. Hers were not the bland good looks of a model. Gina’s beauty started in the soul and worked its way out, seeping from every pore.
Joy radiated from her and taking her in, he realized he was happier than he ever thought possible.
She caught him staring and flashed a mildly embarrassed smile. “What are you looking at?”
“My wife,” he responded, wishing he had the words to tell her how much he loved her.
“Your wife needs to pee,” she said with a giggle. It didn’t spoil the moment though, and he watched her grab the roll of toilet paper and head toward the edge of their campsite, disappearing into the darkness in search of the perfect tree.
He turned his attention back to the fire, stirring the embers with a large branch he’d been whittling off and on. He’d carved one end into a point which he’d used to skewer and roast some marshmallows. Across its pale body he’d scribbled various doodles and their initials; M+G.
* * *
A log rolled over, sending sparks into the air like fireflies taking flight. The smell of campfire smoke was different from any other smoke, and it was one of the few things he enjoyed about being outdoors.
It comforted him. And stirred memories from his childhood of
making s’mores with his father outside of their cabin. The man had passed years earlier but breathing in that campfire aroma made Mitch feel like his soul was still around.
“What do you think, dad?” Mitch asked in a whisper. “Am I doing a fair job at this adulting thing? Am I as good of a husband to Gina as you were to mom?”
He listened for an answer but all that came was the steady, insectile hum of the forest.
And then a different response.
“Mitch?” Gina called out, but her voice wasn’t the same bubbly, drunk-on-love voice she’d used earlier. She sounded worried, maybe even frightened.
“Mitch!” she screamed out.
Mitch jumped to his feet, knocking the log he’d been sitting on backward. He looked in the direction that she had gone, and grabbed the branch he’d been toying with.
“What’s wrong?” he called out, plunging into the forest where everything became pitch-black without the light of the fire. His eyes were slow to adjust, and he blindly hurried forward, limbs scratching and clawing at him like hands trying to hold him back. To keep him away.
But from what?
“Please, Mitch! Help!” she screamed, her voice shrill and terrified and so unlike the fearless woman he knew and loved.
And then he heard a low, sinister growl.
Mitch took off running toward her scream. But before he could reach her, he heard snarling, snapping jaws and more screaming.
Dear God, so much screaming.
His eyes finally adjusting to the dark, he raced ahead as fast as his feet could take him. And then, just before reaching his wife, he saw a thick hedge convulsing. Like a tornado was taking place inside it.
But he didn’t care. He ran through it, separating it with the stick and his free hand, all the while hearing his wife’s agonized screams and moans beckoning him.
Gina screamed again and again, her voice muffled and ragged. She was pinned to the forest floor and a large beast loomed over her. It was grey and white, the moonlight gleaming off its dirty fur.
