Hunter of the Damned

by Jennifer Martucci

  Cold metal claps against my wrists as handcuffs are affixed behind my back. “That’ll hold you,” the voice I recognize as belonging to the taller officer says. I watch as the other makes his way over to Scarlett, Luke and Lillian. “Who are you people? I need to see some identification.”

  Heart thundering in my chest like a battering ram, I lay against the hardwood floors of the house I used to call home a little over a year ago, curing the fact that with every minute that passes that I am on my belly, my chances of saving them drop. I worry I will fail them again. I worry my failure will cost them their lives.

  Chapter 16

  ̴ Daniel ̴

  Facedown and with my cheek pressed to the cool floor, the cuffs behind my back are uncomfortable as they bite into my wrists. Looming above me, the tall police officer places a hand on the small length of metal between each bracelet and yanks me upward. “We’ve been looking for you for a long time. I hoped you’d come back here, but never dreamed you’d be dumb enough to actually do it.” A mirthless laugh escapes him then he makes a clucking sound with his tongue. I look over my shoulder at him once I’ve scrambled to my feet. He shakes his head slightly. “I’m always baffled by how stupid people like you can be.” With a light shove, he shepherds me down the hallway and out the front door to the driveway where two patrol cars wait, the light rack on top pulsing like a flaming strobe for all the neighborhood to see. “Watch your head,” he says as he pushes me into the backseat, releasing his hand from my skull and allowing my temple to connect with the doorframe. The move was intentional. He snickers when I wince and my gaze settles on his face. Pale hair cropped so close to his scalp all but for a small patch on top makes him look bald. It also highlights deep creases around eyes that are dark—either brown or an unusual shade of dark blue, and a short wide nose that looks squashed and allows for too much space between it and his upper lip. His overall appearance resembles a pug, though I feel that’s an insult to that breed of dog. Nevertheless, anger flows through me. I should’ve attacked when I had the chance. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to be taken. As much as it would’ve gone against my beliefs, being here as I am now, handcuffed and locked in the back of a police car, renders me useless when my mother and sister need me.

  I look out my window as the other officer stands questioning Lillian, Luke and Scarlett, cursing myself for not acting, aggravated beyond articulation. That aggravation multiplies tenfold when the car I’m in pulls away.

  “So why’d you do it? Why’d you kill her?” the police officer asks. He glares at me in the rearview mirror.

  “I didn’t kill anyone.” I practically spit the words.

  “Yeah, sure you didn’t. That’s why your fingerprints were all over the crime scene and you took off and disappeared. Makes perfect sense.” I watch as he rolls his eyes exaggeratedly in the rearview mirror. “Gimme a break. You tried to make it look like a suicide like the others.” He releases an annoyed puff of air then narrows his eyes at me. In his opinion, I’m guilty beyond a shadow of a doubt. There’s no room in his mind for any other conclusion. As far as he’s concerned, I’m it. I’m the murderer. “Would’ve been smart if you hadn’t put your hands all over the room. You were actually stupid enough to leave bloody prints everywhere.”

  “That’s not what happened! I was trying to help her,” I say, though I know I’d have better results convincing the sky to release the sun. “I loved her.” The words spill from me involuntarily, truthfully.

  “Yeah, that’s what they all say.” He laughs cruelly. “Friggin’ psychopath.” His upper lip stretches over his top teeth. “Let’s see what a jury has to say.” Venom drips with satisfaction at his last words. I allow him that. I allow him that small victory. Besides, arguing with him, a man with societal authority who’s already formed an inflexible opinion about me and what happened, is an utter waste of time. I sit quietly, simmering, for about ten minutes as we drive to the police station. Once we get there, I manage to read his badge while he pulls me out of the car and learn that his name is R. Johnson. That name flickers by in a flurry of blue polyester as he ushers me into the station. He swipes a plastic card to gain entrance and once we’re in, I see two officers loafing around a desk behind which a redheaded female sits. They look up at Officer Johnson. “Look who I nabbed.” He tips his head toward me. The two men he addresses pause and looked befuddled for a moment. The woman stares at me hard, concentrating and trying to figure it out. “The prime suspect in the Sarah Miller case,” Johnson jogs their memories.

  “Oh shoot!” the female says. “Nice!”

  The other two chime in and talk both to Johnson and amongst each other. Everything they’re saying is about me, and they say it as if I’m not there at all. The words “psycho” and “murder” continually crop up. I keep hearing it even as I’m ushered down a short hallway to a holding cell. A small station in a small town, the Patterson Police Department is a small facility that I doubt ever sees anything more than perpetrators of domestic disputes and drunks. That theory is debunked when I see who’s inside the cell I’m about to be placed in. Four gruff looking men clad in matching sleeveless denim jackets over leather jackets that bear the emblem of their motorcycle club look up when they hear us approach. “Oh yeah, you guys are here,” Johnson snaps the fingers of his left hand, using a singsong voice. “I forgot all about it.” Then to me, he says, “Looks like you’ll have some company.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know though, they might not be your cup of tea. See they’re in here for nearly beating one of their own to death for trying to leave their club. They’re waiting for the boys from county to transport them out of here. Lucky you, you’ll get to hang out with them until their ride gets here. And if I know those county boys, it’ll be awhile.” He laughs as he unlocks my handcuffs, opens the cell door then shoves me inside. He locks it then says, “Hope you guys make friends.” He winks then turns on his heels, marching triumphantly down the hall and undoubtedly eager to regale his coworkers with the story of what just went on.

  Four sets of eyes are on me. Dangerous looking men, all of them, watch me with pure hostility, their intent to intimidate. Little do they know, I have neither the time nor the inclination to engage them in a game of ego versus ego. My mother and my sister need me. Both are in grave danger. My back is still to the cell door and I allow my gaze to quickly bounce off each man.

  “What’re you lookin’ at?” one of the bikers demands as he stands, his words slurred from alcohol. “You look scared.” The man advances a single step that’s more of a stagger.

  The other three rise. One of them says, “Bet you’re in for stealing your mom’s car, right?”

  “Man, he’s a pretty one, ain’t he?” the meanest looking of the four says, his long dark beard dappled with clumps I imagine are vomit as he reeks of a combination of puke and body odor.

  “Yeah, I’d like to mess up that pretty face of his,” the youngest among them says, a man with his head shaved except for a thick strip down the center of his skull and tattoos on either temple.

  Hearing what’s happening, Officer Johnson returns. “Alright boys, sit down and be calm. You don’t want me to get the shackles out, do you?”

  Glaring over his bushy brows, the bearded man says, “No way, officer.”

  “Good,” Johnson replies. “We all understand each other, right?”

  “Yes, sir,” the bearded man replies.

  “Great, now sit down and shut up until your ride gets here.” Any and all friendliness drains from Johnson’s voice and the four men begrudgingly sit back down on the bench. “Besides, I don’t feel like mopping up blood in that cell tonight,” he mumbles as he walks away.

  Rage rockets through my veins as I look around and take stock of my surroundings. And it has little to do with the fact that I’m trapped in a cell with three violent bikers after being arrested for the murder of my girlfriend and everything to do with the fact that Agares has my mother and sister. I need to get out of here now but don�
��t see how that’s even remotely possible so I decide to take a seat on the bench opposite the bikers and think. They stare at me and make comments. I ignore them. More pressing matters are at hand than the idiotic discussion they’re having about which body part they’d like to ram down each orifice of my body.

  After an hour passes, I’m so worried about my family and frustrated with where I am, I’m about to jump out of my skin. I need a way out of here, but I can’t think of a viable option. Tension has gathered at the base of my neck and has worked its way up my skull, causing pain to pulse in time with my heartbeat. Leaning forward dejectedly, I take my head in my hands and rub my temples. While in that position, the bikers begin sounding off again, only this time instead of ignoring them, I slowly lift my chin. I stare each down defiantly, lastly locking eyes with the heavy, bearded biker who stinks of vomit and body odor, and I do not break eye contact. “What’re you looking at, boy?” His voice is a low, threatening growl that would’ve terrified me a little more than a year ago. But now, seeing what I’ve see in this life and experiencing the purest pain imaginable, I realize none of these men are worthy of my fear.

  “A fat, disgusting waste of life. That’s what I’m looking at.” I offer a jaunty smile before allowing my mouth to return to a hard line.

  Jerking involuntarily at my response, the bearded man’s mouth twists to one side and his eyes narrow. “What did you just say?” He stands, and the other three jump to their feet as well.

  “I think you heard me just fine,” I reply without flinching. “I don’t know what’s worse, your disgusting faces or the smell coming from all of you,” I address the group, lethal gaze sizing up one at a time.

  At my last sentence, the bearded man closes the distance between us and lunges at me. Grabbing a fistful of my shirt, he launches his fist into my jaw. I anticipate a supernova of pain when his fist connects with my face, but feel nothing. A smile tugs at either corner of my mouth. “Is that the best you’ve got? My sister throws a better punch, and she’s twelve,” I lie and smile at him a second time.

  My arrogance garners action. The other three descend on me, grabbing my arms and holding them behind me as the bearded man hits me in the nose and eyes. “Still no better!” I taunt and laugh. Confusion clouds his features as he looks down at his bloody knuckles then to my face, which I assume bears no trace of injury. I allow my smile to collapse and my features to harden. “Now it’s my turn,” I snarl. I thrust my weight back, slamming the three men holding me into the concrete wall behind us. They collide with a loud thud, freeing me long enough to grab the man in front of me by his long beard. I smash him into the cell door, and he crashes into it with all his weight, howling out in pain.

  At the sound, the clatter of footsteps echoes through the air. Officer Johnson and his the other three police officers present come racing into the room with their guns drawn. “Step back away from him and keep your hands in front of you so I can see them!” Johnson shouts at me. He immediately unlocks the door and enters the cell ahead of the others. “What’s going on in here?” He pulls his nightstick from his belt, holstering his gun.

  Making a split-second decision, I charge Johnson, moving with impossible speed, and yank his gun from his belt. I position myself behind him with the gun pointed at the back of his skull. I feel terribly for doing what I’m doing but I don’t have any other options. I have to get out of this jail cell and get to my mother and sister before it’s too late. I cannot lose them. I won’t let them die. “Drop your weapons and get in here or he dies.” My voice is glacial and leaves no room whatsoever for negotiation. The three exchange glances. “Don’t even think about trying anything. You do and he dies. Period. I have nothing to lose here and you know what I’m capable of.” I add the last sentence for good measure, implying that their suspicions about my involvement in Sarah’s death are true. Doing so makes me sick, but it’s a means to an end.

  What I’ve said doesn’t register immediately and they move into the cell. “Ok, calm down,” the redheaded woman attempts.

  “You have ten seconds to lower your weapons before I blow his brains out,” I yell. “Ten! Nine!”

  The three look amongst each other.

  “Do it!” Officer Johnson says.

  The three look from him to me then slowly lower their guns to the floor.

  “Kick them out of the cell and hand over your keys,” I order them.

  They do as I say, and when their weapons are on the other side of the cell and their keys are in my hands, I strip Johnson of his keys as well. “Good,” I say as I slowly back out of the space, locking the door behind me. Once I’m confident they’re secured inside, I turn and run out of the police station.

  Taking a final look at the building, I know that what I’ve just done will assure that I’ll never be able to return to Patterson ever again and that I’ll be hunted not just by dwellers of the underworld but by law enforcement as well. But I also know I cannot worry about that at the moment. Right now, I have to save my family.

  Chapter 17

  ̴ Daniel ̴

  Heart drilling against my ribs, I race out of the police station, not knowing where I’m headed. I look left and see an empty street and then look right, not feeling a pull of any kind or any guidance whatsoever.

  “Daniel!” a now-familiar female voice calls out. I turn in the direction of it and see Lillian glide out of the darkness like a wraith with Luke and Scarlett in tow.

  “How’d you get out of there?” Luke calls out as he approaches. “We’ve been here trying to come up with a plan to get you out.”

  “Let’s get out of here now,” I say. But before they respond and before they even reach me, another police officer appears from the darkness, as if from thin air. I do not see a vehicle and I didn’t hear him approach. His appearance is a mystery that raises the fine hairs at my nape. Tall, lank in the limbs and with slumped shoulder and a small, round potbelly, his hair is thin with just a small tuft at the center of a receded hairline. Goofy looking in every sense of the word and with a baggy, pelican-like neck, he doesn’t seem threatening and is simply a below-average looking human police officer. Outwardly, that’s how he comes across, yet inexplicably, warning whispers up my spine. That sensation doubles when he speaks.

  “What’s going on here?” He chews gum, smacking in loudly like a cow chewing its cud. He positions himself between me and the others, and as he moves closer, I get a better look at him. Immediately, I sense something far different than I did when confronted by the other police officers. This one wears darkness like second skin. I feel it, feel evil oozing from his pores in a slick slide. And it isn’t an ordinary evil either. A powerful force radiates from him. And with it comes a name.

  “Crocell,” I say aloud and the police officer’s eyes widen.

  “Impressive.” Crocell quirks a brow. “It is you,” he growls. Then within seconds, his skin begins to bubble, undulating and rippling as shapes thin the surface. Before long, a sound similar to material being ripped filled the space around us. Chunks of flesh melt from him and drop to the ground while a mountainous form erupts from the remnants like lava. I watch in shock as the man I saw seconds ago transforms into a monster. Towering over me, his spine lengthened considerably and now he’s nearly seven feet tall, every inch of him muscled and massive. Six round, hulking shoulders protrude just beyond his thick short neck and extend to six equally hulking arms, three on each side of his body. Pectoral muscles rise like mountains on a thick chest that tapers to a tight waist complete with a set of twelve, laser-cut abdominal muscles. His hips flare to two sturdy legs powerful looking enough to balance his formidable upper body. “Gideon,” he says, his voice deep and husky, more animal than human, and saliva drips from his maw. He drills me with closely spaced eyes, as hard and blood-red as twin garnets and hooded by an overhanging forehead. The nostrils of his upturned snout flares. His hatred of me palpable.

  Seemingly not as shocked as I am, Lillian, Scarlett and Luke move i
n behind him. I swallow hard and mask my shock then address him. “Impressive,” I repeat what he said moments ago. “But it’s still four to one.”

  Crocell makes a sound that’s intended to be a laugh but comes out as a snort. He raises a long, dangerous looking finger toward the sky. His smile is pure evil, and I follow the trajectory of his finger in time to see a winged beast diving down, racing like a comet, until he smashes headlong into Luke and Scarlett. The clash of leathery wings, flesh and bone is accompanied by screams that finally end with the thud of skulls meeting with concrete. My first instinct is that there’s no way either of them survived their heads hitting the pavement with such force, that their skulls are split open for sure. My only hope is that they possess a rapid rate of recovery from injury and that their bodies will heal. I don’t know if that’s possible, especially after seeing them go down, hearing the sick echo of bone bouncing off pavement.

  Head turning quickly and hair whipping like a banner of steel-hued silk, Lillian, seeing Luke and Scarlett fall, raises both hands to chest height. Immediately, veins of energy snake from them like bolts of lightning. They explode against the winged beast just as it begins ascending skyward. An unearthly howl pierces the ether on impact and is followed immediately by the stench of charred flesh. Hearing it howl out in pain gives me pleasure as I recognize that not only did it possibly kill Luke and Scarlett, but also, that it is the same beast that killed Aeric. That realization propels me forward, toward Luke and Scarlett, all the while hoping against hope that they’re alright. But before I make it to them, the six-armed beast, Crocell, lunges at me, grabbing my arms with two of his and lifting me into the air. His four other arms pound into my body and face with immense power. The pain is overwhelming, unbearable. I try as hard as I can to break free from his iron-clad grip but I can’t. His fingers lace around my biceps, biting into the muscles there like hoops of steel and pining them in place so that I’m defenseless against his assault. My eyes roll back in my head briefly. I blink, struggling to stay conscious. Flickering in my vision is a blast of light. It carves the air like a lance, drilling into his back so that he is thrown off balance and his grip on me falters. I plummet to the ground and see Lillian standing behind him. Regal and with impeccable posture, her face bears no trace of exertion, rather, she is placid. She lifts her hands again and delivers another blast. Crocell’s back arches as he absorbs the unexpected attack, crying out in agony.