by Kane, Paul
Neil shook his head. No, there were no hunters. No such thing… Couldn’t be.
But then there was Jack, Adrian and-
No; not Ryan. Out of all of them, Neil owed him the biggest apology for what he’d done, what he’d said in the back of that van. It was no worse than what he’d been willing to do tonight when he went for Owen, he reminded himself. And the trigger both times:
Julie. Always Julie.
As if having some kind of radar, she appeared at the living room door. “I thought I heard you.”
Bullshit, he’d barely made a noise––in spite of the drink. Neil knew how to be silent when he wanted to. She must have been listening out for him, like she was his fucking mother or something. What did she think he was going to do, come back with a woman on each arm? (A woman he’d then––)
“You’ve been drinking,” she said, pointing out the obvious. He was sitting there with a depleted six-pack on his lap, knocking back the strong lager.
“So,” he said, looking at her properly now. She was wearing those hideous tartan pajamas she was so fond of, but he loathed. A far cry from some of the stuff she’d worn for him years back to make him happy: the satin, the lace, the… not much at all. Those red and blue creations were designed to hide a woman’s figure, but he could still see hers beneath it. Could still see how her breasts––maybe not as pert as they’d once been, but still full––pushed against the buttons of the top. Could see the way the material clung between her legs.
Neil looked away, his heartbeat up.
“So: you’ve been drinking a lot, by the looks of things. Had a good time with your mates, then I take it.”
Neil shrugged. Not really, he thought to himself, couple of them have died horrendously and another might well be slashed to ribbons, but apart from that…
“That all you’ve got to say for yourself? Jesus, Neil––”
“Jesus what?” he said, rising.
“Jesus Christ, you’re a loser. I don’t know what I ever saw in you.”
Neil’s pulse was quickening. He was staring at her, but wasn’t fully seeing her. Whether it was the drink or what had happened back there in the pub, or just the closeness of that particular time of month, he didn’t know but––
“Doesn’t have permission, y’see. That bitch won’t let him play past his bedtime.”
“Love? Do me a favor. They were food, women like her. Always were, always will be.”
They’re meat… just meat.
“You don’t know what you saw in me,” repeated Neil, his words slurring slightly. “Here, let me remind you.”
He’d crossed the room in seconds, much quicker than anyone should have done, and it startled Julie. She stepped back. “You keep away from me,” she told him.
“Or what?” said Neil, his words more strange than slurred now.
“You touch her. Any of you fucking so much as look at her…”
“Or…” she said, but all the usual self-assuredness was gone. “Or I’ll…” She was quivering, he could see it, hear the catch in her voice.
“I think… I think she’s the one.”
“There aren’t any ‘ones’. Only the next meal.”
“You do know you can’t have a normal life with this woman, don’t you? How can you?”
He saw faces now, the faces of his friends––as they were back then, as the probably had been when death found them. Jack, Adrian and––
“Why don’t you do yourself a favor and leave her to us, we’ll take care of the problem.”
Ryan’s voice.
Maybe he should have listened.
“I-I’m going back to bed,” said Julie, turning from him. But it was too late, she’d woken something up other than herself and Neil wasn’t sure whether he could get it to go to sleep again.
Wasn’t sure he wanted to.
He grabbed her arm, but she shrugged it off. Julie made a break for the bedroom, then she was inside and trying to slam the door on him. Neil put his foot in the gap, pushed hard with all of his bodyweight on the door itself.
It gave, sending her reeling back. Her legs caught the edge of the bed and she fell onto it, the springs protesting, squeaking––just like they had once with his weight on top of her.
“Neil,” she moaned, crying, holding up her hand. “Neil, please… you’re scaring me.”
A grin broke its way free, and he pounced, covering the distance easily.
And now his weight was on her again, clawing at that stupid tartan, his mouth on her neck, feeling her pulse racing. As he tore his own clothes free, he recognized that look in her eye. He’d seen it once before when they’d first met, responding to his whims, his influence? No, something else; desiring the animal part of him. So she could feel as much of a creature as he was, abandon her humanity to him––to what they were doing. The beast with two backs.
“This is what you saw in me,” he said, shredding her pajama bottoms and entering her, ramming into her so hard her breath was taken from her. Then her hands were at the base of his neck, urging him on. Faster, faster. Harder…
Until neither of them could fight it any more.
* * *
He was vaguely aware of a phone going off, a trill ring-tone that told him it wasn’t the house phone, but his mobile––somewhere on the bedroom floor, after falling out of his trouser pocket last night.
Neil rubbed his face, rising and glancing across at the naked body lying next to him. There were claw marks down Julie’s back, not that deep but still raw. At first he thought the body might be a corpse, but then he saw the steady rise and fall of her shoulders with each breath.
Things were a bit of a blur, just flashes, snatches of images of what they––what he’d––done. But he did remember that in the heat of it all, his wife had responded, as if on some primal level. Just like before, just like when they’d first met. Was it as simple as that, a vicious circle? As they’d lost that part of their relationship, as he’d sacrificed everything just to be with her, she’d started to lose interest in him that way?
The phone continued to ring, and he chased away the thoughts, swinging over the side of the bed to snatch it up. As he did so he couldn’t help smirking when he saw Julie’s tartan pajamas, not far away, completely ruined.
He checked the time on the phone before accepting the call. It was 1:15 in the afternoon. They’d slept the morning away, which was hardly surprising seeing as they’d been up most of the night. A good thing neither of them were working today. There was no caller ID, but he did recognize the number vaguely as the one Luke had given him back at the pub. He pressed the green button.
“Hello,” he said, suddenly lowering his voice on the second syllable so as not to disturb Julie.
“Neil, thank Christ!” It was definitely Luke’s voice, but even more panicked than it had been when they’d gone their separate ways.
“Is everything all right?” asked Neil, realizing that it was probably the most stupid thing he’d ever said. Of course it wasn’t all right; he could tell that from Luke’s tone, even if he didn’t know why the man was ringing.
“No it bloody isn’t. It’s Ryan.”
Neil pinched the skin between his eyes, head sagging. “You found him, then?”
“Yes, we found him.” This was the bit where they described how messed up he’d been when they broke into his house and–– “He’s been in an accident. At least that’s what they’re saying.”
“What?”
“He’s still alive, barely. It was a hit and run driver, a few days ago. When we got no answer from his place and figured out there was nobody home, Owen did some checking around. He is actually pretty good at all this detective stuff. Ryan’s in The General hospital, banged up pretty bad.”
“I’m really sorry to hear that,” said Neil, though wasn’t there another part of him which was relieved: that Ryan hadn’t actually been murdered; that he was still alive. A hit and run was better than being murdered, surely… if that’s wh
at actually happened to Aide and Jack.
“You need to get down here,” said Luke.
Neil looked over his shoulder at Julie, stirring. “Look, it’s a bit difficult right now.”
“Give me that,” Neil heard another voice say, then suddenly it was Owen talking to him. “Neil, get your fucking arse down to the hospital––right now! We’ve got things to talk about.”
“I…” He wasn’t about to do that just because Owen was ordering him to. At the same time, he did want to see Ryan––and his old mate was hurt, not dead.
“Neil, fucking well get––”
He felt a hand on his back and he snapped off the phone, whirling to see Julie sitting up. “Neil?” she said softly, the bolshiness from when he’d got back last night gone. “Who was that?”
“A friend,” he told her honestly.
“One of the ones you saw yesterday?”
He nodded. She dipped her green eyes momentarily, not sure whether to believe him or not. “Neil… look, I think we need to talk.”
“We’ve got things to talk about.”
“I can’t right now. I’ve got to go, something’s come up.”
Julie’s eyebrows knitted together. “Something’s come up?’ she repeated, the hard edge returning. “This is something too, isn’t it?”
“My friend’s in the hospital.”
“What, the one who was ringing?”
“No, another one.” He realized how ridiculous it sounded, like an excuse to get out of talking to Julie. Maybe it was. He didn’t really want to sit here and chat about what had happened, his head was too full of other crap.
“I see,” she said, drawing her knees up and folding her arms around them.
Neil went to the wardrobe, pulling out fresh clothes––that weren’t torn––and began to dress. “We’ll talk when I get back. I promise.”
She just stared at him blankly, watching as he grabbed his wallet and keys, then left the bedroom. Neil shut the door behind him, leaning back on it and hanging his head.
Then he left the house without looking back.
* * *
When Neil arrived at the hospital, he hadn’t been expecting Ryan to look like this.
The guy might as well have been cut to pieces, because he was hardly recognizable. ‘Hit and Run’ Luke had said, but Ryan looked like he’d been hit repeatedly, then backed over several times. In fact he looked like the car had been dropped on him from a great height.
Neil also knew that he’d recover. In fact, he should have been getting better already, so Neil was puzzled when Luke told him that their friend’s condition was worsening.
“Owen,” said Luke, nodding to the policeman sat outside in the corridor (only two being allowed to sit with Ryan at a time), “he thinks there might have been some silver involved again. You know, maybe on the bumper or something? Hard to ask without tipping off the staff.”
“Again with the silver?” This was getting ridiculous. Not only was Owen saying that Jack’s overdose and Adrian’s mugging was by a fictional hunter or group of them, now they’d also run Ryan over? “Are you buying this shit?” Neil asked Luke.
He shrugged. “Kinda makes sense.”
And would explain why he wasn’t getting any better.
Neil looked back again at Owen. Despite having ‘commanded’ Neil to come, he’d pulled a face when he’d actually arrived. “She finally let you off the leash, then?” Owen had said.
“Fuck off,” Neil replied. He hadn’t come here for Owen, and definitely hadn’t come to discuss his private life: he’d come to see Ryan.
Now Neil approached the bed, eyes like slits as he took in more of the injuries––Ryan’s face so swelled it looked like it was about to pop. “I’m sorry, man,” he whispered; for the state he was in, but also for what he’d done back in Jack’s van. He thought once more that they’d spent the last several years so close by, but might as well have been on different continents. If only he’d picked up a phone or something. “So, what are his chances?” asked Neil finally.
Another shrug from Luke. “Owen’s been waiting to talk to a doctor––not even flashing that badge of his has got him anywhere so far. He’s off his patch, for one thing.”
Neil was just about to say something else, when he spotted Owen rising. The policeman called to them from the door and they rushed over to an increasingly distracted Owen.
“There!” he shouted, pointing. They both looked, but saw nothing. “A bloke, he was standing watching from the end of that corridor,” Owen told them.
“What the hell are you on about?” said Neil.
“When I looked up, he looked away––but I saw him.”
“Probably just another visitor,” Luke offered.
“I’m telling you, there was something dodgy about him.”
“Owen, you can’t-” began Neil, but Owen was off, up the corridor and sprinting past doctors and nurses.
Sighing, Luke ran after him––and Neil ran after them both, intending to give the copper another piece of his mind when he caught up. Him and his overactive imagination, that was the only dodgy thing around here. A wild goose chase, that’s all this whole bloody thing was.
By the time they’d turned a couple of corners, Owen had vanished. Luke sniffed the air, but there were too many other scents here to pick him out. Too many people: patients, staff and visitors alike. “Maybe he got in the lift?” Neil suggested. It was entirely possible, but how would they know which floor he went to? After searching a couple of floors up in the maze-like building, Neil made another suggestion––for Luke to call Owen. But he couldn’t do that inside the hospital itself.
When they got to the main entrance, Luke already had the number on speed-dial. He shook his head. “Can’t reach him.”
There was a group of people gathering outside, and figures in scrubs were pushing past Luke and Neil, obviously in a hurry to check out whatever the next emergency case was coming in.
Then they saw who it was.
Neil pulled a couple of bystanders aside to get a better view. Luke followed in his wake. And there, on the concrete in front of them––the medics working furiously on him––was Owen. His limbs were sticking out at odd angles, like some kind of weird insect tipped over on its back. And the base of his skull was leaking. Obviously cracked or even smashed, it was letting out blood and quite possibly other vital fluids meant to be contained.
“What happened?” Neil heard someone ask.
“Dunno, I think he threw himself off the roof,” came the reply.
No. Not Owen. That’s what this might look like: a random suicide. But it wasn’t. He’d been thrown off the roof and both Neil and Luke knew it.
“He’s crashing. We’re losing him,” said one of the women in scrubs kneeling in Owen’s pooling blood. And it was only now, as she opened up the man’s shirt, that they saw it. The chain around his neck. Easily mistaken for a necklace or charm, they didn’t have to touch it to know what the thing was made from. A metal that Owen would never have worn in a million years, but would have ensured his fall from the building was fatal.
The woman pounded on his chest, trying to get his heart beating again, but it was a futile effort. Even if Neil or Luke had risked barging in, taking the chain off––without being branded thieves––the damage had already been done.
Open-mouthed, they looked from Owen’s prone body to each other. Then they both swore at the same time.
Where Owen had gone nobody would be reaching him again, on a phone or otherwise.
* * *
There didn’t seem much doubt anymore.
Owen had gone after the hunter (or hunters, they still hadn’t established how many of them there were) and got himself killed. The old gang were being picked off, and the one member who knew the most––who had the skills that might help them get out of this mess––was now gone.
Luke and Neil searched the hospital again, but without knowing who they were looking for, it seemed pretty poi
ntless. Owen was the only one who’d got a look at the guy that had done this (one of a team?). Besides which, what more chance would they stand than Owen?
Ironically, by bringing them together like this, Owen had actually made the task of killing them even easier. “Do you think that’s what they had in mind?” asked Luke. “Maybe they counted on the fact Owen would put all the pieces together and get in touch with us.”
“Maybe,” said Neil. “Now there’s only us left to deal with.”
“Ryan,” Luke reminded him.
“He’s dying,” Neil sighed. “We both know it’s only a matter of time. Whoever’s doing this is nothing if not thorough. They’d make sure he wasn’t going to wake up again.”
They had two choices now, get the hell out of town and hope they weren’t being tracked (it was a slim chance) or try and stay alive till tomorrow and deal with the hunter(s) in their altered forms.
Neither option was very appealing.
“Well, I don’t know about you,” said Luke, “but I’m bailing.” It was something the younger Luke would never have said, never have done, and Neil thought again how much he’d altered. Owen might have been a pain in the arse these days, but right now Neil would have swapped Luke for the arrogant detective any day of the week. At least Owen would have put up a fight. “If you’ve got any brains, you’ll do the same.”
But it wasn’t as simple as that, was it? Luke had no ties, but Neil had:
Julie. Always Julie.
“Shit,” said Neil, dialing the number for home as Luke waved goodbye––off back to the hotel to pack his stuff, then drive into the sunset. The phone was picked up on the third ring. “Julie… Julie, listen to me––”
“Neil? Where are you? You’ve been gone hours.”
“That’s not important. I need you to––”
“Not important? Not important!” she was practically screaming the last bit. “You do what you did last night, then leave after getting a phone call today telling me some stupid story about a hospital––”
