The Hunting of Malin

by Sean Thomas Fisher

  “Wait. The killer ran into the woods with Lisa?” Holden painted the trees with light.

  She nodded rapidly, trading a tense look with Roscoe, body quivering. Every part of her was cold and heavy and this wasn’t good. There were limits.

  “Wait! I thought Holden was the killer,” Roscoe shouted, spitting saliva.

  “I was wrong, Ross! Okay?” She gave him a wide-eyed searing. “Get over it.”

  “Who took Lisa?” Holden asked, swinging the flashlight between them.

  “I don’t know; I didn’t recognize him.”

  Straightening the handgun on his hip, he knelt down in front of Roscoe and checked his eyes. “Why didn’t you call me about the vision?”

  Roscoe flinched away from the light, cracking the back of his head against the tree and crying out in pain.

  Malin shifted her weight from one boot to the other. “I-There wasn’t time. You live too far away.”

  Holden turned to face her. “How do you know the vision was of the future?”

  “There’s no time to explain,” she angrily whispered. “We have to stop him. He has Lisa!”

  Holden held a hand out. “Here, give me the knife.”

  Hesitating, Malin relinquished the switchblade and chewed on a pinkie as he cut the zip tie binding Roscoe’s wrists. The plastic snapped free and Roscoe’s fingers wandered to the back of his head. Grimacing, he pulled his hand back to see fresh blood coating his fingertips. “Jesus Christ.” He leaned forward and reached around to the small of his back. “Where’s my gun?”

  “He took it,” she told him, holding her palm out. “Here, I’ll take that back.”

  Standing, Holden looked down at the knife in his hand. “I’ll hang onto it. You help Roscoe get up.”

  Gesturing for the knife, her eyes burned with anger and it was nearly impossible to hide. “You have a gun!”

  “I know,” he replied flatly, folding the knife up and slipping it in his jeans. “Get him up.”

  “You get him up!”

  A branch snapped off in the woods, drawing Malin’s tight gaze.

  “I don’t need anyone’s help,” Roscoe groaned, pushing to his feet and leaning against the oak. “I told you this was a bad idea.”

  “Come on, this way.” Malin turned for the trees, weakness closing in like the shadows around them.

  “Malin.”

  The flashlight swung around in her hand, searching for rougher ground she could use to her advantage.

  “Malin!”

  Hissing, she stopped and turned to Holden. “What?”

  He stepped closer, eyes tracing the scratches in her face. “I had a long talk with your mom this afternoon.”

  “What? Why?”

  He glanced at Roscoe, who was still collecting his breath against the tree. “Just wanted to ask her a few questions.”

  Malin’s blood began to boil. She didn’t have time for this bullshit! Throwing her hands out, she hit him with a subzero scowl she could barely keep from becoming something much worse. “About what?”

  “About her cat.”

  Screwing his face up, Roscoe rubbed his wrists. “Cat?”

  “Yeah.” Holden gestured with the flashlight. “You know, the one that scratched your face.”

  “So? What about it?” Malin snapped.

  “Well, that’s the funny thing,” he said, swallowing thickly. “Your mom doesn’t have a cat.”

  Malin balled her free hand into a fist, digging her nails into a palm hard enough to draw blood. “Okay, so I did it to myself during the vision of Brandy and was too embarrassed to tell you. Big deal!”

  Reaching into a pocket, he pulled a Ziploc out and tossed it to her.

  Catching the baggy, her eyes drew to the black feathered earring inside. Her stomach knotted. She hadn’t even noticed it was missing.

  “What is it?” Roscoe asked, craning his neck.

  “It’s one of Malin’s earrings.” Holden watched her stiffen. “I found it out at the lake where Amber Rowe was murdered.”

  An animal shrieked in the night, scaring something through the brush.

  “Wait.” Roscoe tried shaking a probable concussion from his head. “What now?”

  A blank expression befell Malin’s face, smoothing her wrinkles. “I must’ve lost it when Roscoe and I found Amber.”

  “Maybe.” Holden took another step, aiming the light at her boots. “Or maybe you lost it when you killed her.”

  “Ha!” She tossed the baggie back, hitting him in the chest. “Or maybe somebody planted it.”

  “Like who?”

  Shrugging loosely, Malin gave Roscoe a sideways glance. “Like someone who wants to stop me before my visions stop them.”

  “Or maybe you lost it when you planted Roscoe’s lighter.” Holden stood in front of her, the outdoors and sweat clinging to his clothing. “Either way, I don’t think you’re having visions of dead girls,” he whispered, setting his jaw against the disgust churning in his eyes. “I think you’re starting to remember killing them.”

  “Come on,” Roscoe shouted, eyes jumping between them. “Get real, Holden.”

  Holden turned to him, a grim look placating his face. “And I also think you were about to become victim number four.”

  Roscoe’s jaw dropped. “Why would she want to kill me?”

  “Because she got you out into Mortimer Woods in the middle of the night without a single peep. And what better way to frame me for your murder, right after I suddenly become a fringe suspect in the homicides of three young girls.”

  “What!” Roscoe pulled at his hair. “Frame you how?”

  Holden shone the light on Malin’s waist. “Your jeans are so tight, I can see the outline of my wedding ring in your pocket.” He gave her a weak smile. “Guess it’s a good thing I followed you out here.”

  She held his gaze, steaming under the collar. This was taking way too long. Malin laughed sharply. “That’s your deduction, Holden? After everything that’s happened, that is your theory? That a hundred and ten-pound girl killed three people?”

  Holden stepped closer. “And I think Brandy scratched your cheek trying to fight back in the basement, which is why you slashed her face with the boxcutter.”

  Her fingers gravitated to the marks in her cheek, the hint of a grin caressing her lips. “Wow, it’s no wonder the department let you go. You’re really not very good at detective work, are you?”

  “So why lie about the cat?”

  “I told you, I did it in my sleep! It’s embarrassing, okay? But that doesn’t make me a murderer!”

  “What the hell is going on here, Holden?” Roscoe pushed off the tree, stumbling a bit with the motion.

  “I’ll tell you what’s going on here, Roscoe.” His eyes tightened. “I think Malin is schizophrenic, and I think she’s starting to remember a little more with each passing day.”

  Insult changed her face into something hideous before amusement fluttered her lips, making Holden shrink. Her wild laughter tapered off into a grave silence that rang hollow in his ears. “Why’d you do it, Holden?” she asked in a soft voice, backing away. “Why’d you kill those girls?”

  Face souring, Roscoe’s incredulous gaze drilled her. “I thought you just said he didn’t do it!”

  Ignoring him, she smiled at Holden and put her hands behind her back. “Because the police let you go? Or because your wife did?” Her eyes thinned. “Angel, right?”

  “Angela,” he corrected, switching the flashlight to his left hand.

  “Oh, that’s right. Angela. Pretty blond with a wandering eye.”

  Holden drew his weapon and pointed it at Malin’s face.

  Roscoe shot his hands out. “Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!”

  Smiling, Malin swatted at a fly buzzing about her nose. “Did you overperform in bed, Holden? Or underperform?”

  Cocking the hammer back with a double click, Holden growled through clenched teeth. “What are you?”

  Appealing to Roscoe, her voice
came out in a childlike whimper. “Ross, please, don’t let him hurt me. He’s the killer. He’s the one who hit you over the head. I saw the whole thing. I was just trying to buy us some time to get out of here.”

  “She’s full of shit, Ross,” Holden replied, tossing him the flashlight and pulling a pair of handcuffs from his belt. “I saw the whole thing. Now, let me see those hands, real slow like.”

  Malin backed away, hands hidden behind her back and terror reflecting in her glassy-eyed orbs. “Ross, please do something.”

  Indecision wavered in Roscoe’s eyes, a crimson stain blooming around his collar. “Holden, come on, man, put the gun down. She’s unarmed.”

  “No, she’s not. She has your gun behind her back.” Feeling something on his shoe, Holden looked down and grunted when he saw a tan snake coiling around his ankle. “Shit,” he yelled, violently kicking to send the damn thing flying but it was locked on tight. Malin laughed and the flashlights began to stutter, turning his frantic efforts into jittery movements. Rearing its scaly head back, the snake bared its glistening fangs and hissed, striking Holden in the calf. Staggering, he issued a painful shriek while Malin pulled Roscoe’s handgun from her waistband. She took aim and squeezed the trigger. The earsplitting blast sent Holden spinning to the dirt. Horrorstruck, Roscoe shot forward and snatched the gun from her, bringing them both crashing to the ground. From his stomach, he looked up with the gun in his hand, coming face to face with the serpent coiled around Holden’s ankle. The flashlights flickered and the snake struck Roscoe in the face. Wailing, he grabbed it by the neck and tore the sunken fangs through his cheek.

  Dropping his weapon, Holden unpeeled the wiry serpent from his leg and threw it into the trees with an angry cry. Leaning up against a tree, he stared in horror at the blood spot growing in the shoulder of his shirt. When he looked up, Malin was gone. Movement off to the side tugged at his attention. “Sonofabitch,” he whispered, eyes dilating when he noticed the snakes literally coming out of the woodwork.

  Rolling to his feet, gravity pulled on Roscoe’s blood smeared face as the snakes slithered into the flashlights’ glow. Their oily bodies swished back and forth, glistening in the light. “They’re all over the place,” he shouted, picking up a flashlight and waving it around like a torch. A hundred pairs of shiny little eyes stared back, inching closer from every angle, slithering over the Glock he foolishly left lying on the ground. The treetops swayed with a sudden gust and the flashlights sputtered again. “Holden, we have to move!”

  Squinting against the swirling debris, Holden cried out when another pair of fangs punctured his same leg. The serpent squeezed hard, whipping its tail back and forth to gain better leverage. “Get it off me!”

  Using the flashlight as a club, Roscoe beat the snake over the head, accidentally smashing Holden’s ankle bone in the process. Blinding pain exploded behind his eyelids as he sent another pain-filled roar through the trees, inciting the wildlife into a riot. A skinny green snake dropped from the branches above, landing on Holden’s head and coiling around his neck. He barely had time to scream before his windpipe shut down. Snatching it by the neck, the serpent constricted even tighter around his throat. Holden struggled for breath, face turning purple, barely keeping the snapping fangs at bay. Dropping to his knees, he unwrapped it from his neck and heaved it into the trees. Gasping for air, he stumbled to his sneakers, grimacing with the pain rising up his leg. He wasn’t sure if it was from a snakebite or from Roscoe bashing his ankle with the flashlight but when he tried putting weight on it, even his racing adrenaline couldn’t numb the sting. The wind picked up, lifting the leaves and dirt into an angry cyclone. Holden shielded his face and grabbed his gun from the ground. The snakes were everywhere now and closing in fast with a sidewinding advance. Lightning flickered, reflecting off their shiny backs. Thunder clapped, vibrating the ground beneath them. Holden shot at the ones nearly to his feet, making the dirt jump and the reptiles twist up like rubber bands.

  Roscoe spun with the whirling leaves, hair flying in and out of his eyes, heel stomping snake skulls and receiving another bite to the leg for his efforts. Crying out in pain, he crushed the head of a long brown reptile with his heel, producing an unnerving bone crunch. Holden yanked the gun from side to side, counting shots with something warm and wet running down both sides of his shirt. Lightning crackled, glinting off the snakes before plunging them back into the darkness.

  Holden looked up from the bullet hole in his shoulder to find Malin standing over him with an insatiable desire lurking in the far reaches of her hollow eyes. Patches of decay consumed her skin and there was no amount of training for something like this. He was lightheaded and unsure if this was really happening or not but instinct kicked in just the same. Raising the gun, he took deliberate aim at her face. “Stop!” His finger hugged the smooth trigger, heart galloping in his chest. “Please! Make it stop.”

  Malin smiled down at him. Drool ran from one corner of her mouth in a silvery strand, nearly stretching to the ground.

  “Holden,” Roscoe shouted, kicking a snake across the dirt. “Don’t do it!”

  Holden fired by her feet, forcing her back a step but before he could get off another round, she sneered and lunged, swatting the gun from his hand so fast he barely saw it. Balling his shirt into her fists, she lifted him off the ground until their eyes met through the spinning cloud. “Now you shall feed my pain,” she whispered, throwing her jaws back with a horrifying click. Flies buzzed around her head in a blinding swarm, breath reeking of rot and decay. He wrestled with her unshakable grip, face bruising and darkness closing in around the edges.

  “That’s enough!”

  The stern voice drew Malin’s pinched gaze into the trees, where Luna stepped from the shadows in a red dress that flapped violently around her in the restless wind. Strolling closer, the long garb dusted the ground, making it appear as if she were gliding on ice. Black hair flew out wildly behind her, revealing the dark circles pulling on her eyes. “Put him down!”

  Smiling cruelly, Malin threw Holden to the ground like a ragdoll she suddenly tired of playing with. “Hello, Mother.”

  Luna swept a hand out to Holden and Roscoe, glancing at the snakes. “Get behind me,” she ordered, eyes darting back to her daughter. “And whom might you be?”

  Malin’s subsequent laughter was deep and long, its jagged echo rustling the leaves. Birds fled their nests, preferring to take their chances against the night. “You mean, you don’t know? The all-powerful Luna Waterhouse doesn’t even recognize her own daughter?”

  “You are not my daughter!”

  Luna’s outburst slipped through the trees, winding over the hills and sobering the playful look on Malin’s face. Malin sauntered closer, the snakes following just behind.

  In a dizzying blur, Luna did a quick spin, sprinkling black powder on the ground. “Stay in the circle!”

  Holden kicked a snake from his shoe and huddled tightly together with Roscoe and Luna while Malin strolled closer with a halfcocked grin digging into a decomposing cheek. Her slippery eyes reflected the lightning pulses, turning them to liquid nickel for an instant before returning to pots of oil once again. The snakes reached the powder and coiled into hissing springs of rage.

  “I demand to know your name,” Luna shouted over the howling wind, keeping Holden and Roscoe behind her.

  Malin snorted and it sounded like a lion grunting at a new challenge to the pride. “You may call me Jade.”

  “No, I mean your real name.”

  Jade laughed sharply. “I am known by many names but am simply an agent of Ba’al Berith.”

  Shoulders sinking, Luna’s voice fell to a stunned whisper. “The Lord of the Flies.”

  Jade thrust a fist into the air and the thunder boomed, invigorating the tempest of flies and a violent gust. “Long may he reign!” A trident of lightning stabbed at the ground behind her, shaking the earth.

  Wrinkling his nose against the sulfuric stench, Holden grabbed
Luna by the arm. “What is this?” he yelled.

  Luna shook him away and thrust her palms out like she was supporting some invisible wall about to collapse in on them. Jade staggered back a few steps, her confident demeanor crumbling around the corners of her eyes. Forcing her voice above the commotion, Luna reached for the heavens. “By the power of three, we put an end to this possession,” she cried, teardrops spilling over her cheeks.

  Jade tipped her head back and laughed at the night, flies circling her head.

  “Possession?” Roscoe pulled his foot back inside the ring of powder, narrowly avoiding another serpent strike. “What’re you talking about?”

  “Stay in the circle!” Luna cried, tightening the huddle. “It’s hungry and needs to feed!”

  “It?” Holden said, the gun pulling on his hand.

  Reverse crossing herself, Jade spit a wet fly to the ground, calming the wind. “Ready your prayers, heathens.” Smoke rolled from her cold black lips, a seething anger coiled in her eyes like the serpents at her feet. “For a religious war is coming.”

  “No,” Luna breathed, taking one hand from the invisible wall to clutch the golden cross hanging from her neck. “It’s already here.”

  Blood-soaked shirt sticking to his skin, Holden staggered. The forest swam around him in a dizzying blur, making him take Luna’s arm for support. “Are you telling me a…demon murdered those girls?”

  “Look for yourself, Holden!” she replied, returning both hands to the wall.

  Jade’s lips pulled back into a sly grin, cheeks deteriorating just enough to reveal the mottled muscle hiding beneath. “What did you think was responsible? Mental illness? Radical Islam?” Her ensuing laughter was cold and wet, weaving through the woods and fading into the shadows. Cocking her head to one side, she stepped up to the ring of powder and stared glumly at Holden. “Don’t you ever wonder what gets into people?”

  “Do not listen to it!” Luna’s dress flowed around them like a protective cloak. “Once it runs out of negative energy, it will starve to death. Focus your thoughts on the positive – it is your greatest weapon.”

  “But why?” Roscoe asked, a decapitated Statue of Liberty heaving on his chest. “Why did you kill them?”