by Angel Lawson
He kicked and sputtered beneath me. I leaned over and pressed the tip of the knife to his throat. His eyes narrowed and he said, “You’re a freak.”
“And you’re dead. For real this time.”
With the blade I slit his throat before tearing it off in one quick move. I wiped the dirty knife blade on ground before looking up at the girl. She stood frozen, eyes wide in terror. I gave her a fast nod and said, “Let’s get you home.”
~*~
I left the girl, Maggie, with Olivia, after compelling her to forget most of what she’d experienced. With my face and actions wiped from her memory, I set off toward the coordinates I’d entered in my watch before I left the office. Reaching the location documented in the police report didn’t take long. Warring odors assaulted my senses and it only took a moment before I found a smudge on the sidewalk. I wiped my finger over the dark stain and sniffed the coppery blood.
The police hadn’t found a body, but a girl was reported missing. Searching the surrounding areas thoroughly, I came up empty, too.
Examining the area, I stopped near a wooden fence separating yards. Scratch marks were gouged into the top of the fence. I spread my fingers over the lines, matching them to my own razor-sharp nails and leapt easily over the six-foot high obstacle. My feet landed in the soft grass next to a handful of other footprints. At the very least, this guy was of similar height and size. I sniffed the markings and caught a whiff of his scent. So the Predator had been here. What did he do with her body? I wondered. After finding nothing else useful, I decided to head east, following the pattern I had formulated.
As I traveled I opened my mind to the noises of the night. Passing homes, I heard the sounds of families having dinner and children playing outside enjoying the warm weather. I overheard an argument by two lovers, one bitter over the betrayal of the other. Most of it was mundane, people worried about bills or work or relationships. After all this time I'd become numb to the day-to-day worries of humans. I attempted to respect their privacy when possible, but tonight I was listening for something else.
The Predator.
I'd heard him before. Several times in fact, but I was always too late. He seemed to have a sense of when to move on, of when I was coming. I'm not sure if he knew I was on to him yet or if it was a coincidence. I felt like he knew. He was elusive, always one step ahead.
There were others with him, at least that was my theory. Their voices changed and often combined with the victims, making them hard to identify. Everything about this predator and his accomplices was one step ahead of me. I was fast. He was faster and unfortunately, deadlier.
So, tonight as I walked, I listened for his voice, for the clues I needed to find him before another unsuspecting victim stumbled onto his path. If all went according to plan, I would catch up to him. The pattern fit and my research was flawless.
Oh shoot, I burned the bread….mommy, Jane hit me on purpose…I'm sorry, I really am….Oh. My. God. You will not believe what I just heard…
Humans. Nothing they said was ever of much importance. My thoughts turned to Ms. Chase and I wondered where she was at this moment. Had the worker called her for a date? Had she made plans to see him? Again, I was irritated by my fascination with her and determined I had to move past my obsession.
Did you watch Fallon today…I'm going to the store, do you need anything…please, please, whatever you want…
My mind perked up at the last one and I narrowed my focus. The voice sounded distressed. Low growls echoed in the night.
Do you want my money? Or my car? Here, take my keys…..please…
I zeroed in. They weren’t far. Less than five miles away, if my calculations were correct. I inhaled, catching his scent, mingled with hers. She smelled salty—like sweat and her heart beat erratically. Not only from fear but exhaustion. Tiny, but important clues. I couldn’t be positive but I took off in the direction of the nearest park. It fit his pattern. An educated guess was better than nothing at all.
“Don’t do this...please…oh my god.” Her voice rang through the night, clear as a bell.
His reply was gravelly, snide. “Don’t be afraid…you’re part of a bigger plan. Remember that.”
I came to the entrance of the park and read the wooden sign.
Lullwater Park
Jogging Trails
Hours 6:00 AM-Dark
The sweat and racing heart signaled the woman was probably a jogger. I tore through the darkness in the direction of the trails. This was the closest I had come to him, the closest I had been to stopping him from continuing his terrorization of this community. I heard her begging for her life, no longer speaking to him, simply rambling during her final moments.
I ran, cutting across green space and rocky paths. I leapt over a small stream, feet sinking in thick, dark mud. Her voice bounced off the trees, leading me to her. They couldn't be more than a mile or two away.
“It will all be over soon, once my friends and I are satisfied.”
That was when I heard the others. They too spoke in low voices, punctuated with the occasional growl. These weren’t civilized beings. Not like myself and my family. Not even like the Predator.
I focused on him, noting that his voice was deep and rough. His accent was indistinct but the tone of his voice spoke with authority. I broke through the tree line as two of the killers pulled the jogger from her kneeling position to her feet. They held her before the Predator, her arms stretched wide, like a sacrifice. She shivered, eyes wide and terrified, visibly shuddering as he touched her face gently. She never felt the snap of her neck or the cuts as the others tore at the flesh on her exposed arms and wrists.
I was fast but incredibly, they were faster—feeding and discarding her body before I could stop them. The woman was dead. The killers gone, slipped away in a half-dozen possible directions, trailing not only in their scent but that of the dead.
“I’ll catch you,” I said, in a raised voice, while standing over the body. I pulled out my cell and dialed 911 before retreating back to the safety of the woods, but not before I heard the faintest of words deep in the back of my mind.
“Game on.”
Chapter 13
Amelia
He was in the kitchen when I arrived the following morning. Uncharacteristically disheveled with mud-caked shoes and weary, pale eyes. He glanced in my direction as he washed his hands. The water in the bottom of the sink was brown and filthy.
“Can I help you with something?” I asked.
“No thank you, Ms. Chase. I’ll send your list down immediately.”
He dried his hands on the towel by the sink, arranged it carefully back in place and left the room.
An hour later he brought down the list, clean and refreshed. His unruly hair was damp from the shower and he smelled delicious.
“Is that uh,” I started to ask something about shampoo or body gel, but nothing logical came out.
“What?” He looked for something amiss on his list.
“You’re uh, um, never mind. I’ll get right to this.” I snatched the list from his hands and he promptly disappeared upstairs so quickly I didn’t see him go, again.
With the day half over, I sat for a quiet moment in my chair. The clock said I had three more hours of work. I wanted nothing more than to go home. I’d spent the morning running the errands for Mr. Palmer and dreaded the tedious, ridiculous job he had for me that afternoon.
I came each day prepared, once again, to move past our bumps and enjoy my job. I watched E!. I understood that rich, attractive people were eccentric and spoiled. Was Mr. Palmer basically a Kardashian? At least I didn’t have to sanitize the house from a series of female visitors. Genevieve never implied he had a girlfriend and on face value I couldn’t imagine why not. Women should be crawling all over this place. But realistically? A girlfriend seemed unlikely. A one night stand? Possible, but with all the OCD stuff going on….no wonder he was such a jerk. Maybe he just needed to get laid.
Lack o
f orgies aside, Mr. Palmer was frustratingly difficult. With each passing day I learned his obsessive compulsive habits passed eccentric and lingered toward mentally unstable. On Tuesday he left me directions to reorganize his enormous record collection out of alphabetical order and into subgroups by artist, genre and date of release. He also wanted the covers photographed and entered into a data base. This project alone would probably take me the entire week and my brain was a puddle of mush by the time I'd gotten through the Ds.
On Wednesday he left me with various chores around the house. My instructions were to straighten and dust all the paintings on the walls. There were additional, detailed, guidelines about how I had to wear cloth gloves and to never, ever touch the actual painting itself. I also had a special duster to use for the other antiques. After I completed the artwork I had to dust the common rooms, taking time to hand clean each curio or knickknack he had apparently collected or inherited from around the world.
I didn’t have a history of being clumsy, but all the rules and specifications were giving me a complex. I was sure at any moment I would drop and shatter a priceless heirloom. I should check the bathroom cabinet for Xanax or get a prescription. There was no way I could continue working like this and not develop an anxiety disorder or at the very least, an ulcer.
As I carefully cleaned the panes on a gorgeous Tiffany lamp (real, I Googled it), I began to wonder if Mr. Palmer wanted me to quit. Some of the tasks he’d given me were so outrageous that I felt like this was some kind of giant test. They seemed above and beyond what Genevieve described during our training. Was he waiting to see if I was fool enough to follow his instructions or if I would actually refuse to do something he asked? Beyond that, I wondered if I refused,would have enough justification to fire me?
Amelia Chase was not getting fired.
With a defiant attitude in mind, I spent Wednesday afternoon on my hands and knees with a comb, straightening out the fringe on the antique rugs and carpets throughout the house. Which, by the way, was utterly ridiculous and a complete waste of my time. It was fringe. On a rug. No one cared if it was perfect.
Except Mr. Palmer. He cared.
Now, with three hours left in the day, I rubbed my fingers into my temples and plotted my escape from his particular brand of madhouse. I forced myself into the kitchen, to the large supply closet which would normally act as a pantry. Mr. ’Special Diet’ Palmer didn’t keep food in the house so the pantry was now a supply closet.
I had purchased new bins and containers for the closet earlier in the day. Apparently Mr. Palmer needed his office supplies separated and into specific containers. The paperclips from the push pins, the masking tape from the scotch tape, and so forth. I had to admit, going hog wild at the fancy organizer store with an unlimited credit card was pretty awesome. It was sort of like a dream come true. A dream that got even better when I armed myself with a state-of-the-art computerized label maker since he couldn't just look in the clear container and figure out which one was which.
I plugged in my ear buds, turning it to the local news station. I’d never been one to listen to this type of show but ever since I started spending so much time alone it made me feel like I had a little contact during the day. At least I was up on current events. The big one, locally at least, was the string of deaths around the state. It was all anyone talked about.
The police have little information other than they suspect an animal attack. Our reporter Jason Childs spoke to Montgomery Amerson, a National Park wild life expert, and he isn’t so sure about that theory. “It’s uncommon for a bear or bobcat to wander into suburban neighborhoods and attack a human,” he said.
“But it’s not impossible?” Jason asked.
“No, but I’d definitely want to see a medical report on the wounds to be sure.”
The police had no comment about Mr. Amerson’s opinion and warn people to stay away from the local trails and do not approach any wildlife.”
“Next hour on Asheville Talk we’ll discuss broader theories, like the one sociologist James Norton has about this not being an animal at all but possibly the work of a ritualistic killer…”
The box of staples slipped from my hand and fell to the floor, scattering the small metal pieces. “Seriously, my parents paid eighty-six thousand dollars for me to get a degree and I’m spending it sorting office supplies.” I dropped to the floor to pick them up but the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and I said a silent prayer that it was my imagination. I glanced over my shoulder.
“Jesus!” I cried, when I saw a tall, thin girl with a thick head of red hair standing in the middle of the kitchen. I yanked the headphones out of my ears.
"Hi!" she replied, with a bright curious smile.
I managed to stand even as my heart lunged to my throat, pounding like a freight train. “Who are you?”
"I'm Olivia. Grant's cousin. I let myself in."
“Mr. Palmer’s cousin?” I took a settling breath, heart still beating in my ears. She seemed harmless. Less than harmless, I thought, eyeing her flowery dress and strappy sandals that made her tower over me like a giant. “Was he expecting you? Because he didn’t tell me you were coming,” I said. “Not that you can’t stop by, you’re family. I’m just a little caught a little off guard—“
"No, he's not expecting me. I thought I would surprise him," she answered with a smirk. “He hates surprises.”
“He does?” I didn’t like where this was headed. I was already on his shit list.
“Yes, but he loves me, so it will be alright.”
“If you say so.” I placed the boxes on the shelves and reached for the box of Post-it-Notes. "He’s not here right now, but I’m sure it’s okay if you wait. Oh,” I said, offering my hand, “I'm Amelia, the new assistant."
"Of course. Amelia." My name rolled pleasantly off her lips. She grasped my hand in a firm handshake.
I turned back to my work but felt her vivid, candy-apple green, eyes watching my movements as I continued with the mindless task of sorting the notes by color and size. I resisted the urge to take a stack of squares and write 'I Quit' in color coordinated markers and stick them all over the house in a fit of rage.
I turned to face her again, and asked, "Can I get you something? Tea or coffee? Mr. Palmer doesn't have any food in the house, but I could go get you something if you want. I have some yogurt and a cereal bar in my purse," I rambled. Olivia made me nervous with her watchful eyes. What if he’d sent her here as another part of his crazy controlling mind games?
Olivia shook her head and said, "No thank you. I'll wait in the other room.”
“Sounds good,” I said. “Do you know the way?”
“I do, but would you mind sitting with me? I had a long drive and could really use the company." For a moment I lost my train of thought. Her eyes and voice were incredibly appealing, very much like her cousin’s.
I wasn't sure what to do. I had a feeling Mr. Palmer was going to be super pissed about Olivia showing up like this. Like she said, he didn't seem the type to like surprises or anything fun. Also, I wasn’t sure how much I was supposed to entertain his guests. I mean, I had a stack of Post-it notes to deal with and seriously, I was not getting fired over a stupid sticky note. But then again, I would hate to offend his family by being rude. This whole situation was entering uncharted territory.
Olivia must have noticed my unease and said, "Please. Don't worry about Grant. He can blame me if he wants to get pissy about it." She laughed and added, "Which he will. Foul is his favorite mood.”
Oh, I liked this girl. I followed Olivia as she led the way into the parlor, taking a seat in one of the large, overstuffed chairs. I couldn’t help but check out her long legs and covet the graceful way she sat across from me.
"Really, Amelia,” she said. “Don't take Grant too seriously. I know he can be a bit of a grump but he has a good heart. He forgets how to act around people sometimes."
I smiled back but said nothing, not wanting to fall int
o the trap of speaking about him. There was a moment of awkward silence but thankfully she changed the subject, asking me about my schooling and future plans.
“Well my plan is to save some money and go to grad school to be a librarian,” I said, after giving her a brief rundown of my life so far. “Working here seemed like a good way to stay in Asheville and do that.” Maybe it was the fact I’d gone days without speaking to anyone like this, but I found Olivia easy to talk to. I had to wonder if she was really this good or was I this desperate. Other than Drew and the occasional store clerk, I spent most of my days alone.
“You said you had a long drive? Do you live out of town?”
“Oh, I live in Black Mountain.”
“I’ve driven through there. It’s a pretty town.”
“We really love it. My whole extended family has lived there for some time.”
“That sounds nice. I’m an only child so it’s always just me and my parents. But I guess you and Mr. Palmer are close then?” I was snooping. I couldn’t even deny it.
“Very close. The whole family is tight. I’m sure you’ll get to meet them someday.”
The back door opened and closed. Quiet footsteps walked across the kitchen and I stood up quickly while Olivia remained seated. “He’ll probably go directly upstairs,” I said. “I’ll go catch him.”
Proving me wrong, again, Mr. Palmer joined us in the parlor. He gave Olivia an unsurprised, pointed look, like he knew she was there before he walked in the room. Olivia smiled at him and he rolled his eyes before turning to me.
