The Hunted

by Mike Dellosso

  Understanding dawned on Maggie like a black sunrise. Glen Sterner was the son of the recently deceased Mickey Sterner, former mayor of Dark Hills, bosom buddy of Bob Cummings, and hobnobber of both state and federal legislators. Everyone knew Dark Hills was just a training ground for Sterner; he was bound for Washington, and there was no way he'd let his son's sullied reputation stop him. Two years after the murder he left Dark Hills and won a seat on the Pennsylvania state legislature. His next move was going to be Capitol Hill. But fate had different plans, and four months ago Sterner was dropped dead by a massive aneurysm.

  "Did Mickey threaten you? That if you didn't drop the charges on his son and the others he would hurt me and Mom?"

  Elston closed his eyes, nodded, and wept like a thousand-pound weight had been lifted from his chest. He kept his eyes closed while he talked, as if that would lessen the humility, the shame of facing his daughter with the truth. "Lose job. Hurt you."

  Disappointment and sorrow gave way to anger. Her dad had been blackmailed. If he didn't drop the charges and keep quiet about the murder, he'd not only lose his job (and Mickey Sterner was powerful enough and had the right connections to make sure he never served in law enforcement again), but he'd also live with the fear of retaliation against Maggie or Gloria. The pieces were falling into place now. The beast. Stevie. Vengeance. An eye for an eye. Maggie ran her hand along her dad's cheeks, wiping the tears. "I love you, Dad. Thank you."

  Joe sat against the headboard of his bed back at the Dew-Drop, legs pulled up, wrists hanging over his knees, fingers interlocked. After his and Josiah's very brief and very bizarre visit with Stevie, he'd come back to the motel to think and plan his next move. He had finally resigned himself to the fact that he wouldn't be getting any information out of Maggie. She had been well rehearsed in the ways of the Gills: when the heat was on, the best-and only-answer is always, "No comment." Henry Gill had taught his family well.

  Joe had all but gotten over the disappointment in Maggie. He was frustrated, yes, even angry, but she had only become a product of her environment. He would have turned out the same way under the circumstances. But she definitely was not the same person he'd walked away from fifteen years ago. That person was in there somewhere, he was sure of that, past all the Gill family stuff, past the chief of police stuff, past the cover-ups and secrets. Unfortunately, that person hadn't seen the light of day for decades, buried under years of brainwashing and legacy building.

  Then there was the enigma that was Stevie. If Stevie knew anything, which Joe and Josiah were both convinced he did, he didn't even know what he knew. It was confusing, yes. But then again, Stevie was a bucket of confusion. He was so steeped in his own paranoia that he was helpless to separate reality from his psychoses. His ranting about a devil in the woods proved that much.

  Well, if Stevie was a dead end and Maggie was going to play games, Joe would just have to appeal to a higher authority. No, not the Higher Authority, though he knew he should. Prayer-the idea of it, that is-had been on his mind a lot lately. But he still couldn't bring himself to be on conversational terms with God. While enlightening, his prayer time the other night had been a fluke, a one-time showing with no replays. He had strayed too far, grown too bitter, for time like that to be a normal occurrence. His journey back would have to be a slow one, like a wayward son regaining his father's trust.

  But he should pray, shouldn't he? Yes, he should. What was happening here in Dark Hills was bigger than him and his wounded spirit, bigger than Maggie and her precious legacy, bigger than this run-down little Mayberry town. People were dead, souls lost forever, and Caleb was still in a coma, hanging onto life in some dreamy fog. It was time to set his pride aside and go before his Father.

  It was time to pray.

  So, like a man testing a rotting tree limb to see if it would hold his weight, Joe shut his eyes and inched his way into God's presence. Immediately, he felt a warmth welcoming his soul like that father running down the dusty road to greet his prodigal son. There was a sense of comfort, of acceptance, of familiarity, and then he realized what it was-he was home. This was where he belonged. Hot tears flowed freely from his eyes, making wet tracks down his cheeks. He opened his heart to God and prayed, just prayed. It was a short prayer, asking for help and guidanceand answers-but it was a powerful prayer, not because of the words spoken or because of the man who spoke them, but because of the God who heard them.

  When "Amen" finally passed over his lips, Joe opened his eyes and wiped the tears from his cheeks. He reached for the yellow phone book on the bedside table and opened to the blue pages. Running his finger down the page, he stopped midway and tapped a number. He flipped open his cell phone and glanced at the digital screen. He had a message from Rosa. She'd have to wait. He punched the numbers on the phone's keypad.

  A woman's voice answered. Short and curt. "Pennsylvania State Police, Troop H Station. How can I help you?"

  "Hi, yeah, I have a crime to report."

  "What's the nature of the crime, sir?"

  "Well, it's, uh, it's a string of animal attacks-"

  "Have you contacted the Game Commission?" Very curt.

  "No, I-"

  She cut him off cold. "Sir, the state police generally don't deal with wildlife issues. It is a wildlife issue, isn't it?"

  Joe stumbled. "Well, I-I, uh, I guess so."

  "You'll have to call the Game Commission and report it."

  "But can't I just speak to someone about it? There's more to it than just some animal attacks."

  "One moment, please."

  Boy, someone was having a bad day. And Joe wasn't off to a good start. This was going to be harder than he'd expected.

  There was a quiet pause, then the sound of Michael Buble crooning the lyrics of "Home" filled the earpiece. After a few seconds there was a click, and a man's voice came on. "Lieutenant Patrick, what can I do for you?"

  Joe swallowed. Make it a good one. "Hi. My name's Joe Saunders, and I'd like to report a crime in Dark Hills."

  "Have you contacted the local authorities about it?" Patrick's voice was big, and Joe imagined the man behind the voice was also big. Big head, big gut, big meaty hands... and big ego.

  "Yes, and-I-I think they're in on it, covering it up."

  "What's the crime?" Patrick didn't sound convinced.

  "Well, the crime is actually the cover-up. You see, there've been several animal attacks leading to deaths, and no one on the police force here is doing anything about it. They're hiding the whole thing, even the deaths."

  "If they're hiding it, how'd you find out about it?"

  Joe paused. Good question. He wasn't expecting to be interrogated, and his mind was beginning to unravel. He should have planned this better. Well, here goes nothing. "I saw one of the victims. Bob Cummings. He and I were hunting, and he got mauled and-"

  "Wait a minute, Mr......

  "Saunders."

  "Saunders. Is this a wild animal, like a bear or something?"

  Oh, boy. "I'm really not sure what it is." This was only getting worse. The more Joe talked, the more he realized how ridiculous his version of the story sounded. He might as well be telling the lieutenant he saw Big Foot dressed in a sundress hiding Easter eggs in the middle of the woods.

  "What were you hunting?" Now Patrick sounded condescending. He wasn't buying it. Nope. For all he knew, Joe was just another lunatic with a grand story looking for attention.

  Joe tried to recover. "Again, I'm not sure, but-"

  "Mr. Saunders. Let me just stop you right there. I'll tell you what. Anything involving wildlife and hunting is usually an issue for the Game Commission. Why don't you call them and get them involved. If they think there's a crime or conspiracy or other foul play going on, and if they deem it necessary to include us in the investigation, I can assure you they'll contact us. OK?"

  Joe gave up. Patrick would never take him seriously enough to investigate. "OK, sir. Thanks for your time." Wave the white flag. Save the sund
ressed, Easter egg-hiding Big Foot story for some other time.

  He flipped back one page in the phone book and quickly found the number for the Franklin County office of the Southcentral Region of the Pennsylvania Game Commission. He punched in the number.

  After two rings, "Pennsylvania Game Commission. Franklin County. May I help you?" It was a woman's voice again. She sounded pleasant enough.

  "Hi. I'd like to report a series of animal attacks in Dark Hills."

  "What's the nature of the attacks?"

  Joe stumbled. Not again. "Well, I, uh... can I just talk to someone in charge?"

  There was a long pause on the other end, then, "I'll put you through to a wildlife officer. May I ask who's calling?"

  "Joe Saunders."

  There were a few seconds of silence, then a man's voice squeaked across the line. "Hello. This is Officer Ferguson." His voice was high-pitched and whiney. Not at all what Joe would have expected from a wildlife officer.

  "Hi. I'm Joe Saunders. Um, I'm calling from Dark Hills, and we've had four animal attacks and three deaths here in the past couple of weeks."

  "I don't remember hearing anything about that. Has local law enforcement been involved?"

  "I wouldn't say involved. They-"

  "What kind of animal attacks?" Joe could hear a hint of disbelief in Ferguson's voice. He was losing him already. And if he told him the truth, the officer would probably have him locked up, or at least fined, for making a prank call.

  "I'm not sure, really. But something big."

  "Something big, huh? Where did you say you're calling from?"

  "Dark Hills. Maggie Gill, the police chief, said she reported it."

  "I don't recall hearing about any calls from Dark Hills." Joe heard the sound of computer keys clicking. "I'm looking here, and ... nope, I don't see that anyone filed any reports-"

  "How far back did you go? The first one would have taken place-"

  "A month."

  "A month? And no calls?" Maggie had lied to him. "Are you sure?"

  "Computers don't lie, Mr.... ?"

  "Saunders."

  There was a brief moment of silence while Joe heard more keys tapping in the background, then, "Look, Mr. Saunders, we're short-staffed. I don't have anyone to send out there now, but I can get a deputy wildlife officer out there first thing in the morning. He'll interview you, you tell him your story, and we'll go from there, OK?"

  "Can't I just give the report now?"

  "That's not how it works," Ferguson said. "Are there bodies to examine? Remains? Any other evidence?"

  Joe swallowed. "Well, that's part of the problem; not exactly, you see-"

  "Mr. Saunders, I really think it would be best if you wait to speak with the wildlife officer in person. First thing in the morning, OK?"

  "OK." Not what Joe was hoping for, but it would have to do.

  "Where are you staying?"

  "The Dew-Drop Motel, in Dark Hills."

  "Good enough. I know it. Tomorrow morning."

  The line went dead, and Joe set his cell phone on the bed and flopped back, combing his hands through his hair. What did he expect? His story probably sounded totally contrived, totally unbelievable, and totally the product of a very ill mind. He'd be surprised if he got a visit from a Boy Scout, let alone a wildlife officer.

  CHAPTER 32

  AGGIE SAT AT her desk, head in her hands, reviewing the conversations she'd had with her dad, sifting through each unbelievable detail, each chilling event. She needed to formulate a plan. On one hand she had a mystery animal (a lion?) and three deaths to deal with; on the other hand she had this Gail Bauer case and her dad's cover-up. And the two hands were joined. The common denominator? Stevie Bauer. All three of the deceased played a role in Gail Bauer's murder; all three were killed by the mystery animal. Was Stevie using the animal to get revenge? Absurd. How? And what about Caleb? How did he fit in?

  One thing she was certain of, she couldn't let anyone know about her dad's role in the Bauer murder. If it got out now that he was responsible for letting three murderers walk, it would be the end of him. There would be a media storm, investigations, inquisitions, charges brought up...where would it end? With his death. It would kill him. She couldn't let that happen. She would have to deal with things herself, and she knew where to start: Stevie.

  Just then Gary came in and sat in the metal folding chair across from her desk. Maggie could tell by the way he dropped his large frame in the chair and blew out a forced sigh that he had news of some importance to share.

  She lowered her hands, arched her eyebrows, and forced a smile. "Yes?" Even on the gloomiest days she found some humor in the sight of Gary's large, six-four, two-hundred-forty-pound frame swallowing the tiny metal chair. He got his size from her mother's side of the family. Uncle Dick was six-two, and Uncle Ned was six-three. From what she understood, size ran in the family as far back as anyone could remember. Built for intimidation. That's what Uncle Ned used to say.

  Gary shifted in the chair. "I trailed Saunders to Crazy Bauer's hole."

  Maggie sat back. "Stevie's trailer?"

  "Yeah. He and Old Man Walker went in. The pow-wow lasted fifteen minutes, then they scattered." He cracked his knuckles against his jaw. "You think that clown knows something he isn't telling you about?"

  Maggie frowned. "Yeah, I do. I think he knows a lot more than he's telling us."

  Gary leaned forward, his eyes burning with all the intensity of a gasoline-fueled fire. The chair moaned. "You want me to bring him in?"

  "No. He's not a threat to talk. Who would believe him anyway? Everyone in town knows he's out in left field. Making up stories about conspiracies and the FBI hunting him. It'd just be another one of his paranoid delusions." She had decided she wouldn't tell Gary about Gail Bauer's tainted murder investigation and how her dad had been blackmailed and threatened into playing along with Mickey Sterner's sick ambition. The less he knew, the better for him and her dad... and for her. When the opportunity presented itself, she would, however, tell him about their family history with the beast, Great-Grandpa's monster. He deserved to know that much.

  Maggie reached for her notebook, opened it, and started to jot down some notes. When several seconds ticked by and Gary had not moved, she looked up and held him in a steady gaze. "What's wrong?"

  Gary rubbed the back of his neck. "You got any plans?"

  "For what?"

  "For it."

  Maggie shoved the notebook aside and sat on the edge of her chair. She ran a finger along the smooth wooden desktop, making circles. "I'll get some guys on standby. Seasoned hunters. If it shows up again, I give them a call, and we all go take care of the problem."

  "What hunters? Who?"

  "I was thinking Mike Kline, Dan Berwager, Barry Wagman."

  "Are you going to tell them what's happened?"

  Maggie shook her head. "No way. Only that I may need them to hunt our rogue animal. I'll have their numbers in the top drawer here, so you know. I'll tell Andy too. Just in case." She paused and traced another circle on the desk. "Do you remember any of the stories that used to go around?"

  Gary shook his head. "Not a whole lot. I was a runt then. I remember the part about an animal killing people, about the Yates place, and that's about it."

  "There's a lot more to it than that." Maggie reached for her coffee mug, tipped it toward her mouth, and quickly pulled it away. Coffee was cold. "Phil Yates and Great-Grandpa were once good friends, before all the mess with the... thing started." She hesitated and gave a nervous chuckle. "Look, I always thought this was just made-up stuff kids used to pass around, handed down by parents who wanted to scare them. Or at the very least an embellished version of the truth. You know, small town looking for notoriety, beefing up a few animal attacks to make them into something much more sinister. But when the Saunders boy was mauled and then that dog, it got me thinking. Wondering. Cummings pretty much convinced me, but Owen's body sealed the deal. I had a couple difficult cha
ts with my dad and finally got him to tell me the whole story. At least everything he knows. It isn't pretty."

  She set her mug on her desk and went back to drawing imaginary circles with her finger. "Anyway, somewhere along the line Yates got his hands on a lion's paw, I think it was his dad's or something, and he got involved in some kind of African black magic stuff. No one's sure exactly what it was. But he got so deep in it that it started to freak Great-Grandpa out. That, and the fact that Yates's behavior was becoming more and more bizarre. Apparently, he was a little odd to start with but became even more erratic. Well, shortly after that, the thing started showing up, and people started dying. Now, I don't know where it came from. Seems nobody did. And I don't know what kind of animal it was-presumably a lion, but from what Dad said, nobody who ever saw it lived to talk about it.

  "Eventually, something went down between Great-Grandpa and Yates, and there was bad blood. My dad said it was because Yates somehow got the upper hand, said he was controlling the beast, having it kill whoever he wished-he was all worked up about some revenge thing or somethingand Great-Grandpa was jealous, not to mention scared that Yates would turn the thing on him. Next thing you know, an angry mob is burning down Yates's house with Yates in it. Nobody knows exactly what happened or how it happened, but Great-Grandpa knew, and it haunted him the rest of his life. Did you know he committed suicide?"

  Gary shook his head. "News to me."

  "Yeah. Dad said that toward the end there the old man was always talking about the devil lion coming after him. Said he'd seen it in the fields, heard it in his house. Really weird stuff. It eventually drove him crazy, and he offed himself."

  Gary sat still, massaging his knuckles. "So crazy runs in our family too. Man, this whole town is whacked out. Does Andy know about any of this?"

  "Only what he's heard along the way. He doesn't need to know."