The Hunted

by Mike Dellosso

  Gary nodded. "So what's your call?"

  Maggie sighed and spun a pen on her desk. Her call was to pay a visit to Stevie. If she pushed him hard enough, he might just crack and spill whatever it was he knew. But she had to handle it right, slowly, and she wanted to do it alone. If she told Gary her plan, he would insist on joining her. She couldn't have that. Stevie trusted her as long as she was alone. Maybe trusted her enough to let her inside his head. "Right now we sit tight and wait for this thing to make another appearance. If it even does. Maybe we'll get lucky. Now you need to get back out there on the street."

  Gary stood and arched his back. "If you need anything, holler. And if you decide you want me to bring Loony in, let me know."

  "I will. Go." She waved him off.

  Gary left, and Maggie dropped her head into her hands again. What had she gotten herself into? She had to see Stevie; he was the answer. Stop Stevie and she stopped the attacks, the beast. How? She had no idea and wasn't sure she wanted to know. If the story her dad had told her was true, it had something to do with powers she didn't understand, couldn't understand, and had no desire to understand. One thing she did knowand it put the fear of God in her-was that if she failed, her dad would eventually meet a gruesome death. He and Glen Sterner were the only two left.

  A knot seized her throat at the thought of her dad at the mercy of such a beast, helpless to even attempt to fight back. She balled her hands into fistfuls of hair. She just wanted this to be over. She wanted her dad to be safe, and she wanted her small-town life back.

  CHAPTER 33

  AGGIE SLOWED HER cruiser to a stop in front of Stevie's trailer. The egg-yolk sun was just starting to ooze into the horizon, and the western sky was awash with fiery hues of orange and pink and purple. Long shadows stretched across the clearing where the trailer sat. Maggie thought how out of place this rusty, battered box looked sitting in the middle of a cornfield, woods behind it, a pond so still it looked like glass situated not twenty yards to the right. Under better circumstances, she'd take a few moments to enjoy the sunset, but this evening she was in no mood for such things. She just wanted to get this over with.

  She'd changed into her street clothes and skipped out of work early, leaving Andy to cover the desk and answer the phones. Gary was on patrol, not that there was really anything to patrol, but it gave him something to do while he calmed down. Maybe he'd bag some hothead trying to break the sound barrier along Route 20. She'd left without telling Andy or Gary where she was going. They'd just want to tag along, and she wanted to do this alone.

  She shut the engine off and climbed out of her cruiser. A light was on in one of the trailer's cloudy windows, and the curtain was pulled slightly to one side. Was that a face peering out the window at her? She looked again, and the curtain fell back into place. Stevie was home.

  Climbing the three wooden steps to the storm door, she made a fist and knocked on the metal door.

  Inside, Stevie was beside himself. The voice in his head, Yosemite's voice, was pounding away-Kill Gill. Kill Gill. He didn't want to obey it; he wanted it to shut up and go away forever. But that wasn't going to happen. It would only get more and more persistent, louder and louder, more forceful, more demanding, until he finally gave in and appeased it. He couldn't live like this. But he also couldn't do what the voice was demanding of him.

  Kill Gill. KillKillKill. The voice kept echoing through his brain. It filled every cavity of his head, vibrated through his skull, finding no resting place.

  He wouldn't answer the door. She would think no one was home and go away.

  Maggie knocked again. "Stevie? It's Chief Maggie; can I come in?"

  Shhh. Just keep quiet, and she'll go away.

  Kill Gill. Your chance has come. The voice was getting louder. She'd hear it. She had to hear it. How could she not hear it? It screamed in his ears, ran through his body like electric shocks, pierced his eardrums like nails.

  Kill... Gill.

  Shhh. Just keep quiet. Quiet. Shut up!

  Maggie could hear movement on the other side of the door. She tried the doorknob. It was locked.

  "Stevie. I know you're home. Are you all right? It's OK, I just want to talk. I'm alone."

  Ohhh. She knew he was home. He couldn't ignore her forever. She was a cop. She had ways of breaking into homes. And she would do it too.

  With the voice still ringing through his head, Stevie stood up, smoothed his clothes, and opened the door.

  Chief Maggie stepped back and nearly fell off the steps. "Oh, hi, Stevie. Is everything OK?" She was wearing normal clothes-a green jacket and blue jeans. Not normal. She always wore her uniform. The tan uniform. The one that said she was a cop, a protector. A friend.

  Stevie smiled and willed the voice in his head to shut up. She had to hear it. "Sure, I was just doin' some straigtenin' up. Sorry to keep you waitin'."

  He stood in the doorway staring down at her until Chief Maggie finally spoke. "Do you mind if I come in for a minute? I need your help with something."

  Heat stung Stevie's cheeks. No, don't come in. "Oh, uh, yeah, sure."

  He stepped out of the way and allowed Chief Maggie to enter.

  The inside was no different from any of the other times Maggie had been in there. Clutter was piled waist high; the sink was full of dishes, crusted with days-old food. The trash can was overflowing, and that smell of sour milk and rotten meat still hung in the air like a toxin.

  Straightening up, huh? Doubtful. He was hiding something. The shifty eyes and quivering chin gave it away every time.

  Maggie had an idea. "Stevie, why don't you let me help you clean up a bit? We can start here in the kitchen."

  Stevie's heart nearly lodged in his throat. "Oh, no, Chief Maggie. You don't have to do that. Mr. Walker, he-"

  "Stevie, I insist. Look at this place, it's filthy. I'll start with the dishes. Where's the dish soap?"

  Stevie was growing more agitated. His face twitched, his eyes wouldn't stop blinking, and a steady trickle of sweat ran down his temple.

  And the more agitated he grew, the louder the voice in his head shouted. Kill Gill. Kill. Kill. Kill.

  "Ohhh, I think maybe you should leave, Chief Maggie." Stevie raked his fingers through his hair and rubbed his cheek. He paced back and forth, scrubbing harder at his face. "This ain't good. You should definitely leave."

  "Oh, stop it, Stevie. I just want to help, that's all. I'm your friend, remember?"

  Stevie shook his head. Kill Gill. "Nooo. You should leave."

  "Where's your dish soap? Is it down here?" She opened the cupboard under the sink and squatted.

  The voice pounded like thunder in Stevie's head. KILL GILL. Kill her, retard! She's a Gill. She let Momma's killers go free. Now! Do it! Kill Gill!

  He could resist it no longer. He had to give in; he had to let the voice have its way. He reached for a ball-peen hammer that was on the counter, clutched it in his right hand-the wood was cool and smooth-lifted it above his head, and brought it down on the back of Maggie's skull.

  Crack! It sounded like a gun went off in Maggie's head. Then blackness.

  Stevie felt the jarring impact of the hammer with bone, saw the blood spurt, turning her blonde hair crimson.

  The voice had ceased, and everything was quiet now.

  Chief Maggie's body went limp and collapsed to the floor, facedown; her head rested in a growing pool of red. Stevie stood over her, his heart thumping wildly in his chest, his lungs struggling to fill with air. He let the hammer slip out of his hand and fall silently to the floor.

  He killed her. She was dead.

  He fell to his knees beside her lifeless body and began to weep. "No. No. No. See what you made me do? See?"

  Wait. What was that he heard? A faint wheezing sound. He lifted his head and looked at Chief Maggie's face. Her head was turned toward him, eyes closed, lips slightly parted, cheek bunched against the floor. Her face was pale and still-the look of death. But her back was rising and fallin
g. It was moving. She was breathing. She wasn't dead.

  Immediately, the voice was back in Stevie's head. Kill Gill. Finish it. Finish it. Retard! His eyes fell on the hammer, resting on the floor. The hammer called to him, begging him, ordering him, pleading, commanding. Kill Gill Kill Gill. Finish it. For Momma.

  "NO!" Stevie shouted. He clapped his hands over his ears. "I won't. I won't!"

  Across town, Joe entered B Wing of Hillside Hall and strolled along the tile floor. He hadn't talked to Rosa all day and had decided he would surprise her and meet her for dinner. They could eat in the small cafeteria in C Wing. He'd eaten there only once before and found the food more than edible. It was pretty good, actually.

  He came to Caleb's room, knocked once, and poked his head in.

  Rosa was pacing back and forth and snapped her head around at the sound of his knock. "Joe!" she said, half angry, half panicked. She held a piece of paper above her head and waved it back and forth at him. "Where have you been? Why did you not return my calls?"

  Joe turned a palm up and shrugged. "What calls?" But before he even finished his question, his hand was flipping open his cell phone. "Oh, man, I had the ringer turned off. You left a message, and I was going to call you back." He looked at her, then at Caleb. "What's the matter? Is Caleb OK?"

  Rosa came at him like a bull, intensity raging in her eyes. "I tried and tried to reach you, but all I got was your voice mail. And the phone at the motel was busy, busy. I was going to try to find you, but I didn't want to leave Caleb in case he wrote another-"

  "Rosa." Joe laid both hands on her shoulders. "I'm sorry, OK? I was making some phone calls. What's the matter?"

  "This!" Rosa shoved the paper at his face. The bold, handwritten letters screamed at him-SAVE GILL.

  Joe knew right away it was one of Caleb's writings. He took the paper from Rosa and stared at it. Save Gill. What does-? Oh, no. Maggie was next. The blood drained out of his face and could have pooled in his feet for all he knew; his body was numb. His mind seemed to be stuck in mud. He tried to think, tried to process, but some soupy fog had floated into his head and clouded his brain. Maggie was next. Maggie was next. Maggie ... was ... next!

  He looked at Rosa. She was looking at him. "Maggie's next. The next victim."

  Without saying another word, he turned and bolted from the room. He didn't know what he would do, had no plan, but he had to do something. He heard Rosa calling after him, but he had to run. He had to hurry. No time for explanations. He ran down the corridor, through the lobby, out the sliding glass doors. The darkening outside world spun around him. Maggie's next. His own words echoed in his ears. Maggie's next! He had to do something. Think. Think. Think. Where would Maggie be? How would it happen? His mind was a black void, an empty abyss. "C'mon," he shouted, banging his forehead with his fist. "Think!"

  He flipped open his cell phone and punched in the number for the Dark Hills police.

  After two rings a man's voice answered on the other end. "Hello. Dark Hills-"

  "Is this Gary?"

  "Uh, no, this is Officer Wilt. Who's this?"

  Joe ran for his truck as he talked. "Andy, it's Joe Saunders. Is Maggie there?"

  There was a short pause. "Are you OK? It sounds like you're breathing heavy."

  "I'm running. Is Maggie there?"

  "No. She, uh, left for the evening. Can I take a message? Are you OK?"

  Joe reached his truck, opened the door, and slid in behind the wheel. "Did she go home?"

  Another pause.

  C'mon, Andy, we don't have time for this. "Did she go home?"

  "I don't know. What's this all about? Are you OK?"

  Joe started the engine and shifted into gear. "I'm fine. Andy, Maggie's the next victim. Do you know what she was gonna do after her shift? Where she was going?"

  Andy was beginning to sound skeptical. Just like Lieutenant Big Head. "Wait a minute. Did you say victim?"

  "Yes!" Joe hollered into the phone as he tore out of the Hillside parking lot, rubber squealing. "I'm heading over to her house now."

  "Of what?"

  "The beast, lion, animal... whatever. She's next."

  Andy blew out a breath of static. "How do you know this?"

  Joe caught himself. Telling Andy that a warning came from a comatose boy who writes messages given by God would not go over well. "I just know; that's all I can say. This is serious, Andy. We need to find her. She's the next victim."

  Now Andy sounded very skeptical. "Yeah, you said that already. And I'm supposed to believe you because you have some feeling, right? You just know."

  C'mon, cmon. Not now. Joe took a left-hand turn at thirty miles an hour. The tires of his truck screamed against the asphalt. "Andy! It's real. Just believe me. Call Gary and tell him; maybe he knows where she was going or what she was gonna do. Wait a minute. Hang on. I'm almost at her house."

  "Joe, let's just say what you're telling me is-"

  "She's not home."

  "Come again?"

  Joe said it louder and slower. "She's not home. Her car isn't in her driveway, and all the lights in her house are out. I'm gonna knock on the door." He jumped out of his truck, ran up the front walk, and knocked on the wooden front door. "Andy, you still there?"

  "Yes." Andy was sounding more and more impatient.

  "She's not home." He looked in the windows. "All the lights are out. The house is empty. Looks undisturbed. She never came home. What time did she leave?"

  "About five, maybe quarter of. Maybe she had some errands to run or went over to someone's house for dinner. I really don't-"

  "Andy! Just call Gary; maybe he knows where she went."

  "Joe-"

  "Please, Andy. How would you feel if, by some freak chance, I'm right and something did happen to her? How would you feel?"

  Andy sighed. "OK, OK. I'll ask Gary if he knows anything."

  "Thanks. Call me at this number, OK?"

  "Yeah."

  CHAPTER 34

  ARY RUMBLED DOWN the dirt lane that wound its way through Walker's fields. His cruiser bounced over deep ruts, sometimes bottoming out, kicking up a cloud of dirt. He'd just gotten off the radio with Andy. He didn't want to give too much credit to Saunders's odd call, but Maggie did say she was going straight home after work, and Andy said she wasn't there. Maybe, just maybe, she had stopped by to pay Psycho a visit. If anyone could get information out of him it would have been Maggie. Bauer trusted her. Sort of.

  The cruiser slid to a stop, gravel spitting up around the tires. Gary swung the door open and jumped out, leaving the headlights on to illuminate the trailer. A light was on inside, and he caught a glimpse of a shadow dart past the window.

  Gary tightened his jaw and clenched his fists. He wasn't going to play games with this nutcase. Bauer would give him some straight answers or-

  He hopped up the three steps, opened the storm door, and knocked hard. "Stevie Bauer, open the door. This is Officer Warren."

  The soiled curtain slid to the side, and Bauer peered his grimy face out the window. Then the curtain fell back into place.

  Gary knocked again. Harder. "Bauer, if you don't open this door I'm gonna bust it down. Open up!"

  The door cracked open no more than six inches, and Bauer poked his nose out. "What do you want?"

  Gary shoved the door and jerked it open. It creaked on its hinges and knocked Bauer off balance.

  Gary caught him, placed a hand on his chest, and drove him into the kitchen. "Was Chief Gill here?" He towered over the smaller man and knew how to use his size to his advantage. Built to intimidate.

  Bauer cowered away, stumbled, and caught himself against the counter. "N-no. Not recently. Why are you askin' me? I ain't done nothin'."

  Hands on his hips, Gary scanned the disheveled kitchen and living room. "It stinks in here. Don't you ever take the garbage out?"

  Bauer didn't say anything. He only leaned against the counter and eyed Gary suspiciously.

  Gary asked again, sl
ow and demanding. "Did Chief Gill stop by here?"

  Eyes wide with fear, Bauer shook his head, his shaggy hair flip-flopping back and forth.

  Gary reached out, grabbed a handful of Bauer's shirt, and yanked him closer, so close their noses were only inches apart and he could smell the smaller man's stale breath. Bauer was like a rag doll in his hands. He could break him so easily if he wanted to. It was actually very tempting. He never did like this freak. Gary wrinkled the bridge of his nose and looked right through Bauer's wild eyes. "Don't lie to me, Stevo. I don't like liars."

  Muted sounds. Somebody talking. A familiar voice. And footsteps. Miles away. Somewhere on the other side of... of what?

  Maggie was facedown in darkness, surrounded by it, smothered under it, lost in it. It pressed down on her, pinning her to the ground. She tried to lift her head, but it was filled with cement. And it throbbed like a jackhammer.

  The warmth of her body had faded and a damp chill had set in, seeping into her bones, sending her muscles into violent shivers.

  She tried to open her eyes, but the darkness was so thick, so oppressive, maybe they were already open; she couldn't tell.

  There. The voice again. Familiar but muted. Her mind was a cloud, teetering between consciousness and unconsciousness. Fading in and out of reality. Was this a dream? No. Reality was greeted by the cold throbbing in her head, distanced by the warmth and comfort of sleep.

  Maybe she was in hell.

  She tried to open her mouth, but it was sealed shut, her lips fused. There was something in her mouth, something that carried an awful taste. She tried to swallow, but her throat was like sandpaper, her mouth like cotton.

  This must be hell.

  Slowly, the dream cleared and consciousness began its painful return. Her hands were bound, as were her feet. She was in a hole of some sort, lying on the ground. The back of her head began to burn, bringing with it the memory of a gunshot. Was she shot? Was she supposed to be dead? Maybe she'd been buried alive. Maybe they-who?-she didn't knowthey thought she was dead and buried her. Panic gripped her chest like an icy hand, and she tried to scream. It was useless. Whatever was in her mouth muffled any sound coming from her throat.