The Trophy Hunter

by J. M. Zambrano

  She braked slowly to a halt, feeling the car skid slightly as she pulled to the side of the road. Ahead, the rock mountain seemed to close in on her.

  The possibility that Jess and Rogart were not at Brookvale seemed remote. That she should follow his trail like an unsuspecting bird was so…not… Not what? Not smart. Not prudent. Not a hell of a lot of other choices. Jessie, I can’t just leave you.

  Chapter 60

  The soft jangle of his cell phone shatters the moment. The Hunter curses the intrusion as he moves away from Jess’s supine body and plucks the phone from the pocket of his jeans. Arlette’s number jumps out at him from the small screen.

  “Yes?” He can barely conceal his annoyance.

  “You said you’d be right back,” she reminds him.

  His face twists as he mouths her words in silent mockery before he replies aloud, “What is it?”

  “You need to know that a lawyer was here looking for the black woman.”

  He takes a deep breath, steps into his jeans and pulls them up while holding the cell in the crook of his neck. “Probably someone the family sent. Was the situation resolved?”

  “Roy has taken care of the car. But I have a question. Why would the lawyer refer to the black woman as her colleague?”

  “You must have misunderstood,” he says. “Is the lawyer still hanging around?”

  “She left, but if she was sent by the family members—”

  “I’m sure that was it.” He curses again under his breath.

  “Why can’t people just respect their loved ones’ decisions?” asks Arlette.

  He aches to choke her and stuff her in the crematorium. He can’t wait for the day. He doesn’t know which irritates him more—her cloying or her stupidity. Has she signed the transfer papers for Brookvale yet? The question hangs, unasked. She’s probably not that stupid.

  “It’s a sad situation,” he finally replies.

  “She looks so…healthy,” Arlette comments.

  He hates it when people try to elicit answers without asking questions.

  When he doesn’t respond, she continues, “I said the black woman looks in good health.”

  You should see her now. “She’s been in a lot of pain,” he replies. “Is there anything else?”

  “I think the lawyer may have gone to the police. When I didn’t see her leave, I sent Roy out to look for her. He found her nosing around.” Arlette lowers her voice to a whisper. “He is becoming a problem. You need to talk to him. I’ve told him that he’ll be provided for after I’m gone.”

  “I’ll talk to him. He won’t have any financial worries. Is that it?”

  “I called the sheriff and told him that the woman was bothering me.”

  Oh, great. “What did he say?”

  “He called me back to say he’d sent her on her way with a warning. He said she seemed a bit off. He thinks she probably went back to Denver.”

  “Good job,” he says before hanging up.

  During his conversation with Arlette, his eyes are on Jess. Detecting no movement, he judges that the ketamine in her system will hold her until he takes care of the Diana business.

  Downstairs in front of a window that gives him an unobstructed view of Brookvale’s east entrance, he reviews where he went wrong. When she’d gotten away from him that afternoon, he was so sure that she’d hightail it back to Denver. Now that he doesn’t need her any more, she turns into one more loose end. She’ll burn for that, he decides. Literally.

  Chapter 61

  Intense lights tweaked Jess’s consciousness. A soft groan escaped her lips as one eye half-opened. Her lids felt like they had weights on them. So bright. So white.

  She looked up at the ceiling, source of the brightness. Am I in a hospital? She moved her arms with great effort. Then, her legs. Her fingers traced along the metal surface on which she lay. So cold. Then she realized that she was naked.

  Her head ached with a vengeance. In the back. Her hand sought out the place that hurt, at the base of her skull. She withdrew her fingers and looked at them. No blood. Then she remembered the needle prick. Somebody gave her a shot. Whatever was in it must be giving her the headache.

  The room smelled of disinfectant and something she couldn’t immediately identify. As she tried to sit up, the pain in her head intensified, but she persisted. It seemed imperative that she get off that table, but she couldn’t remember why.

  Her eyes widened as she focused across the room on a row of steel cabinet doors with large handles. The handles were in the centers of the doors. They looked like…

  Jesus Christ! I’m in a morgue.

  Jess tried to swing her legs over the side of the table, but had to lay back as dizziness overcame her. As one hand flopped down on her inner thigh, she felt something wet and slimy. Am I bleeding…internally?

  She dipped into the slime, then looked at her hand, expecting blood. But the substance was colorless. Then the strange scent that didn’t go with the antiseptic surroundings identified itself.

  Semen!

  Whatever had been her last meal came lurching up into her throat as she sat up again. Quickly, so she could retch over the side of the table. So she wouldn’t choke on her own vomit. When there was nothing left to disgorge, she wiped her mouth on her arm, then slithered carefully to a standing position on the floor, gripping the table for support.

  Her last ride with Darren came reeling into cognition. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! A lot of good coulda-woulda-shoulda was going to do her now.

  As her eyes dragged the corners of the room for some sign of him, she wondered. He’d left her alone because… Shit! I wasn’t supposed to wake up.

  Jess staggered toward the only door in the room, tried the handle. That it was locked didn’t really surprise her. She looked around for her clothes. They weren’t in evidence.

  She took a more thorough look at the room. Two stainless steel tables. A double sink. Shelving that held bottles and jars of stuff, plastic tubing and a bunch of other junk you’d expect in a lab. Something in the far corner that looked like a furnace. She didn’t want to go near that—not really. Dizziness forced her back against the bank of drawers that reminded her of a morgue.

  Even as she realized that getting out of this room should be her first priority, Jess felt the handle of the drawer that she leaned upon. Her fingers tightened around it. Then she pulled.

  At first the drawer remained stationary. Jess tugged again, harder. With a faint sound of sloshing liquid, it came sliding out as she moved back, making room for whatever it contained.

  Oh, God! She choked back any audible sound. A naked female form lay suspended on an opaque liquid. Jess looked closer. Blond and young, she almost appeared to be sleeping. Trisha! The girl looked just like her picture. An odor of paraffin emanated from the drawer.

  Ohmigod. This is the procedure!

  Jess felt as if she’d been poked by a cattle prod. On suddenly steady feet, she dashed across the room and tried the only window. Boarded shut from the outside. Her spaghetti legs crumpled under her. She struggled back to a standing position.

  There must be something here. She searched frantically for a tool of some sort, a sharp object to use on the door lock, or if all else failed, as a weapon. One of the shelves had drawers in it. Jess opened them until she found what she was looking for: surgeon’s tools. She grabbed a scalpel, then attacked the door lock with quiet urgency. She hadn’t picked that many locks. Each scrape made her stop and listen for returning footsteps. Each listening pause made her hold her breath, as that sounded even louder to her ear than the rasp of metal against metal. As she worked, she marveled at how quickly her head had cleared. If only her body cooperated as well.

  Chapter 62

  Diana rounded the dark mountain, grateful for the intermittent wind that now covered the sound of her engine. At least the snow had moved on down to Denver by now. She hugged the side of the dirt road, creeping along at fifteen miles an hour.

  Five minutes p
assed before her headlights picked up the sign: Brookvale-Elevation 7,658 ft. On the west side of the mountain she saw the dim outline of a group of buildings in a clearing. The road seemed to end at this point. Perhaps there was another fork before it circled back eastward. Faint lights glimmered from one of the larger buildings that set back farthest from the road.

  If Rogart had a night scope, she’d be a sitting duck. Where had that thought come from? She quickly flipped off her headlights as all the childhood hunting lessons came slinking back into her head, as if they’d known all along that someday she’d need them.

  The ground under her car dropped unexpectedly. She caught her breath. Just a bump. The road hadn’t ended after all. She turned off the engine and coasted down toward the entrance to the group of buildings, still impelled by the slant of the road. A sign attached to wooden poles that framed the entrance was unlit. Unreadable. She coasted past the entrance to where a fork in the road enabled her to either return the way she’d come or continue west into deep forest. She continued west.

  The car came to rest as the road sloped upward. Diana restarted the engine. The wind was still providing good sound cover. About a half mile into the forest, the compass on her rear view mirror told her she was angling south. Soon, she should be positioned in back of the group of buildings. Her eyes strained to see lights. If there had been a moon, the storm had eaten it up. Nothing but blackness.

  The BMW’s engine coughed. Don’t die on me now. She shook her head to clear out the thought, then turned left into a thick grove of trees. Careful not to stray too far off the road, she picked an outcropping behind a large ponderosa pine for a marker. The oddly-shaped rock formation reminded her of some weird animal. Head like a beak, bulky body hunkered down, it sat almost humanlike with folded forearms. She’d remember this spot. If she got the chance to revisit it.

  Diana stopped the car, opened the door and took a deep breath of cold air. She eased out into the night, treading carefully on slick pine needles. Not exactly dressed for a hike in the woods, she at least had on a wool suit, all-weather boots and a down jacket. With a hood, even. She’d exhibited some good sense when she’d left her office some seven hours earlier. Who’d have thought it would all desert her? What did she think she was going to do? Turning back to her car, she opened the trunk and removed a wrench from the tool box she carried—tools that she had never used.

  What’ll I do with a wrench? Clunk him on the head? And meanwhile he’s doing…what?

  She stuck the wrench in her shoulder bag and moved cautiously through the icy woods, thinking what an inglorious end to a promising life. And in mortality’s shadow, life suddenly looked more precious. Even a childless, mateless life. Something in her wanted to just run back to her relatively warm BMW and get the hell out of there.

  But then she saw faint lights in the distance, and the thought of Jess shook her to the core. No turning back. Her choice.

  She’d only gone a few paces more when a hard poke in the small of her back told her that retreat was no longer an option.

  “Walk straight ahead, Diana.” Rogart’s voice was eerily pleasant. He might have been inviting her for an evening stroll.

  As she whirled around to face him, he hit her in the legs with the butt of his rifle, knocking her to the ground. Sharp pain quickly obliterated shock. She cowered for an instant, out of survival skills for the moment.

  Rogart towered over her, apparently relishing his power position. “Now, get up slowly and do exactly as I say. Next time you disobey, you’ll feel a lot more pain.”

  She nodded, then struggled to her feet. Fear closed off her throat. What did it matter? There was no on to hear her scream.

  “Walk toward the light,” he said, inclining his head toward the largest building, now visible in moonlight loosed by parting clouds.

  Pain in her left ankle intensified as she put weight on it. God, don’t let it be broken, That would surely wipe out any escape options.

  “You can go a little faster than that,” he mocked. “Jess is waiting for you.”

  Chapter 63

  When the lock on Jess’s prison door finally gave to her touch, she was covered with sweat even though she was just as cold and naked as before.

  She sucked in her breath, upper teeth biting into lower lip, then inched open the door. Hearing no approaching footsteps, she poked her head out into an open area bordered by a railing. As she crept out of the room, she found herself on a balcony overlooking the first floor of the building. A floor board creaked. She froze at the sound of voices coming from below.

  As Jess leaned cautiously over the second story railing, a wave of dizziness unsettled her. She clutched the railing for support as the scene below wiped out her hope of escape. Although the lighting was dim and her vision still blurred, she instantly recognized Rogart. His back to her, he held Diana at bay with a rifle. Fearing Diana would look up and give her position away, Jess staggered back. The whole scene seemed unreal. A set from a horror movie. A nightmare from which she’d wake. Or wouldn’t.

  Feeling her legs rapidly turning to rubber, Jess sank quietly to the floor. She could hear Diana trying to talk her way out of an impossible situation. Only Jess was sure that Diana had no idea what lay upstairs. She sounded too calm.

  “Think about it, Darren. What’s it going to do to your kids when you’re arrested again?”

  “What makes you think I’ll be arrested?”

  Jess crept back toward the railing on all fours and peeked down. Rogart’s back was still to her, but she could imagine a smirk on his face.

  “I’ve told people where I was going. A number of people. They know where to look for me,” replied Diana. “You don’t want to do this.”

  “This what?” he mocked.

  “Your kids need you,” continued Diana. “It’s not too late to let Jess and me go. You’ve been through a lot. I’m sure a judge would take that into consideration.”

  “You know you don’t believe any of that,” said Rogart. “Besides, Lori won’t need me much longer.”

  Jess watched fear steal through the veneer of confidence on Diana’s face as she asked, “Why not?”

  Rogart laughed. “She’s a little beauty, isn’t she?” he said. “I’ll harvest her soon. Didn’t want to do it without letting her know the carnal pleasures. Why do you think I let Shane have her?”

  As Rogart slipped momentarily from Jess’s view, a surge of bright light nearly blinded her. Was this what people see when they die? Was she dying?

  No. She could still hear Rogart’s voice. “Now you see how stupid your words are,” he said.

  Sanity teetered back. He’d obviously turned on a light and was showing Diana something, but Jess couldn’t imagine what could rival the upstairs horror.

  Whatever it was wiped away Diana’s pseudo-civility as she lunged at Rogart. He easily knocked her to the floor with the rifle butt. “Didn’t learn your lesson yet?” he asked.

  Pulling herself to a standing position, Jess gauged the distance to the floor below. She fingered the small scalpel still clutched in her left hand. Unless she instantly hit a vital spot with the knife, it wouldn’t put much of a dent in him. Could she slow him down long enough to get hold of the rifle? Could she even use it in her weakened state?

  As Rogart aimed a kick at Diana’s cowering body, Jess eased herself over the top of the railing. At that moment, her eyes met Diana’s. Rogart whirled and looked upward as Diana’s stifled scream warned him an instant before Jess leapt. She landed on his chest, knocking the rifle from his grasp. But when she tried to drive the scalpel into his throat, her arms felt like jelly. She only managed to get in a superficial cut to the side of his neck before he threw her off. She landed with a thump and a clatter against a hard surface in the area under the balcony, then slumped to the floor amid shards of breaking glass. Searing pain tore through her shoulder as a sharp fragment pierced it.

  Her eyes found what Rogart had shown Diana, the source of the glass: Three d
isplay cases decorated the area under the balcony. Two of them contained wax-like figures of nude women in provocative poses. The third case had broken with the impact of her body. A drum and animal skins tumbled from an African diorama.

  Jess rose and stumbled toward Diana, moving as though through thick molasses. Running out of adrenalin.

  “Jess, get out of the way!” Diana commanded in a voice Jess barely recognized. Through hazy consciousness, she saw that something had changed.

  Now Diana held the rifle.

  Jesus, Mary and Joseph! She’ll never be able to use it. She can’t even squash a bug without wincing.

  Jess moved back. Not quick enough. Rogart grabbed her, thrusting her between Diana and himself. One of his arms folded roughly over her face, while the other twisted her injured shoulder. The pain was like none she’d ever felt.

  Her brain and body fast going to mush, Jess summoned everything she had left. She forced open her jaw, feeling the hairs on his arm graze her lips. His smell, mingled with her own scent, made her forget the pain for an instant as anger took over. She bit down with all her remaining strength.

  * * *

  With a roar of pain, Rogart threw Jess from him. Diana watched her friend, now bleeding profusely from the shoulder wound, crumple like a rag doll.

  At least Jess wasn’t in the African diorama case. The horror of the other two cases twisted surreally in her brain.

  Then Rogart came toward her. “Put the gun down, Diana.” No artificial smile to hide behind now, he looked every bit the monster he was.

  Diana raised the rifle to her shoulder as she backed away, her resolve still a slippery slope. The contents of the diorama cases held her attention in a paralyzing grip. Brandi Rogart was certainly the woman in the Native American setting. Don’t look at them. Keep your eyes on Rogart.

  “Won’t do any good,” he scoffed. “It’s not loaded.” He’d gotten a hold of his bravado again, back in Darren mode. “Why do you think I hit you with it instead of shooting you?”