Hunter 3 : Lost Souls

by Heath Stallcup

  “I have no doubt.” I leaned back in my chair and eyed the book warily. “But you’ll forgive me for not putting too much hope into this.”

  She nodded. “It will work. Trust me.” She carefully picked the book up and set it aside. “I’ll find somebody who can read this. Once it’s translated, we can–”

  “You actually trust somebody to translate this?” I pushed my chair back and eyed her. “I mean, if this book is the tell-all, know-all of the afterlife, can we trust a third party to translate?”

  There was that impish grin again. “Do you really think that a modern scholar is going to believe the hocus -pocus in some archaic book?” She waved her arms. “I mean, you’re ancient, yet you still rely on your computer, for ‘truth,’ don’t you?”

  I wasn’t sure if that was meant as a joke or if she was serious. I tried not to take it as a jab. “You mean, while they trust in their technological magic, we’ll look to a more authentic source to discover what is real.”

  She nodded. “Exactly.”

  Chapter 2

  Do you have any idea how hard it is not to look intimidating when you stand 6’7” and weigh close to three-hundred and fifty pounds? Even though my hair was beginning to grow back, it was still close-cropped, and since Laura braided the hair on my chin, I must have looked like…well, a Viking. All I needed was a bear skin throw and a battle axe to complete the image.

  The Historical Linguistics professor she found at Texas State seemed nice enough over the phone. I could tell he was a bit apprehensive once we showed up in person; all of the color drained from his face. His hands shook a bit as he pulled the cotton gloves on. He treated the book like it was something holy. Maybe to him it was.

  As he studied the first pages, he explained that oil from your hands can destroy documents as old as these. He guessed it to have been hand written loose leaves that were bound around the 12th century. “I’m guessing those are rare?” I asked. I wasn’t dignified with an answer.

  It took some doing, but he was finally able to image the pages. He used a bunch of computer tricks to bring out the color of the inks. He wanted us to leave the book there with him, but Laura wouldn’t hear of it. She said that she could return with the book another day so that he could finish his work. The professor was adamant about continuing. The pair finally agreed to work through the night. To say that I was bored would be an understatement. Yes, maybe there was something that could help me locate my soul, but…let’s face it. If it isn’t trying to attack me, eat me, kill me, or rape me, I find it rather slow.

  I’m just not that scholarly, especially when it involves using technology. Yeah, I can sort of navigate my way through the computer. I even let Laura get me a “smart” phone. Good grief. I liked the phone I had. If I wanted to text, it would allow it. So what if I had to punch the 7 button four times to make an “s.” I didn’t care. I preferred to make calls. I could say in thirty seconds what it took a half hour for me to explain via text. I don’t understand why people opt for it. It wastes so much time. And the phone I had was waterproof and could be dropped off a mountain and still work. This one? I stare at it too hard and the glass breaks. Not to mention that I ‘fat finger’ the damned thing.

  But again, I digress. We were at the professor’s office and he and Laura were hard at it, imaging and highlighting the text of this damned book. I couldn’t even tell you if she had the correct title; she just kept calling it The Path.

  I finally got tired of pacing the hallways outside of the office and slid down the wall to sit on the floor. I assumed the lotus position and tried to clear my mind. It’s a trick I hadn’t used in a long time, but I found it peaceful.

  While in the meditative state, my mind wandered. I could see outside the buildings and across the city. I watched as the sun set and the city came to life, lights glistening in windows and reflecting across wet streets.

  People vanished from the sidewalks and cars stood out in the darkness as their headlights and tail lights burned in contrast to the darkness of the city. I hovered above it all and was about to send my consciousness higher for a better view when a voice broke into my thoughts.

  “Let’s go. We have something.”

  Instantly I was back on the floor and looking up at Laura. “Already? I thought he would have needed to study it for a–”

  “No. We have something. We’ll have to finish this,” she held up the book, “another time.” She waved her phone in front of my face and gave me a knowing look. “It’s important.”

  “Duty calls.” I came to my feet and she practically yanked me from the hallway, the book clutched to her chest.

  “What’s the rush?”

  She pushed the door open and we slipped out and into the chill air. “This is priority.” She climbed into the truck and had the book tucked into a leather satchel before I got behind the wheel.

  “What’s going on?” I gave her a worried look as I turned the key and the big engine roared to life.

  “I got this creepy message from the council.” She pulled her phone back out and scrolled through the messages. “Priority Alert. Hunter attack, downtown Boston…” She held her phone out to me and I scanned it.

  “Boston?” I had been the hunter assigned to Boston. I don’t know why I assumed the position would be left unfilled. I tried to think about the profiles of available hunters I had and no one stood out; I couldn’t remember a replacement for the area. “Who is it?”

  She shook her head. “No name. Just…‘a hunter.’”

  I glanced at my watch. This would mean driving all day and most of the next night. I sighed inwardly. I knew that wouldn’t cut it. “If it’s a priority, we’d better prepare the jet.”

  “Already on it.”

  * * *

  In case you are wondering, I hate to fly. Although I claimed that losing the ability to travel at the speed of thought was a welcome loss, the truth of the matter was, the entire time I packed, I kept squeezing my eyes shut and wishing myself to Boston.

  It never happened.

  I wouldn’t have cared if it poofed me into the middle of the market square in front of half the people who lived there. If it meant not having to fly, I was all for it. I would say that I put my foot down and made Laura stay behind, but the truth was, as soon as she said she was going, I was relieved. I didn’t argue.

  That’s not to say that she calls the shots. Well, not all of them. I am still technically her boss. But when she tells me to pack certain things, I do it. If she says to pick up something on the way home, I do. If she prances around naked, well…you get the picture.

  I sat in the overstuffed leather chair of the jet and gripped the arm rests tightly. She gave me that look and I tried to pull my hands loose, pretend to relax. If I could just get them into my lap I could…but no. They were not about to let go of the chair.

  She wrenched one hand free and clasped it in her own, caressing my fingers. It made me relax slightly and I barely screamed when the tires lifted from the ground.

  Did I mention that I hate flying?

  It’s not that I fear death. No…the odds of being beheaded in a crash are slim. It’s not the fear of fire–or the fear of being crushed under tons of aircraft aluminum. Or the thought of impacting the ground at mach seventeen that bothers me. No. It was the visceral fear of falling–that momentary weightlessness, the wind whipping through your hair, the ground rising to meet you like the specter of death is riding towards you at full speed.

  I have little doubt that I would survive a crash; I just don’t want to fall from the sky.

  Oh, you can duck and cover your head with a seat cushion and maybe you wouldn’t see it coming. But seriously, does anybody really think that will help? That total loss of control…that scares me–the fact that nothing I can do will make a difference.

  If I’m in a battle, even though I may be way out-matched, I’m still in control. If I’m driving, I’m in control. If I’m fucking…well, I have some control. Laura really directs
that dance. But the fact that I have some say in the matter makes all the difference in the world.

  But airplanes? If the gods had wanted man to fly, we’d all be born with wings or a rocket up our asses. No. Man was not meant to fly. I don’t care what the Wright brothers think, crazy bastards.

  So here we were, up in the night sky. Blackness outside, the roar of the jets droning on like so many angry bees just outside the windows. And Laura acts like it’s no big deal. She went on and on about the faxes that were coming in, the profile on the hunter assigned there, the quality of the wine served. I heard none of it. I suppose it’s a good thing that she likes to talk. She wouldn’t mind repeating it all once our feet were back on solid ground.

  “You’re not listening to me are you?” Was it the second or third time she had asked me that?

  I turned from the window and gave her a confused look. “Are you talking to me?”

  She closed the folder and slid out of her seat. “Your mind is a million miles away.”

  I shook my head, doing my best to unclench my teeth. And my sphincter. “Not really. Just about one mile.” I pointed out the window. “Back down there.”

  She grinned for me.

  “I know how to get your mind off of where you are.”

  I hiked a brow at that. “I highly doubt it.”

  She sidled in next to me and whispered in my ear, “Ever wanted to join the Mile High Club?”

  * * *

  I fucking love flying!

  I could go on and on about how wonderful flying is, but I don’t want to bore you. Just know that there is nothing greater than flying. In a plane. At night. Across a black and desolate land. It’s glorious!

  So, we were back on the ground and she had my full attention. The car that waited for us drove from the private airport to the small home that I’d once called my own. I recognized the roads as soon as we hit them. Things hadn’t changed much at all, and I wasn’t surprised to find the house exactly as I left it–on the outside, anyway. I’d pretty much trashed the place before I left. Fighting with angels has a tendency to remodel an interior.

  Laura handed me the file and I scanned through it. I pulled a sheet out and handed it to her. “Is this the guy?”

  “He’s the newest; the last two enforcers were killed before they could complete a single mission.” She hooked her chin toward the house. “They’ve relocated him, but he’s supposed to meet us here.”

  I flipped through the file and saw no mention of the new address. “Where is he staying now?”

  “Not here.” She gave me a look I couldn’t read. “Apparently, they won’t even trust us with his location until this is handled.”

  “Great. Nothing like being suspect and still expected to fix the problem.”

  We stepped out of the car and Laura told the driver to wait around the corner. If anybody came by the place, we didn’t want them to know that our car was nearby.

  I walked to the front door and tried the knob. It wasn’t locked.

  We entered and saw the aftermath of the previous two enforcers. Whoever performed the job was messy. There were holes in the walls, overturned furniture, blood splatters and ash everywhere.

  I stooped and dragged my finger through the crusted blood. I crumbled it and inhaled deeply. “Vampire.”

  “Whoever did this wanted them to hurt before he killed them.” She worked past me and into the rear of the home. She checked the bedrooms and reported them clear.

  I could taste the silver in the air. I glanced about, hoping to see what weapons were used. Nothing was obvious.

  Laura tiptoed near the air register. “Silver nitrate.” She held a swab out, the tip of it black.

  “So whoever it was, knew that the occupants were vampires. Used silver in the air to…what? Weaken them?”

  She shrugged. “Or poison them slowly.”

  “It was a three pronged attack.” We both spun to see a man dressed in a business suit just inside the doorway. His trenchcoat wasn’t buttoned; the butt of a gun was visible beneath his left arm.

  “You’re the current enforcer?” I stood and eyed him warily.

  “I’m the investigator sent by the council.” He stepped aside and a much larger man stepped in behind him, pulling the door shut. “He’s the enforcer.” The larger man bowed his head slightly. He wore sunglasses at night. I automatically didn’t like him. Good thing I was his boss.

  “And you are…?” I stood and had to look down at the pair.

  The enforcer held a hand out. “Damien. Smitt.”

  I took his hand and noted his reaction to the warmth of my grip; I saw his brow rise behind the sunglasses. I gave him a curt nod. “You’ll hear a lot of rumors about me.”

  Laura had to pipe in her two cents as well. “And it’s all true.” She slid in next to me and eyed the suit. “Why did they send an investigator?”

  “Standard procedure, I assure you.” The suit cleared his throat. “What isn’t standard procedure is having the regional adjunct present. I’ve not even filed my report yet.”

  “The problem is priority.” I turned and scanned the rooms again, hoping something would stand out. “You said it was three pronged?”

  The suit stepped into the room and around Laura. “They used silver nitrate in the ventilation system. That disoriented the enforcer. Then they just came through the front door.” He paused and pointed out the splintered door jam. “If you check the rear of the place, you’ll see that the windows have been jimmied. Somebody, or a team of somebodies, also entered through the rear and the two met in the middle.”

  Damien pointed to a dark spot on the floor. “That was Jacoby. They tortured him for some time before they ashed him.”

  “Why didn’t they move the second enforcer as soon as they knew this location was compromised?” I wasn’t directing my question directly to either of them, but it also wasn’t rhetorical.

  The suit squirmed a bit then spoke. “They, uh…well, they did. But the equipment and files here needed to be retrieved.”

  It was my turn to hike a brow. “So they sent the brand new enforcer to pick it up? Why not send in a clean up team?”

  More squirming. “I…don’t…I don’t know.”

  I squared my shoulders and glanced to the windows. “How long?”

  The suit seemed off guard. “Excuse me?”

  “How long? Between Jacoby meeting his maker and the second enforcer arriving?”

  “Oh. Just a matter of days.” The suit seemed happy that he could actually answer a question.

  “And how long has it been since the second enforcer bought it?”

  The suit appeared perplexed. “Well I guess…I don’t know for certain.” He glanced at Damien.

  “It’s been two days.”

  “And I’m just hearing about it.” I ground my teeth and tried not to yell. I glanced to Laura, who nodded. “They could be watching us as we speak.”

  “Hey, where’s she going?” The suit watched as she jogged down the hall.

  “She’s checking the perimeter, see if she can pick up a scent.” I pointed to Damien. “Meanwhile, you grab whatever you need from this location. Load it, but don’t leave yet.”

  Damien nodded, then paused. “Don’t leave?”

  “If they’re watching us now, we don’t want them to follow you, now do we?”

  “Oh.” I could literally see the lightbulb come on above his head. This one would be a real joy to work with. I could tell. I have that knack.

  “I don’t understand. Pick up a ‘scent?’” The suit looked to me for answers.

  I sighed inwardly and stretched my neck. “Your job is to investigate. So? Investigate. My job is to fix this fuck up. So guess what I’m going to do.”

  “I understand that, but you said–”

  “I said, ‘do your fucking job.’” I glared at the man and I think the point was made. I don’t answer to him, so no answers would be forthcoming.

  Laura pushed open the front door then sh
ut it quickly behind her. “There were three of them. Two came in the bedroom windows, one through the door. Definitely human.”

  “What else?”

  “The one that came through the front door wore too much cologne.” She scrunched her nose. “If I had to guess, it was Pierre Cardin.”

  Great. An 80s yuppie wannabe. “How long ago?”

  She shrugged. “Scent is faded. I’m going to guess two, maybe three days.”

  “So they haven’t returned since their last attack.” I scratched at my chin and eyed the front door. I pulled it open slowly and examined the damage; I didn’t see a shoe-print and the dent looked almost perfectly round. “Looks like they used a battering ram.”

  “Ah. Yes.” The suit stepped closer, ready to bring a ray of light to the shadows. “We did find a police style door ram in the front lawn.”

  “Did you think to have it checked?”

  “We did. No prints, which only means the perp used gloves.”

  Perp? Did he actually just say “perp?” I sighed. “Was it police issue?” It would help narrow down the suspect list if we knew the attacker wore a badge.

  “I uh…I don’t…I don’t know.”

  I was really starting to hate his stuttering. This guy seemed like a lot of things to me, but an investigator wasn’t one of them. Paper pusher or corporate kiss-ass, definitely, but not an investigator.

  I shut the door and nodded to Damien. “Is that all of it?”

  He carried a cardboard box into the living room and nodded. “Everything that’s important.”

  I looked to Laura. “Go with him. Make sure you aren’t followed. If there’s the slightest hint–”

  She held a hand up. “I know. Meander and work our way back here.” She motioned with her head to the door and the two disappeared into the night.

  “What about me?” The suit actually looked scared.

  “I’m gonna stick around and see if these assholes show up again.” I grinned at him. “You can do whatever you like.”

  “I uh…I think I’ll finish my report. And then turn it in.” He glanced around the place quickly. “It would appear that you have everything in hand.” He turned for the door. “Good luck to you, Mr. Ericson.”