Hunter 3 : Lost Souls

by Heath Stallcup

  I didn’t care.

  Chapter 4

  Laura knew something wasn’t right with me before the plane took off. Instead of freaking out about the flight, or wanting to visit the Mile High Club again, I sulked. It wasn’t until I put my tray table up for lift off that I, myself realized something inside me was…off.

  Don’t misunderstand me; I’ve come to grips with what I am; you might even say I’ve embraced it. People are food to me. That’s why I don’t usually get too close to them. One doesn’t make a pet of their food. I make an exception for Laura because…well, technically, she’s not really human. I mean, yeah, she is, but she’s also not. For one thing, she’ll live a much longer life than a human–human. She can transform into animal creatures, which is not exactly a human trait, and besides, she’s hot as a three dollar pistol. Just because I’m no longer technically human doesn’t mean I’ve lost my humanity. Or does it?

  There was a time when I would have simply interrogated ol’ Rog then snapped his neck or sliced his throat. His death would have been quick and painless. More or less; either way, it wouldn’t have been an extended horror show of mutilation. What I did to that man today was…brutal. I knew it. I mean, deep down inside, I knew it. Yet, I still didn’t care. And that was what had me second guessing myself. Why didn’t I care?

  Look at it this way. You probably eat animals. Pork, beef, chicken, maybe the occasional rabbit. But do you go out of your way to torture them first? I’d say that if you do, you’re on the fast track to becoming a serial killer, and I speak from experience. Technically, I suppose that I am a serial killer. I’ve been killing humans for half a millennium. Sure, I was reluctant to just start savaging people. I tried feasting on animal blood, but the nutrition’s weak and the taste less than great. Eventually, I was able to switch to bagged blood. No, it isn’t as good as fresh from the body, still warm and sticky, pulsing its way in, the smell of fear on your victim, their eyes slowly closing. It’s a whole package. But, yeah, bags get the job done.

  But to torture a man? For what? Killing other vampires? I didn’t know those people. I had no vested interest in them. I’d never met them. I doubt that the council did either. So why did I feel compelled to push Rog beyond human pain thresholds? And why hide it from Laura?

  Did I really take pleasure in any of it? No, not really, which was some comfort. So why did I knowingly continue, despite my reservations? Was I in denial about my motives? No. I had neither reservations nor justifiable motives at the time. In fact, it wasn’t until much later that I even questioned my actions. And it was Laura’s embrace that did it. I asked myself, would she still love me if she knew what I’d done to that man?

  I didn’t like the answer I gave myself, so I pushed it away. I’d do better next time. Whatever it was, it was gone from my system. But just then, I was sitting on that damned plane, keeping her at arm’s length as we made our way back to Texas so I didn’t do anything stupid just to clear my own conscience. I knew that I’d have to push what I did deep into the back of my brain and never think of it again, otherwise I was sure to come clean and tell her; let the chips fall where they may.

  Yeah.

  Push it waaaay back there.

  * * *

  Once we were home, I went straight to our room and undressed for bed. No real words were exchanged, but I caught her staring at me, her face a mask of worry and concern. I tried to give her a reassuring smile. It probably looked as insincere as it felt. I slept fitfully that night. I do remember waking once, and her hand was on my chest. I could hear her voice softly soothing me back to sleep.

  The next morning things really went south. I went down for breakfast and as usual, she had cooked me a large plate of bacon. My blood was sitting out and waiting for me. I didn’t say a word to her as I walked in. I simply picked up the bag of blood, turned around and headed to the office. I didn’t join her. I didn’t comment on her body or even try to grab her.

  I sat behind my desk and kept the lights low. Thankfully, I hadn’t lost my night vision. Of the new abilities that came from eating the Nephilim and the angel, I feared that I would either lose the physical advantages of being a vampire, or worse, lose the human abilities. Namely, being unharmed by the sun. Oh, and love. I think I could love.

  She opened the doors to my office once she was finished cooking. I looked up and was actually surprised that she was wearing clothes. Real clothes. Not the kind that clung to her, the kind she knew I liked. She simply stated that the bacon was done if I wanted any, then she pulled the doors shut and I listened to her footsteps as she walked away. I finished my bag of blood and dumped it in the office trash.

  I had just switched on my computer when Laura stepped back in. “The professor called. He has something.”

  I stared at her and I don’t know why, I just wasn’t interested. I’d never had any faith in this creepy old book, despite Laura’s hope in it. I opened my mouth to tell her to go and check it out. If it was anything real, then I would meet her there. Instead my mouth said, “I’ll get my coat.”

  Was that out of habit? Was there a small part of me that knew that brushing off the alert would have hurt her feelings? Or was there an even smaller part of my psyche that knew that what I was about to say the wrong thing? Whatever part of me that took that initiative may well have saved my ass.

  All I know is I was out of my chair and pulling my new long coat over my shoulders. I could feel the weight of the angel weapons in the folds. There was something comforting to having those weapons handy even if they wouldn’t be needed. Call it a security blanket of destruction and mayhem. I knew that if anything came calling while I was out, I could most likely dispatch it with my heavenly arsenal.

  I patted the pocket where the crossbow sat and ensured the bolts were still in place before I stepped out of the office and pulled the door shut behind me.

  “Did he say what he found?”

  “Nope.” She pulled the front door open and stepped out into the sun. “Just that he had something.”

  I noticed she carried the book with her as she made her way to my truck. “Do we need that?” I pointed to the leather satchel.

  “We didn’t finish imaging the pages, but I want to find out what he has first; I know you don’t want to spend a lot of time there.” She pulled the door shut and as soon as I climbed up into the cab, she continued. “If there’s something missing, we can image the rest of the pages and let him translate them.”

  The drive to the university was mostly quiet. Laura refused to even look at me. She stared out of the windows and avoided any attempts at conversation. I guess I couldn’t really blame her. She had let me sulk during the flight, but once the plane landed, she tried to get me to open up to her. I wasn’t ready. I was still trying to shove what I’d done into the farthest recesses of my mind. She took it personally, like I didn’t trust her with my deepest secrets. I guess she was right.

  It was during this drive that I decided that whatever we found, I had to make a decision. I either needed to be forthcoming with her or come to terms with what I’d done, justify it, rationalize it, and shove it so deep that it never resurfaced.

  The most confusing part, what I kept mulling over was that I still had no issues with what I did to ol’ Rog. He ashed two of my kind for a stupid robbery and deserved whatever was meted out to him; maybe it was a little much, sometimes that happens. The result was the same. I was more concerned with what she would make of me not feeling any remorse. How’s that for being whipped?

  We pulled into the parking lot and shut off the engine. It seemed almost devoid of life. It took me a moment to realize that it was the weekend. Why the professor would go to such trouble on his time off was beyond me.

  Laura hopped out of the truck and was making her way up the steps of the building before I realized I was still sitting behind the wheel, watching. I sighed to myself and followed her.

  Yes, I noticed her ass as she climbed the stairs. I’m not completely dead.

>   * * *

  “It’s not exactly Aramaic. I mean it is, but…” he trailed off, chuckling to himself. “It’s a very old dialect.” He turned and pulled a dusty looking book from a shelf. Flipping open the pages, he pointed to a photo. “This is one of the oldest known forms of Aramaic. It’s been assumed it was derived from Sumerian because of the crossovers. A lot of the words are rooted in Sumerian and the words on these pages are actually more like a ‘missing link’ between the two languages.”

  Laura looked up and with a straight face she asked, “Atlantian?”

  I expected the professor to throw us out at that point. Instead he nodded. “It’s not impossible. If Atlantis was as old a culture as Plato reported it to be before its demise, there is a strong possibility that this, or something like it, was used there.”

  I shook my head. I was regretting even paying attention to the conversation now. “Wait. You’re telling me you believe in the Lost City of Atlantis?” To my credit, I held back my scoff.

  The professor pulled his glasses from his face and wiped at them with a handkerchief. “There’s actually a lot more evidence pointing toward Atlantis being real than there is against it. Just because it has become the focus of fictional literature doesn’t make it ‘not real.’” He slipped his glasses on and eyed me cautiously.

  “You're saying you have a problem with Atlantis?” Laura’s brow was raised and she scowled at me. I could almost read her mind: You’re a vampire, screwing a Werecat. You work for a secret society that hunts down supernatural creatures and kills them. You fought Loki and were stopped by Thor, but, yeah. You have a problem with believing an ancient culture disappeared into the sea centuries ago.

  I shrugged. She had a point. “I guess not. I just thought it was all myth.”

  “Like vampires and werewolves,” she muttered.

  See. I knew exactly what that look meant. I may not be good at some things, but I’m very good at reading women

  “Carry on professor. What have you discovered?”

  “Ah.” He bent over the copies he’d had made and began pointing out different characters. “I found the key.”

  “The key?” I really hoped he meant the key to tracking down my soul. I had no idea how much Laura may or may not have told him, but at this point, I was ready to be done with this lingo exercise.

  “The key to deciphering the pages.” He flipped through the numerous pages of copies and tapped one in the corner. “See? Here. It’s almost like a Rosetta Stone. Your manuscript isn’t in just one language; it’s written in three. Luckily, with this chart, I was able to decipher which words belonged to which dialects.”

  He flipped back through and pointed to the first three lines. “This, you see, is actually the same sentence repeated three times. Here, it is written in this Aramaic hybrid, this,” he pointed to the next line, “ a Sumerian hybrid–which could be Atlantian, and finally, formal Sumerian.” He smiled proudly. “Simple to convert now that we have the key.”

  I tried not to sound frustrated. “I thought you already had it translated?”

  “Oh, no. No, no, no…you took off so suddenly with the manuscript that I didn’t have time to image all the pages. This part…really fascinating…summarizes the known history of the belief in a soul, according to each culture. I noted several names here of people’s, civilizations, that I’d never heard of, which is a life’s work in itself. But to your query, it would appear that from the dawn of Man, we’ve always believed that our bodies were mere vessels for that which makes us, us.”

  He pointed to the satchel. “The rest is still in there?”

  I slid the satchel to him. “Get after it then.”

  I turned and walked out of the laboratory, my teeth aching from grinding them. I didn’t hear her follow me out. “What is your problem?”

  I spun and looked down at her. She was pissed.

  I shook my head slightly. I didn’t think I had a problem–that she knew of. “I…”

  “That man is trying his best and instead of offering a small bit of patience, you’re snapping at him.”

  I took a half step back and stared at her. “I didn’t realize I had.”

  “Well you did. And it’s old already.” She stuck her finger in my face. “We’re doing this for you. Show a little fucking gratitude, will ya?”

  She spun and marched back inside. I think she would have slammed the door if the hydraulic actuators hadn’t caught them and shut them gently.

  I stared after her and wished I understood exactly what I did wrong, but that was a cop-out. I was pretty sure I knew.

  Yeah. I knew.

  * * *

  I was seated in the lotus position, my mind wandering above the master’s rock sanctuary when she kicked my knee. I was wishing I could pop in and pick the master’s brain. He always seemed to know a lot more of what was going on than I did. Maybe he could help me come to terms with what I was dealing with. I opened an eye and turned my face toward her. She was still mad.

  “He’s finished imaging the pages. He’ll call us when he has it translated.”

  I nodded and came to my feet. “Then our work here is done?”

  She gave me a look. This time it questioned my use of the word “our.” I sighed and nodded. I walked her to the double glass doors and held one open for her. She marched through and the cold wave from her was more than enough to confirm her meaning and expand on it.

  I trudged down the steps and climbed into the truck. Usually meditating in the lotus position refreshes me, but this single encounter with her anger left me tired, physically and emotionally.

  I started the truck and chanced a glance at her. She was staring out the side window. Something on that side of the parking lot must have been very attention grabbing. I considered the ramifications of what I was about to do. I did it anyway.

  I turned the key back and killed the engine. She finally turned and gave me a questioning look. “What are you doing?”

  “Coming clean.” I shifted in the seat so that I could look at her. “You’re not going to want to hear what I have to say.”

  “Then shut up and drive.”

  “And continue to face this constant silent treatment? It’s not improving my mood, if that’s what it’s supposed to do. You wanted to know what was eating at me? I’m going to tell you.”

  She shifted in her seat and glared at me. “If you want to break up with me, just say so.”

  I was stunned. I wasn’t sure what to say. I must have looked stupid. I know my mouth opened at least twice, but nothing came out. I finally shook off her statement and tried to get her attention. “No, that’s not it at all. In fact, it’s just the opposite. My fear is that you won’t want to be with me once I spill it.”

  She crossed her arms and cocked her head to the side. Her mouth was a pressed thin line and I could almost feel the wall she had put up around herself.

  I started at the beginning. I told her what I did to the men. To Rog, and I gave her the gory details. I told her that I only questioned my tactics once I was through, and more importantly, that I never regretted it. It was unnecessary violence unlike anything I had done before and I thought it should have caught me off guard. But the only thing I was concerned with was what she would think of me.

  She studied me for a moment. I wasn’t sure if she was trying to decide if my words were true or if I was blowing smoke up her ass.

  “Then who is Inga?”

  I was dumbfounded. I felt my face knit into a knot of confusion. “Where did you hear that name?”

  “In your sleep.” She almost seemed hopeful for a moment then the stone façade returned.

  I nodded. I think I understood where the anger was coming from. It wasn’t my guilty silence or petulance that had her worried. It was that green eyed monster that tends to rear its head early in a relationship. I had confessed my deeds for nothing.

  I took a deep breath and told her of the woman who turned me. How she became my teacher, my mentor, my lover
. I told her how she was killed and that I didn’t allow myself to feel for anybody for a very long time.

  She absorbed every word and seemed to accept that I was honest with her. Her face finally softened. “And you meant it when you said you thought I might reject you for what you did to those men?”

  I nodded.

  Slowly her mouth formed a smile and she shook her head. “No.”

  I waited for more but there wasn’t any. “No…what?”

  “No, I don’t reject you.” She uncrossed her arms and her smile took a more sad turn. “I understand that you needed to vent a little. If that meant making the leader of a band of murderers hurt a bit before meeting his maker, then so be it.” She patted my arm. “Death is death.”

  It was my turn to be shocked. “Right. Death is death. But what I did to him…I threatened to turn him when he was less than half a man; I really thought about it.”

  She shrugged. “That might be considered cruel. But in the end you didn’t do it.” She leaned across the seat and kissed my cheek. “Don’t ever fear what I may think of you; I know who you are and I know what you are; yet here I am.”

  I nodded, but in my head, the gears couldn’t keep up. I could almost see the smoke coming from my ears. I turned the key and brought the big engine to life. I know I must have seemed in a stupor, and I probably was.

  The ride home found her back at her chatty best. It took little time before she had the console up and was sitting next to me, my arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders.

  I’ll be honest, I wasn’t prepared for her reaction. I tried not to think that perhaps she had a violent streak that I was unaware of. One that might rival what I did to Rog. I acknowledged the irony, the double-standard, but the thought still snuck in and wormed itself. But rather than let it tear at my feelings for her, I considered the possibility.

  If she had told me that she nutted a man and tortured him to death, would it change what I felt for her?