The Hunter Inside

by David McGowan

  He was about to write the final chapters in the lives of these two people, but he did not feel any remorse for his actions past, present or future. He killed to survive and become stronger, and he knew that they would kill him to survive if they had to. The difference between them and him was that it was what he wanted to do. And now that he was so strong, he did not envisage anybody being able to stop him from achieving his ultimate goal.

  Lunchtime had arrived, but lunch was not in his thoughts. His feast of the previous night would see him through until next time came. It would see him through the preparation of the last two letters which would accompany the photographs of Wayans, and which would be hand delivered by him to his lifeblood.

  In his mind he saw Carson. She sat on a sofa, thinking. Thinking about her family and whether or not she was safe. He saw Arnold walking by a lake. Arnold considered himself a lot further from danger than he had been in Glen Rock.

  Life was cruel.

  21

  Bill Arnold decided to get out of the motel room and take a walk. After a week of almost constant driving, his legs had begun to stiffen. He thought a walk might do him good, loosen his joints and allow him to take in some fresh air. The motel room was stuffy and the window only opened about an inch, meaning that the residents of the motel had to rely on the air-conditioning system.

  He’d been dubious about the safety of air-conditioning systems ever since watching a television program that outlined the threat posed by international terrorist organizations against the United States of America, who, in their search for weapons of mass destruction, were rumored to be planning a biological warfare attack on subways and large companies. He had a desire to choose the air that he breathed and was not happy in an environment where he was certain to be breathing other people’s exhaled germs every ten heartbeats.

  The motel was near to a large lake that he felt would be a perfect place for some rest and recuperation. His stress levels had already began to fall as the time passed, and the fact that no attempt had been made upon his life, despite the threats being made, spurred him on to think about the future. Maybe in a few days he would be able to go back to Glen Rock and see if it was safe for him to return.

  But for now he would go for a long walk around the lake and take in some fresh air before night came and his nerves consigned him to his motel room. He picked up the key that he had placed on the table near the door and left the room, closing the door firmly behind him. The day was warmer than the previous one had been, and he took deep breaths of air as he walked down the relatively quiet road towards the lake. It was not a far distance, and he was pleased to notice a diner midway through his seven-minute walk. That may serve a useful purpose, he thought to himself as he continued on, reaching the large lake within another two minutes.

  Upon reaching the lake, he was struck by its beauty and tranquility. He was not surprised to see a sign that told him its name was Lake Tranquil. Sitting down on a bench that was situated at the head of the long narrow lake, Bill took in his surroundings. Large Red Oak trees were placed evenly along each side of the lake for its entire length, giving the effect of a huge caterpillar guarding the lake.

  It must be a mile long, Bill thought to himself, forgetting his troubles momentarily as he looked at the large green masses of magnificently dark, almost brooding leaves above him that merged into one long body and cast a great shadow down the left side of the lake.

  He mused upon the fact that he had failed to notice the trees when he had passed the previous day. He had been so anxious to find refuge and a place to rest, that he had failed to notice what must be one of the main attractions of Atlantic Beach.

  Now though, he was determined to soak up the beauty and peace-giving qualities of the calm body of water that lay opened out in front of him. He was entitled to relax, and maybe getting away from Glen Rock would give him the chance to do just that. So far he had not seen or heard anything since his arrival that rang alarm bells in his mind, and as he stood and began to walk slowly alongside the lake he felt a sense of release. There were a couple of people milling about, just getting on with their business. Bill got on with his. He strolled onwards, inhaling deep breaths of fresh air and stopping every now and again to pick up a stone and skim it across the surface of the water.

  He loved the outdoors and the feeling of freedom that came with venturing out to explore one’s surroundings. The tiny, cramped motel room had gotten to him very quickly, and he compared himself to a homing pigeon, released from its confinement to enjoy an amazing view of the unconfined beauty of nature all around. He watched a young mother as she struggled to keep her two children out of trouble and danger. She did not seem to be having such a good time trying to warn them away from the edge of the water. In their desire to play fight they took notice of her repeated warnings for just a second before youth made them return to the water’s edge, keen to explore and willing to take risks in a game of one-upmanship that left their mother visibly nervous and irritable.

  As he watched their ongoing cycle and strolled towards them, Bill thought about children. He had never regretted the fact that he hadn’t had any of his own. It was not because he did not like children; he did. It was more to do with the fact that he had never been good at letting people get close to him. He lived a pretty solitary life and had done for a long time, but he was his own boss and this was something that, under normal circumstances, made him happy. There were not a lot of people who could truly say they could do what they wanted when they wanted. Responsibility was a thing that restricted a person’s personal liberty, and, while he knew that he had missed out on all the joy and pain that went with having a family, the events in his past made him wary of developing close relationships with people.

  That was just the way it was for Bill Arnold. He would continue to be wary in the future, especially while he was being stalked by a confirmed killer.

  This person is to blame, he thought to himself. If it had not been for the death of his father and his mother’s disappearance, then maybe his life would be different now. He had suffered ten years of torment and anguish at the hands of this man. Now he was ready for it to end.

  He had walked almost from one end of the lake to the other and he turned around and began to walk back the way he had come. His stomach was beginning to grumble and he decided to go to a steak house he’d seen on his way to the lake. Later on he would find a bar where he could get drunk and act like a tourist for the night.

  As he walked away from the lake back towards the road he began to look forward to having a drink. The hangover that he had suffered the previous morning had long gone, taking with it the resolution he had made never to drink again. He was ready to drink a whole bar and forget about his stalker for tonight. Just for one night.

  Then he would be ready to face his demons.

  22

  Sandy sat on the sofa in Melissa Dahlia’s lounge. She was alone, as Melissa had left for work some twenty minutes earlier. The television was on, but the drivel that emanated from the large set was drowned out by the thoughts inside her head. She could not stop thinking about the previous night’s dream and wondering if it was real and what it meant.

  The feeling of security that she had felt by being at Melissa’s was gone, and she felt vulnerable once again. The dream seemed so real. But was the man real, and why had she dreamed of his death?

  She thought about Joe and the kids, wondering if they were okay. Sean and David had never been separated from their mother before, and she had not even said goodbye to them before she went. This was something that she felt guilty about.

  What if something happens to me, she thought, and I haven’t said goodbye to them?

  She worried about Joe, and whether or not he would stand up to the pressure of coping with the two boys alone. He would also have the added pressure of concealing his feelings and the truth of the situation from the children.

  She was lonely without her family. Whenever she thought about them tears
welled in her eyes. One escaped and made its way down the side of her face, dripping onto her lap and leaving a small, round stain on the 501’s that Melissa had given her to wear.

  She would ring Joe. She had to, he’d be out of his mind worrying whether she was alive or dead and she couldn’t leave him suffering. Her previous call had been so short. She went to the telephone and picked up the receiver, dialing the number quickly and hearing the anxious voice of her husband before she heard the telephone ring in her ear. ‘Sandy?’

  ‘Yes Joe, it’s me.’ Sandy thought she would die as she felt her heartstrings being tugged and she waited to hear his reaction as she wiped away the fresh tears that had gathered in the corners of her eyes.

  ‘Thank God. Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m fine Joe. There hasn’t been any trouble since I got here and Melissa’s been great…’ She trailed off as she realized she had disclosed her whereabouts to her husband.

  ‘You’re at Melissa’s? We’re all missing you, babe.’ Joe Myers didn’t know what to say to his wife. He felt as though his life had been paused, and his words seemed inadequate. He wanted to tell her that every nerve, every vein was hers. That his heart ached without her and that he would do anything to protect her, even if it meant his own life being jeopardized. But the words stopped in his throat and he fell silent.

  ‘I miss you guys too, Joe. Are the boys okay?’

  ‘Yeah, they’re fine. They keep asking for you though. Do you think you’re coming back soon hun?’

  ‘Yeah, soon darling. I just need to give it a bit longer to make sure it’s safe.’

  ‘I love you, Sandy.’ She could hear the emotion in his voice as he said this and it made her angry that they had been forced apart by this thing.

  ‘I love you too, Joe. Tell the boys for me. I gotta go. Sorry Joe.’

  She slammed down the receiver and collapsed in a heap on the floor. Her grief was mixed with rage as she succumbed to hysterical sobbing, and she wondered how much more she could take. It was all so confusing. She felt as though her mind was spinning around and she did not feel fully in control. The stress was beginning to get to her like never before, and she did not know how long she would be able to stay away from her family. It was getting harder to breathe with every minute and every heart wrenching telephone call that she had to make.

  Sandy sat with her back against the sofa and wished for this thing to end. She wanted so much for it all to be over, so that she could go back to Joe and her boys and her life. Get everything back to normal, and put this nightmare behind her.

  23

  Todd Mayhew looked at Special Agent Sam O’Neill. The two men’s eyes met and O’Neill tried to read the mind of the old man through the look on his face. It was impossible for him to do this, and he wondered what Mayhew was going to say. He could tell it was going to be very serious, and he didn’t want another second to pass before he heard it, but Mayhew delayed before he spoke to the Special Agent.

  He wondered how much of the seemingly mad story Wayans had told O’Neill on the previous day. If it were all of it, then the large man that now faced him had obviously had trouble believing it. If it was none of it, as Todd Mayhew feared, he was going to have a lot of trouble convincing him that it was true. He thought of the beating Paul had received. That was something he definitely wanted to avoid, and he didn’t want the cop to think he was trying to waste his time.

  It was the thought of the other people that must be directly involved that made him determined to tell the story of Shimasou to the man sitting opposite him. He had trouble seeing any further than that and was reluctant to even try, such were the implications that came with the chance of this thing being real and him failing to do anything that might stop its progress.

  Mayhew knew that he could probably have done nothing to save Paul Wayans. He would have been killed too. They needed to be prepared to take on this thing, if they were to have any chance of beating it.

  The cop and the other people directly involved may just be strong enough collectively, he thought, to have a chance against this already terrifically strong creature.

  ‘I don’t suppose I could have stopped it.’ Mayhew sighed as he uttered the words and admitted his true feelings. ‘The only way we can have any chance of stopping it is if we know who it’s already killed and who it’s going to kill next.’ The blurted words of the old man sounded a bit too irrational to the Special Agent and he interrupted Mayhew.

  ‘Whoa, slow down. Take your time Todd.’ He seemed to be running away with himself, and O’Neill felt a growing concern over the condition of his heart, such was the force in his words and expression. He took control of the situation, using all of his experience to calm Mayhew. If he was calm, the information he would give would be a lot more helpful than if he allowed himself to be overcome by the circumstances in which he found himself.

  ‘Let’s start from the beginning. You told me earlier that you saw Paul in the last few hours of his life. Tell me where. What did he say to you?’

  ‘Okay.’ The old man took a deep breath before continuing. ‘You had him yesterday questioning him, didn’t you? Where were you?’

  ‘We were in Atlantic Beach.’

  ‘Yes. That’s it. He called me and asked me to meet him at Chee-Uz bar. He must have been in Atlantic Beach when he called.’

  ‘Where’s Chee-Uz bar, Todd?’ O’Neill asked. He wanted to cover every option in trying to find out who had killed Paul Wayans and John Riley. He was determined that nothing should go unnoticed, and was prepared to ask a million questions of the old man if it meant him getting closer to the killer.

  ‘It’s not far from here,’ Mayhew replied.

  ‘Could the killer have watched you while you were there?’

  ‘No, you don’t understand. This isn’t a killer that could walk into a bar and go unnoticed.’ Mayhew looked at O’Neill with an expression that suggested he thought he’d gone mad. All that O’Neill could do was look back. He refused to drop his gaze, despite the sense of apprehension that made his shoulders tense and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

  Todd Mayhew held out the white file for the second time. This time the Special Agent took it and placed it down in front of him, looking inquisitively for answers at Mayhew as he picked up the cup in front of him and took a sip of coffee, revealing a shaky hand in the process.

  O’Neill looked at the file’s dogged ears and surmised that it had spent most of its life in a closet. On the front of the manila file was the name of Paul Wayans, written presumably by the man himself. Still, Mayhew had not offered any answers. He had said it when referring to what O’Neill would expect to be a him. Maybe the file would shed some light on this. Maybe Wayans had known something about his killer. He had certainly felt so when he questioned him the previous day.

  He opened the first page of the file and saw printed in large letters, ‘Shimasou’.

  ‘What’s Shimasou?’ He looked from the file towards Mayhew who stared intently at him and replied, ‘Shimasou is the thing that has been hunting down my friend, and that killed my friend last night.’

  O’Neill remained silent, waiting for him to continue. A moment passed before he decided to speak and said, ‘Who’s Shimasou and how do you know they are responsible for the murder of Paul Wayans?’ His time was valuable and he was ready to hear anything that actually meant something come out of the mouth of Todd Mayhew. So far he had heard a lot of babble but nothing that actually gave him anything that he could work with. He needed a lead.

  ‘It isn’t a person. It’s a thing. And I’m one hundred percent certain that it killed Paul.’

  The Special Agent was riling the old man. His flippancy did not seem to take into consideration the life, or death, of a man he had beaten twenty-four hours ago.

  ‘Paul told me he’d been receiving letters, telling him he was being watched and threatening his life. I didn’t believe him.’ There was a tone of genuine regret in O’Neill’s voice, and he cont
inued by attempting to deflect any sense of guilt or blame. ‘If somebody was threatening your life, you’d contact the police, wouldn’t you?’

  Mayhew slowly shook his head and replied, ‘Not if the police couldn’t do anything to help me.’

  ‘What do you mean, Todd? If the police couldn’t help you? You’re gonna have to help me here because none of this is making much sense to me. Why do you think the police couldn’t help? That’s our job. It’s what we’re here for.’ The Special Agent had gone through his whole repertoire of moods in front of the old man to try and make him tell him what he knew. It was hard work and slow progress, and O’Neill was beginning to feel impatient. It would have to be now or never if Mayhew had something serious to tell him; dealing with waffle was not something he had the time for.

  Mayhew grabbed the file of papers back from O’Neill. ‘He told me the whole story last night.’ Mayhew knew this statement could be taken literally. Paul had been dead a few hours after he had seen him, and therefore had not had much more to tell.

  On a grander scale though, finish did not mean finish. Not by a long chalk. Mayhew reflected on this for a moment before continuing, ‘Its origins came from his grandmother. She was a Chinese woman who came to America. Of the few possessions that she held upon her arrival, there was a statue. It was reputed to embody a spirit that channeled strength from its surroundings to its owner. But this was not true. It was actually a spirit that that had been banished thousands of years ago in China.

  ‘When Paul’s grandmother took the statue out of China the spirit awakened. It had lain dormant for thousands of years, waiting for the day to come, when it would be free to take on the world.’