by Baker, Alex
Leaning forward out of his chair and across his desk as far as he could, the chief locked his stare directly on Roofy, “And I will see to it that you never see the outside of a jail cell again.”
The Russian felt the words resonate deep inside him. There was no questioning the commanding officer’s conviction. Of course, I will do whatever it takes to get Constance back from this mad man and protect her and Laura, no matter what price has to be paid, even at the hands of the chief.
“Feels good to be wanted, doesn’t it,” Apocalypse said sarcastically.
38
Gravel overrun with weeds crunched under his boots as Ambrose approached the old factory building that doubled as his home nest in the old Tredegar district. Traveling to the location had taken more time than would have been preferred, but he felt the caution, which included ditching the vehicle he used a ways out and coming in on foot, was necessary.
Instincts were something to be trusted, years of life-lessons had taught the blood-dealer that much, and his instincts had begun telling him that something about the situation was wrong.
On the other hand, he had been sure he was not followed, and his senses told him that no one was tracking him. As well, there had been no distress signal from Ferguson to alert him of any dangers or questionable activities at the dilapidated structure they occupied.
So, he was left with proceeding, albeit slowly.
Patience, he thought. Patience.
Staying patient was something he had struggled against, though, as there was the very real possibility that the being he had hunted for so long may finally be within his grasp. Despite his discretionary approach and apprehensiveness, it was difficult to suppress the urge welling up within him. No, he had to see this through, and if the teen was misleading him in any way, she would pay and pay dearly.
Had he not tortured traitors in the past to the point that they begged for the embraces of death long before he allowed them to succumb to it?
Bastion Pentabaum came to mind. Ambrose had turned him at a very young age, acknowledging the prospects of what the boy could become as a fully matured hunter. He nurtured the fledgling and guided him; helped him hone his prowess. A bond was formed, and Ambrose grew to think of the young Austrian as his own son, eventually elevating him to second-in-command of the pack.
Europe had become saturated and unstable as a theatre of operations, though. As more and more packs of hunters grew, so did the competition for territory and the wars to keep them.
The evolution of survival had changed because of that, so many elder hunters had turned to creating networks by raising trusted, strong apprentices who would eventually be cut loose to form their own pack. That group would then go to another geographical area and spread, while still remaining loyal to the mother or father tribe.
Unfortunately, this led to another side effect: the European populace, once held in check by fear of the legend of the beasts that roamed the lands and fed on unlucky travelers, began undergoing its own evolution. The fear that had captivated people turned to anger as they tired of the helplessness they felt from the growing danger in their midst. Townspeople armed themselves, established garrisons, educated themselves on better, more efficient ways to destroy the blood-dealers, and struck back.
Whole tribes were slaughtered, leaving only the strong and cunning to survive. The act also made the viability of having a secure network of packs over a large territory even more of a necessity.
Ambrose’s group had been one of the fiercest and most securely entrenched, and he had managed to keep the bulk of his kind safe, at least until the deception.
Bastion, under the promise of power and security from both a rival tribe and a governing organization that looked to use the blood-dealers for their own personal dealings, turned on him. Locations of secret strongholds were divulged and traps were laid. Under the traitor’s leadership, all but a few of the legion that Ambrose had raised were destroyed. Sacrificed in greed.
Breaches of such a nature were extremely rare, and devastation on the scale his group endured was unprecedented. Loyalty had been something that was expected for a number of reasons, the most prominent of which was sheer willpower. Control was inbred and passed along through bloodlines and augmented by strength of will, with those of a more impressive mental fortitude having the ability to exert greater influence. It was the way things had always been; thus when a human was reborn, they automatically bowed to the one that turned them. That predestined ranking followed all the way through the lineage of that bloodline, creating a ranking system in and of itself. An elder, like Ambrose, would be the pinnacle of that pyramid.
Emitting the pheromones that induced physical control and influence over a subordinate was something all superiors, at any level, could do. So deeply engrained into the physiology of their form of hybrid human species was this programming that rare, indeed, it was that an inferior could overcome the willpower of their creator. Typically, if it did occur, it was only because the superior had a flaw or lacked the depth of resilience to control a subordinate who had naturally gifted leadership.
However, Bastion represented an oddity; one that the elders had not considered a threat or took proper measures to understand. The one-time protégé represented a sect of humans whose innate desires ran so deep and were so sewn into the fabric of their being that no exterior influence could totally shut it out. This left a crack in the hold that a leader had over his or her converted. Ambrose, like many other elders, had failed to acknowledge how dangerous this trait could be, believing blindly that they were so great that no one could turn against them; that any mere human could be bent to their will.
It was a mistake that had cost Ambrose nearly everything.
Barely escaping with his life intact, the elder blood-dealer fled to America after the deception, but he had learned valuable lessons. He had kept his pack number small and under the radar, as this made things more manageable while attracting less notice from the community. Relocating often was also a must, so he never stayed too long in one area or state.
Two things dominated his planning from that moment forward: revenge on Bastion and the bigger picture.
The grander scheme, he realized, was finding the source of the outbreak in Europe in the first place. Ambrose knew it took a demon to create a mutation strain – an elder blood-dealer. The only explanation for so many packs running rampant in the ‘old country’ was that a demon reemerged and was wreaking havoc on the blood-dealer community. The balance was being thrown off, but to what end Ambrose was not sure.
And, it did not matter. The hatred for the creature that had turned him was greater than even his need for revenge; it was all consuming. Undaunted and patient, Ambrose was able to trap the demon and destroy its human vessel while it lay in seed form inside a female incubating host; one of the few times it would ever be totally vulnerable. Despite being a victory of sorts, the act had also been a personal failure for the elder hunter, as the creature turned out to not be the one that had created him.
But with that end tied up, Ambrose was able to cast his full attention on Bastion. Ironically, due to the rampant corruption that had grown around Ambrose’s former trusted apprentice and the groups he had allied himself with, securing his downfall proved easier than expected.
Cutting a deal with the same shadowy government organization and pack that Bastion had, Ambrose captured the Austrian-born blood-dealer and brought him back to his new stronghold in America. There he stripped away every part of the traitor’s being over a three year period.
Under the watchful eye and care of a unit of enslaved humans, Bastion remained chained and bound. Leaches covered his body and were only removed when the loss of functional bodily fluid proved close to fatal. Nourishment was then granted in small doses via transfusion.
The two primary puncturing teeth were removed; there would be no future feedings from their use. Time saw the former student and pack-son slip into insanity, and once that occurred, Ambrose kne
w there would be no reason to continue, especially when the victim could no longer appreciate the depth of his own depravity and beg for his life.
Final resolution was provided by burning alive what was nothing more than a wasted shell the being had once been.
Constance demonstrated many of the mannerisms this unpredictable and dangerous type of disciple held, and Ambrose knew she would have to be watched closely or dealt with appropriately if it appeared she was straying too far down the path of betrayal. Utilized properly, someone of her nature could be a valuable and steadfast ally and pack member, and her handling of the situation with Roofy would be a true test. Time would tell how her development would go and which course of action would need to be implemented. For the present, though, she appeared to have proven her worth in misleading the Russian. Ambrose was anxious to find out how successful the girl had been.
Patience, Ambrose thought. Patience.
Rounding the structure he had approached from behind under the cover of dark, the man-beast had a clear view of his nest building. The large sliding door was ajar and the faintest of lights glowed around the opening.
His keen senses provided a minor amount of clues: eyes as sharp as an eagle’s gave no measure to movement around the exterior, and an olfactory system as honed as a prowling wolf’s revealed a few unexpected details.
Only the scents of the teen girl and Ferguson were detectable, and it was disturbing to him that he could sense his enslaved human, as Ferguson’s smell was typically masked by him staying hidden and locked away in one of the old office rooms. Had he come out to see who was on the grounds, Ambrose wondered?
Adding to the confusion was the fact that he caught no whiff of Roofy. Was the demon able to mask its odor, or possibly, had he not arrived yet? Too many questions and not enough answers.
At least Constance was at the location, so he could divulge from her what was transpiring if Roofy was not present.
Either way, he had to proceed with caution and patience.
Patience, he thought. Patience.
Before making his move, there was one more thing to take care of, though. Removing a remote from his trench coat pocket, he pressed a solitary button and a solitary light acknowledged the action. If Roofy were there or on his way, no matter what form he may be in, there was always the chance Laura could be on her way to interfere.
“Not this time,” Ambrose said softly. “It will be just he and I.”
Using the device in this capacity had not been his original plan, but it may be just as effective. Stopping her meant she could not stop him.
No. Nothing is going to prevent me from destroying you. Nothing.
39
Stopped at a traffic light, Laura reached over and unlocked Roofy’s handcuffs and tossed them onto the back seat.
“I think we’re far enough away from the headquarters now,” Laura said.
Rubbing his wrists, the large Russian could not take his eyes off her, and she had noticed the staring and quick glances ever since they had departed the headquarters. Maybe undressing me with his eyes. If anyone else had been that blatant, she would probably have called them on it, but instead she found herself wondering what he was fantasizing about.
Still, he had also been totally quiet. Perhaps it was not her that he was thinking about. Maybe she just wanted it to be her. Odd thing to think about, given the situation. Still, her mind pushed on with the fantasy: him reaching over with one of his large, powerful hands and slowly running it up her leg, pushing the skirt up as it went. His skin rubbing the inside of her thigh. His fingers finding their way to the outside of her panties…
The horn from the car behind them blew, and Laura realized the light had turned green. Head in the game, Laura.
Driving on, she asked Roofy if he was okay.
“Da. I am concentrating on what is about to happen,” Roofy said. “It is like preparing for a big match. You are nervous, but you are ready to do what needs to be done.”
“I understand,” Laura replied, and she did, all too well. As long as she had been in law enforcement, she still got knots in her stomach when it came to walking into intense situations. This one was no different. She had no desire to get taken down, and more than that, she did not want to see Roofy get hurt, mentally or physically.
Adding to her anxiety was the feeling that something about the arrangement did not sit well or add up. Why would the Superheroine Stalker be mixed up with Constance? She had been sure that Wes Richert was responsible for what was happening, but he could not have had any knowledge of the teen or what she had been doing, could he? It was a wrinkle in both cases that brought more questions to an investigation already overrun with them.
Ambrose was still the main threat, as far as Laura was concerned. Given Constance’s condition, he could not be far behind. She had to be prepared and ready to react, no matter what, as she might be the only thing between herself and the welfare of the Russian.
On the other side of the coin was how Roofy would handle it if Constance were there and alive but tried to harm him. He seemed determined to care for her – to help her. Her turning on him might crush him.
Geez, as if I haven’t had a hard enough time worrying about myself, now I’m stressing for two.
Vibrations from the department issued cell phone indicated a call was coming in, and Laura hastily answered it. The caller immediately told her to not speak and listen, and she did as told until he finished. Her intent was to try keeping him on just long enough for the guys back at the department to trace the call, but the attempt failed, with the caller ignoring her efforts and ending the conversation.
The brief discussion may have concluded, but for Laura it remained on rewind in her head. It was not so much the content of what the man said but the nagging feeling that there was a familiarity to it, although try as she might she could not place it. You’re getting jumpy, Stenks. Determined not to let her anxiousness get to her, Laura grabbed her two-way radio and prepared to inform home base.
“Was that the man?” Roofy asked, interrupting her before she could make contact.
“Yes. We’re on,” she answered.
“Where are we going? Where does he have her?” Roofy asked, and Laura could tell she was not the only one with their adrenaline pumping.
“It’s in the old Tredegar area,” she said tersely, more concerned with making contact with the team at the moment than answering questions. She needed to make sure that they received the details from the call. “We’re close. Just hang in there.”
Clicking on the radio, Laura tried initiating a confirmation with the chief and their tactical unit, but there was no response. Not only was there no response, Laura noticed, but no noise at all. The unit appeared to be dead but the red indicator light provided proof that it still had battery power from the last recharge.
Dropping the radio back into the holder in her car console, she retrieved her cell phone and prepared to dial when she noticed there was no signal icon present on the screen.
Frustrated and concerned, she dropped the phone down on the seat, with it landing on her skirt and resting between her legs.
“What is the problem?” Roofy asked.
“I’m not sure,” Laura answered. “Both the radio and my cell phone aren’t working. It’s like something is blocking their signal.” Ambrose. How could she have been so stupid? Hadn’t he just tried to bug her house? Hadn’t he used a device to track Roofy’s vehicle in Las Vegas? The man-beast must have done something to her car, and she should have anticipated it. Things just got worse, but there was no turning back now. Time was at a premium, so they had no choice but to proceed. If there was any chance they could stop him once and for all and prevent further deaths, they had to see the meeting through.
“What does this mean?” Roofy asked.
“It means that I’m not sure even the wire is working at this point,” Laura said, tapping the mic under her shirt with her finger. “It means I’m pretty sure we’re on our own.
”
40
Metal grated across metal and echoed almost deafeningly throughout the dilapidated carcass of the antiquated factory building, followed by slow, deliberate footfalls.
Constance smelled at the air. He’s here. She could not help but smile with rising anticipation. From where she sat in the right most branch around the corner from the main entranceway she could not see Ambrose yet, but she did not need to.
Still outfitted in the Amazing Woman costume, the teen was bound hand and foot to one of the old but solid wooden chairs that had, until recently, been stationed in the middle of the room near the time weathered desk. The desk was still within her view and adorned with the electric lamp Ferguson had wielded on her first visit. So, too, was the body that lay lifeless. He has to be able to see that.
“What…what is this!” Ambrose yelled, and his footsteps hastened as he ran across the stained and cracked concrete floor towards the center point of the area.
Yep, he saw it. It won’t be long now. Excitement almost reaching a climax, Constance bit into her bottom lip to keep from giggling. Her muscles contracted causing the aging wood to creak against the strain, but it held, as did the thick ropes that dug into her skin at the wrists and ankles and pinched into her abdomen. The bondage job had been done more than adequately. Professional, to be sure. Can definitely tell the man’s had practice.
Whether it was the sounds of her limited movement against the frame of the chair or her odor, Ambrose turned his attention to her but only momentarily. He was too busy practically hurling himself towards the corpse that soaked in a pool of its own blood.
As the elder night-stalker slumped next to the body, he cried out a resounding “No”.
