Venator Read online

  Frye was fading away now. She let him go, residing herself to defeat. Whatever it was that she had missed was slipping away, water through her fingers. And besides, she was so incredibly tired all she wanted was sleep, not questions, not problems, just to be able to recharge her batteries.

  The medical equipment to her left beeped just as she was drifting off. Provo tried to adjust the dead weight of her body in the hospital bed but her muscles moaned and ached in protest. What had she been thinking about? The case? No, high school, she laughed to herself. God, that seemed like ages ago. Wandering the halls of adolescent prison, filling your head with useless information you would never need in the real world. She couldn’t remember the last time AP Calculus helped her figure out the food tax on her grocery bill. There had been so many useless courses, like Latin. No one even spoke Latin anymore, it was a dead language and somehow strangely appropriate for her. Her field was death, solving the problem as to the who and the why?

  Eric, hadn’t he mentioned something about Latin? All she could remember was him wishing her a Happy Halloween. A sense of urgency flushed through Provo’s body. Yes, she wanted to tell Emily something. Something very important, something about Latin. What? What about her least favorite high school course had anything to do with Emily? Or Eric for that matt... God no.

  Provo thrashed around in her bed, willing her body to respond. Get up, she demanded of herself. Christ, get your ass up, Mary! Her arms responded first, digging themselves out of a muddy haze. She clawed at the equipment next to her bed and hauled herself up by a handful of wires. Her voice rose up from her throat like hot gravel. The sound was not human, but animalistic and dying. The adrenaline began to rush outward from her chest, powering her depleted muscles.

  "Arrrrggghhh," she grunted falling out of the hospital bed. The IV snapping out of her arm. The impact from the fall seemed to jump-start her legs and she crawled over to the closet. Provo ripped off her hospital gown and pulled her clothes down from a wire hanger. Provo’s thigh muscles screamed as her pants slid over her legs. Her back cried in agony as she slipped on her halter top. The shoulder holster was next and the 9mm banged angrily against her side.

  Tears streamed down her face and she bit her lip until it bled. She leaned down and tried to slip on her boots but it was no use. She pocketed her cell phone, reached toward the door handle and drug herself up. Provo staggered down the hallway trying to look casual. Her legs were numb posts but she made it to the elevator.

  As Provo stumbled through the lobby, she noticed a couple of nervous orderlies run past her toward the stairs. They must be looking for her, she thought. The blinding sun in the parking lot disoriented her for a moment.

  Provo dug around in her back pocket and came up with her credentials as a car pulled up.

  "Get out, now!" she croaked, shoving her badge and her gun in the old man’s face. The man literally fell out of his vehicle and stared up at her in horror. She collapsed behind the wheel and sped off.

  73

  Wheatley decided to come into work late. He had slept for nearly fourteen hours straight and still felt tired. He wandered lazily into a Starbucks and ordered a triple brownie frappuccino.

  He admired the Asian girl behind the counter and wondered how she’d be in the sack. She took his order with a smile and Wheatley debated making a move with her. That’s when his cell phone rang.

  "Wheatley," he grumbled.

  "It’s Provo," a raspy voice answered.

  "Hey, I was just on my way to see you. How are..." Wheatley listened to Provo while taking his large Starbucks cup from the pretty Asian girl. He nodded, then his face wrinkled as he tried to understand what he’d just heard. Then Wheatley dropped his coffee all over his shoes and ran for the door.

  74

  Emily draped her arm over Eric’s waist. She was surprised Jasper wasn’t walking all over them, it was way past his breakfast time. Eric touched her hand with his and rolled over in bed to face her.

  "Morning," he smiled.

  "Feels nice to sleep in, huh?"

  "Yeah, I feel like a new man," he said stretching.

  "Last night was really wonderful, Eric."

  He grinned at her.

  They’d gotten in around dinner time. Emily insisted that Eric stay. He had wanted to go and visit Provo in the hospital but she convinced him to wait until today. Emily had made them a small meal and they ate in the living room over candle light. Emily had talked a lot and for once, Eric just listened. He nodded at all the right times and encouraged her to continue with a subtle smile or laugh. They ended up in bed together and, in the clear retrospect of the morning, Emily decided that maybe she’d been too hasty before. Maybe she and Eric could work things out. Maybe he had changed. Maybe he wasn’t interested in Provo after all. Maybe, just maybe, they were meant for each other.

  Eric rolled over on top of her and put his big hands on her chest.

  Emily smiled up at him, "Again?"

  Eric’s thick fingers traced the outline of her collarbones. She ran her hand along his big arm and noticed his tattoo. How many times had she looked at it and meant to ask him what it meant?

  "Eric?"

  "Hmmm?"

  "What does Venator mean?"

  "It’s Latin."

  "I know that silly," she giggled. "But what does it mean?"

  "I wish you hadn’t asked me that."

  "Why?"

  "Venator is Latin for, the Hunter."

  75

  Provo hoped that she wasn’t too late. She wheeled the old man’s sedan into the parking lot beside Emily’s townhouse. Wheatley pulled in right behind her.

  "I talked to Chesterfield Police, they both called in to work today!" Wheatley said getting out of his car. "They’re sending officer’s to DeJesus’ house to pick him up for questioning."

  "He won’t be there," Emily managed, her throat on fire.

  Wheatley grimaced and they headed for the door.

  "I tried calling her," Provo said.

  "Me too. No answer." Wheatley knocked on the door but no one answered. He looked at Provo who pulled her 9 and nodded. Wheatley kicked the door in and they ran inside. There was a doorway to the left and Provo kept her gun trained on it. She leaned against the wall to one side. Wheatley darted past her and found the wall on the other side. Provo nodded again and they flashed into Emily’s kitchen. There were orange tufts of fur in the sink. Wheatley looked closer and found blood.

  "Garbage disposal," Provo whispered.

  Wheatley shuddered.

  They ventured a few more paces down the hall to the bathroom, empty.

  Wheatley and Provo came out of the hallway and into a large living room. Wheatley motioned toward the darkened stairwell that led up to the second floor. Provo grimaced and leaned against the wall of the stairwell in order to get the best vantage point of the second floor landing. Wheatley walked backwards up the stairs beside Provo with his gun trained on the darkness above.

  Provo tried to fight the sick waves of deja vu that were lolling around in her stomach. They slowly made there way up the stairs and onto the second floor. Everything was very quiet. Wheatley pointed at a partially open door at the end of the landing. Provo nodded toward Emily’s room. Provo put her back against the wall and Wheatley pushed the door open with his foot.

  "Jesus," he whispered.

  Provo’s voice left and her knees threatened to buckle.

  Emily was laying nude on her bed. Her throat had been slashed and she was soaked in congealing blood.

  76

  The Hunter watched the show from the woods. Finally having rid himself of Eric DeJesus, it was time to play with the object of the Hunter’s desire.

  Killing Furman Frye had been the breaking point for poor Detective DeJesus, leaving the back door open for the more dominant personality to take control. The Hunter shoved Eric down in that tiny little place where it had lived in darkness for so many years. The darkness brought on by their mother.

 
She had lost it after their father was killed in the line of duty. She would often lock them in the basement for days, weeks at a time. And so to pass the time, they had played together, two brothers making the best of a terrible situation.

  That black basement had been the staging ground for epic confrontations. World wars had been won and lost on its concrete floor by plastic green soldiers. Alien hordes of conquest had rained down from the heavens to enslave all races of people only to be pushed back by brave heroes who could fly and had superhuman strength. Classic battles of good and evil with the balance of everything being at stake were the day in and day out of that cold prison.

  The brothers grew older and their stints in the basement elongated, they found that they liked the dark, they liked the violence and they loved the death.

  Finally, the brothers began to assume the roles of their made up heroes and villains. Eric always choosing the quest for good and Hunter the mantle of evil. On one fateful afternoon, when, ‘Eric the good’ had won the day and the high courts had decreed death for the evil invader, Hunter. The two brothers fashioned a gallows out of old furniture and a hangman’s noose from a dirty bed sheet.

  "Your time has come!" Eric shouted.

  "Know this young Eric. You will never be rid of me! I will haunt you until the day you die..."

  "Death to all tyrants!" Eric said, kicking away the platform holding his brother up.

  Hunter kicked and fought against the noose around his neck and the vast emptiness around his body. Eric watched him flail about until he quieted and stopped completely.

  For that act of treason, the Hunter had kept his promise and stayed with Eric. Killing without his knowledge for many years until recently, as the Hunter became stronger, Eric began to have a sense of him, could feel him peeking around the corner ready to pounce. That was when Eric began writing his cute little notes and faxing them to the authorities. Deep down he knew what was happening and he wanted to be caught, wanted to be stopped before something terrible happened.

  Like this? The Hunter wondered. They were taking a body bag out of Emily’s house on a stretcher. Too bad, the Hunter thought. Part of him had loved Emily too, in his own way. But what he had done was necessary because the Hunter had been salivating over its new quarry ever since laying eyes on her.

  Special Agent Mary Provo exited the building and the Hunter found itself quivering with delight.

  77

  Wheatley and Provo drove down tree lined Grove Avenue in the residential west end of the city of Richmond. They stopped in front of a modest two story brick home, built in the sixties, it was white with brown trim.

  They got out of Wheatley’s SUV and walked toward the house. Provo was coming off a full day of rest but her body was still incredibly sore.

  "There he is," Wheatley said as Jay Will got out of his unmarked cruiser.

  He walked across the street with a big mag light flashlight in his back pocket and shook Wheatley’s hand.

  "How are you feeling?" he asked Provo.

  "Like I was run over by a train."

  Jay Will forced a smile, "C’mon, the house is over here."

  They walked toward a house which was sealed off with crime tape.

  "What happened here?" Wheatley asked.

  "Richmond Police say the current owner was dealing out of the dwelling."

  The threesome continued inside and Jay Will sighed deeply, "I still can’t believe it. I mean Eric, a murderer? It just doesn’t seem possible."

  "I know," Provo said. "But right now I need you to tell me everything about him, alright?"

  "Yeah, okay. Let’s see. We met at the academy and came up through the ranks together. Eric never really associated with any of the other officers. We were two of the handful of black cops on the force at the time. We did a lot together. Went to clubs, prowling for ladies and always to the Redskins’ games when we could. Then I met my wife and I transferred to Colonial Heights. We kept in touch but it was never the same. I think that was about the time he started seeing Emily."

  "Tell me about this house. How did he grow up?"

  "His dad was a Richmond City cop, died on duty. Some druggie put a broken bottle in his neck. So it was just Eric, his brother and their Mom. She home-schooled them because she thought the public school system would corrupt them. I think it was because she was afraid of losing her boys like she lost her husband. As time went on she became abusive, beating the boys or berating them verbally."

  Provo swayed slightly as everything fell into place. Wheatley steadied her and Jay Will led them into the kitchen.

  "I’ll be damned." Jay Will said.

  He leaned down and pushed the kitchen table to one side. There was a small door built into the floor. He opened it and flashed his mag light into the darkness.

  "A basement?" Wheatley asked.

  Provo’s mind raced. It had been Eric crying for help in those letters from the Hunter, it was Eric who suffered from multiple personalities, namely the persona of his dead twin brother. Killing Frye must have sent him over the edge, she wasn’t dealing with Eric anymore she was dealing with Hunter.

  "I haven’t said anything to anyone else yet," Jay Will muttered. "But I wanted to run something by you first."

  "What is it?" Wheatley asked.

  "Well, it's only a matter of time before someone sees the similarities. But Eric was working a case with Emily about a serial killer murdering women out in the woods."

  "Yeah, I remember Emily mentioning that. I told her I’d give them a hand when we finished up the I-95 killer thing," Provo said.

  Jay Will exhaled again, "From what Eric told me about the case. The killer was abducting women, stripping them down nude and chasing them through the forest. Once he caught them the killer slashed their throats."

  78

  Provo stood beside Wheatley, Tatum and Jay Will as Emily’s brother Rodney played "Ripple," by the Grateful Dead on his guitar. The coffin was being lowered into the ground and Emily’s family were huddled together, crying.

  The smell of fresh flowers invaded Provo’s nose and made her want to vomit. She felt herself swaying as if she might pass out. Wheatley placed a hand on her shoulder to steady her. She gave him a half smile and thought about her friend who was taken away much too soon.

  Then she thought about Eric. The calm relaxed facade with a torrent of thunder heads looming just below the surface. A dry leaf ready to crack into small pieces in a hard wind. Provo thought about that night in the car, Eric’s strong hand on her thigh, she wanting to take him right there. To what extent was Hunter in control at that point? It was impossible to tell, but the ramifications shook her to the core.

  Provo’s entire career was based on bringing the bad guy down no matter what the cost. But now, the cost had risen too high. She felt too close to it. To Emily, to Eric. She wanted out, she wanted to quit. But her eyes fell on Emily’s casket at the bottom of the grave. Emily deserved a conclusion. Her friend deserved justice. No matter the cost.

  79

  You are so lovely my dear," the Hunter wrote as he watched Provo paying her last respects. "That my deepest wish is to have you near. Today or tomorrow, it's anyone’s guess. When I show up on your doorstep, it will be your turn to rest."

  The Hunter chuckled as he placed the note on Provo’s wind shield and walked to his stolen car, third one this week, it always helped to stay ahead of the game. He got in and watched the feds come down to their vehicles. He wiped his mouth in anticipation and found himself gripping the steering wheel much too tightly. Provo picked up the note and read it. BAM, she was looking around. Where is that bastard, she must be thinking. Here comes Wheatley and Jay Will, oh my pulling their weapons, indeed. The Hunter casually pulled out and drove past the unsuspecting authorities, his blue sedan one of many vehicles leaving at the same time.

  80

  Provo sat inside Tatum’s SUV in stunned silence while he drove her home. She thought that Wheatley and Jay Will were following them but she was
n’t sure anymore.

  "I think you should get out of here for awhile, Mary," Tatum quietly said.

  In all the years she’d worked with the Bureau no supervisor, especially the Assistant Director in Charge, had ever called her by her first name.

  "I don’t think so," she mumbled back.

  "This is not the time to get on your high horse and..."

  "Sir," Provo said icily. "With all due respect, he will come after me no matter were I am. Isn’t our goal to stop him? Why make it difficult on ourselves? Let him come to me and when he does, believe me, he’ll wish he hadn’t."

  "I’m not going to leave you out to dry on this, especially by yourself. Despite what you might think, the Bureau looks favorably on your work performance up to this point. No matter what the media said about how bloody the Santa Slayer case turned out, you can bet parents all over the city were breathing a sigh of relief when you shot Magnussun in the face. Or when Mort Carter was transporting the limbs of his victims out to the dessert in his truck. The media jumped all over the fact that you ran him off the road and into a canyon. Mary, the Bureau quietly investigated all of those cases and more. We found no wrong doing on you part. But you have to admit, your track record for bringing in killers alive is sub par to, well, non existent."

  "We’ve got to get this thing turned around. The media hasn’t sniffed out this thing with Detective DeJesus yet, but believe me they will. And I refuse to put you in a position where all we have left is you standing over a dead body again. I’m giving you twenty four hour surveillance, Detective Williams and Agent Wheatley will be picking up the first twelve."

  Provo grimaced.