Venator Page 14

  "Now I’m serious about this, Mary. You’ve developed a bit of a reputation over the years and I’m not referring to that Ice Queen nonsense. Even the Director is becoming concerned that he has a killer in the ranks."

  "Me?" Provo asked, amazed.

  "Yes, Mary. But I don’t agree. You’ve been put in some very demanding and extreme circumstances. I find it hard to believe any other Federal Agent worth their salt would have come out looking any better than you have and in most cases, probably worse."

  "So what I’m getting at, is that image stops now. That reputation stops now. I see some good things in you Mary. I think you can climb the ranks if you so choose. But for right now, until we catch DeJesus. I want things done by the book. Do we understand each other?"

  "Yeah," Provo said as Tatum pulled up in front of her house.

  She watched out the window as Wheatley and Jay Will jumped out of their vehicles and checked the parked cars up and down the block. They eventually came back and surveyed the grounds and surrounding homes closely. Next, they went through the front door and up the stairs to Provo’s apartment. A few minutes passed by and Jay Will finally came down the stairs and out to Tatum’s SUV.

  "Everything’s clear," he said, holstering his weapon.

  "If you need anything, call," Tatum said, measuring Provo with serious eyes.

  "Yes sir," she said. Then added, "Thank you, sir."

  81

  Provo glanced out between her venetian blinds and could make out the silhouette of Jay Will sitting in his unmarked car. Wheatley was in the living room with a basketball game on low volume. She rubbed her eyes, dropped the files she’d been studying on the floor beside her bed and turned out the light.

  After reading the crime scene investigations and coroner reports, Provo was convinced that Eric wasn’t aware of his crimes. He had left no stone unturned in the search for the killer stalking women in the woods. The story had been kept mostly out of the media and all in all, he’d done everything he could to find the murderer. Except look in the mirror, she thought. And that meant that he didn’t kill Emily either, oh it had been his hands on the knife, but Eric wasn’t at home, Hunter was running the show.

  Provo stretched out on her bed and tried to relax. Chances were she wouldn’t even have to deal with Hunter. Jay Will would see him coming from a mile away, then she and Wheatley would be waiting for him if he even got this far. Provo thought about Jay Will in the car. He knew Eric better than anyone else, but, this wasn’t Eric, this was someone else. Jay Will knew that, but did he understand it? Would he make a mistake? Try to talk Eric down, talk him into giving himself up instead of just calling in the reinforcements. Would he try to help his old friend instead of ordering Eric to lay flat on his face and not to move?

  Stupid. I’m being stupid. He’ll do the right thing. Wheatley’s right outside the door. Everything’s fine, just relax. But somewhere deep down she knew it wasn’t. Her instincts told her something was very wrong. Provo rolled over and reached for her bedside lamp, she popped it on and winced in the bright light.

  Detective Eric DeJesus stood over her bed with a 9mm silencer aimed at her forehead.

  "You’re so beautiful," he whispered.

  She sat in stunned silence for a moment.

  "Hunter?" she finally asked.

  "You know my name. I’m flattered. I’ve been watching you for some time now. I first noticed you in the darkened conference room. The soft light from the television making your face glow like an angel. I’ve been obsessing over you ever since."

  "Did you kill those girls in the woods?" she asked, trying to remain calm.

  "Oh sure, but they were just for fun. Something to pass the time, you know what I mean?"

  "Yeah, things can get kind of boring when you're all alone, neglected and scared."

  "Yes, but I’m not neglected anymore. Eric and I saw to that. And as far as scared, Eric’s the only one whose scared and he can rot for all I care. And when it comes to being alone? Well, I’m not alone anymore, I have you, the ultimate prey. You ready to play?"

  Provo’s jaw clenched.

  "Okay here goes, I give you a thirty second head start. And then I come and get you. If you escape, you win and you never have to see me again. But if I win, well, let’s just leave that to the imagination shall we? Are you ready?"

  "I will not play your sick little game!"

  "Oh it is a game and I admit, pretty sick. But you will play."

  "God dam it Eric, listen to me!"

  "Shut up, you stupid bitch! There is no more Eric, there is only the Hunter! Now move your scrawny ass!"

  Provo fell of the bed and stumbled to her feet.

  "Eric!" she pleaded.

  "The clocks running," he said while checking his watch. "Better get a move on."

  Provo ran out of her bedroom and passed Wheatley sitting on her sofa, his throat was slashed. She jumped down the stairs and heard the Hunter racing across the floor above her. She flew out into the front yard and raced for Jay Will’s car. As she got closer she noticed the red all over the driver’s side window. She kept running.

  She started down the cobblestone block passing the large upper middle class houses with their perfectly manicured lawns. The darkened homes of semi-successful lawyers, doctors and the like, all of whom were sleeping soundly. She cut across the street to a well lit open air train terminal, the same one she took to her office in DC. Is this what this poor girls went through before he cut their throats? She raced through the terminal and leapt over the tracks. She flew down the footpath connecting to the concrete terminal and the little bridge that she used on her morning jogs. On past the bridge that marked the end of the congested homes was a half mile stretch of woods. Provo now questioned her decision to go that way.

  That’s when a big hand grabbed her by the hair and spun her around. Eric’s face was red, sweaty and filled with bad intentions. It’s not Eric, she reminded herself. Provo grabbed the Hunter’s wrist by her head and jabbed her right foot in a beautiful crescent kick. The knife went sailing away and he shook his hand in enraged pain. Provo let go of his wrist and slammed her elbow into his forearm. His grip on her only loosened a little. The Hunter punched her in the stomach and she crumpled under the impact. Using her hair, he swung her around and slammed her back first into the guard rail. His other hand then wrapped around her throat. As he pushed her back she felt the rail giving way. Provo gave him a stiff kick to the side. He absorbed the blow and grabbed her leg in his big arm. Then he started to lift her over the guard rail. She caught a glimpse of the stream below and the huge boulders sprinkled within. At the last moment she wrapped her right arm around the railing and crashed her free leg into the other side of him. She twisted around and pulled the Hunter over the railing with a vice-like leg scissors. They hung there a moment, suspended over the black void. He sneered up at her. Provo strained under the added weight and could feel her right arm slipping.

  Then Eric looked at her through wretched eyes, and it was Eric.

  He whispered, "Let me go, Mary."

  Her chest contracted as if she’d been punched.

  "Please," he mouthed. "Before it's too late."

  "I’m sorry," she said.

  He tumbled away into the darkness and found the rocks below.

  Epilogue

  Seagulls flew by over head and the reeds gently swayed in the warm breeze. It was November but the Outer Banks of North Carolina still had a few nice days left before the icy chill of winter found its shores.

  A man strolled by in a windbreaker, his golden retriever racing through the surf after a yellow tennis ball. The sea foam clung to the dog’s fur coat. The man waved lazily and Provo returned it. She took another long sip from her green tea and wrapped her grandmother’s afghan around her shoulders.

  She remembered the short stints spent at the General’s bungalow in Rhodanthe as a child. This was were she always wanted to stay, this was the place she’d always wanted to call home. And maybe
she would now. Maybe it was time. Because no matter where she went, death seemed to follow her. The black specter that Furman Frye had only hoped to emulate. She knew the real reaper and he was not a kind fellow at all. He did not discriminate and gave not a rip about who he chose to take and who he chose to leave behind.

  The Bureau had once again cleared her of any wrong doing but the Director had encouraged her to tender a resignation. And perhaps that had been for the best. She had enough money saved from her 401k and a tidy some she’d accumulated from US Bonds and monies invested in the stock market that she could live off her portfolio earnings for quite some time as she decided what to do next.

  Provo sat out on the swinging bench as she’d done when she was a child. Bare feet under her bottom and Granny’s afghan on her shoulders. Hair wet from the ocean and a hot mug in her hand. She could get used to this. It was peaceful, it was quiet and it was far away from anyone else.

  Provo let the afghan slip off her back as she stood up and wandered down the wooden steps to the beach. She pitched the rest of her mug's contents into the sand and sat her cup on the bottom stair. She walked lazily down the shore, not going anywhere in particular. A couple sat up ahead, holding each other in the evening’s waning sunlight.

  As she passed, Provo regarded them with a cold stare, "Tell Tatum and his cronies I said to fuck off!"

  The couple looked at each other and Provo continued to walk. She should have given the agent in the windbreaker the finger. They really thought she was a killer. Mary Provo, a serial killer of serial killers? Ridiculous. Did the crazies she brought down deserve what they got? Certainly. Did that make her a killer? She didn’t think so. But she had so enjoyed the hunt. There had been an ounce of satisfaction when she had her glock pointed at Magnussun’s face. She did smile when Carter lost control of his truck. In fact, if it hadn’t been Eric who fell toward the rocky stream bed, she would have been happy about letting the Hunter tumble to his death.

  Did that make her a bad person? Was she no better than the criminals she brought down? The Smokey Mountain killer, The Santa Slayer, Jones Malloy, Angel Terry of the Ministry of Forgiveness and the Hunter, they had one thing in common. Of course they were all killers. They were all ruthless and exacting in their crimes but most importantly, Mary Provo had a hand in each of their deaths. She had hunted them all down and their collective blood was on her hands and no one else’s.

  She stopped and surveyed the ocean waves. The couple was gone and the man and his dog had vanished. Was she losing it or was Mary Provo seeing things clearer than she ever had before?

  The ocean surf coiled its cool water between her toes and the sand beneath her feet began to sink ever so softly.

  Venator

  by Lee Fields

  Copyright 2004