Venator Read online

  23

  It certainly had been an interesting night, the hunter thought. Now that everyone was asleep, it needed to satisfy itself. The hunter kneeled down in front of a makeshift shrine. It fondled a voodoo doll of its prey and snickered. The hunter produced a zippo lighter and lit all six candles on the altar. It sat the voodoo doll in between the candles, careful to keep it far enough away from the flames and retrieved a black leather sheath.

  The hunter pulled out a long blade and warmed the steel in the flames. It stared at the voodoo doll, calling forth a mental image of its prey. The hunter wondered briefly if its other self was aware of it yet. And if so, would it come to enjoy the hunt as much as the hunter did? An interesting question indeed. When the hunter assumed complete control over its other self, it would ask its host how it felt about their bloody rampage together. Then the hunter would be free to kill forever, in complete control of the host. Free to torment its partner like a prisoner, sentenced to watch the bloody escapades of the hunter for infinity.

  The hunter started to rock back and forth on its haunches, staring at the mental image of its next victim. The blade was hot, was in fact, glowing. The blade singed its beautiful skin momentarily, then began to cut easily. The hunter howled with pleasure. It was too orgasmic to fathom. The hunter was delirious with ecstasy. In a blind convulsion of release, the hunter surged forward and bit the head off of the voodoo doll. The candles tumbled off the altar and caught the floor on fire. The hunter rolled over the flames with its naked body and quickly snuffed the flames out.

  The hunter then began to sink away. Its eyes watered and its heart was hammering furiously in its chest. The hot wax on its body began to cool and adhere to it like new skin. The hunter dozed then and happily fell away into its own bloody dreams.

  24

  If it hadn’t been for Jasper, Emily never would have made it out the door in time for work. Whenever she saw her fat orange cat she thought of Eric. The afternoon he brought the little fur ball over from the pound had been memorable. Eric’s hands were cut to ribbons. That had always made Emily laugh, Jasper got along with everyone except Eric. Oh Eric tried, he always brought over a toy or cat nip but Jasper would just turn his nose up at it. She felt a little guilty about leaving her little mound of blubber again. It was obvious Jasper missed her and Emily wondered how long she would be assigned to the FBI field office in Richmond. It was really getting to be a hell of a commute.

  Emily wiped the sleep out of her eyes and hit the interstate at about 20 miles over the speed limit. She yanked down the driver's side visor to block out the rising sun and tilted the rearview mirror toward her puffy face.

  With her right hand, she kneaded a kink out in her neck and slurped some coffee from her Garfield tumbler with her left. Emily was steering with her knee. She had woken up thinking about the James river. She was actually thinking about Eric and didn’t want to admit it to herself. And then having Jasper’s big orange face in hers when she opened her eyes didn’t help matters. Even his fishy breath reminded her of Eric.

  Emily and Eric had spent almost every Saturday since they’d been together at the river. There was a great little spot they’d found just off the beaten path. If you were brave enough to hopscotch across the river rocks, there was a little wading pool surrounded by boulders. It was like being on another planet. The sounds of the city were drowned away in the river water and the boulders were just high enough to conceal the city.

  Emily thought about the previous morning. About how she’d really let Eric have it. Sure they had thier problems, some of which Eric wasn’t ready to admit even to himself. He was so needy. Eric had to have a woman in his life or he just wasn’t happy. He was always jealous of other men. But always in a cute way. Eric had always treated her right. Always bringing her flowers or chocolate for no apparent reason. He even insisted on cooking and doing the dishes.

  But more than anything else, one thing had stuck with Emily. Eric had said, "I know we have some problems but I think we can fix it. I want to try. You mean too much to me to just give up on this."

  Why not try, Emily thought. She did love Eric and what were the chances she’d ever meet anyone half as nice as him again? Did that mean she was settling for Eric, though? Was he what she was looking for? Were they even ready for a serious relationship? Or would they just fall into the old patterns of sex, eat and sleep? But again the most important question was, did Emily want to try?

  She thought she did as she pulled into the parking lot beside Eric’s cruiser. Emily’s stomach fluttered over what to say to him as the elevator chimed at the top floor. Her knees felt a little weak as she entered the conference room and searched the faces for him.

  Emily found a free computer and set down her things. Eric’s deep voice drifted to her ears from across the room and Emily felt her face flush. She turned around to look at the man she loved. Her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach.

  Eric was standing beside Provo. They were talking with some other agents and police officers, everyone was laughing. Provo discretely jabbed Eric’s ribs with her index finger. He responded by squeezing her elbow.

  Emily fought back a wave of tears and jealousy and hurt. Her bottom lip quivered for a moment but she quickly pulled herself together. This was no one's fault but her own. She wanted Eric to move and he did. The decision had been made for her. Emily threw herself into her work and didn’t notice Eric’s lingering gaze on her own neck.

  25

  Furman wandered into his parent's old bedroom and looked at the walls. They were covered with newspaper clippings of the I-95 kidnappings. The pictures and articles seemed to help wake him up. Furman felt his mind refocusing. He let his hand wander over the faces of the victims. He remembered their screams, their pleadings and their pain. His eyes even welled up with tears for a moment. But he quickly wiped them away. A hunter such as Death had no time for tears, only time for punishment.

  Furman unrolled the newspaper from under his arm. He took a pair of scissors from the night stand and began to cut out an article on Saul Salvatore, the jogger who had escaped his wrath. Furman finished cutting out the article and pasted it to the wall with the rest. He let his fingers trail over Saul’s face and smiled.

  Furman took the scissors back over to the night stand but when he opened the drawer, they slipped out of his grasp. Frye jumped back, afraid the scissors would stab his bare feet and looked on in shocked horror when the point of one blade stuck into the wooden floor. The scissors vibrated from the impact and the second blade swung open like a gapping jaw.

  Furman cursed aloud and yanked the scissors out of the floor. He rushed to the front door and stopped short. The memories of the night before began filtering in. He unconsciously clenched his bottom and opened the door. He stepped out onto the porch and saw the crucifix made of nail heads. He knelt down and placed the scissors under the welcome mat. He left the blades open, making a sort of cross.

  Furman then remembered the battle cry that rose up out of the night and his skin turned cold. He looked out at the surrounding cypress trees and had to know the truth. Furman walked down the front steps and began to pace around the house. He only found one thing that disturbed him and Frye began to shake uncontrollably as the implications thundered down upon him. What Furman saw around his house were thousands of footprints left deep in the mud.

  26

  Alright folks!" Tatum said over the noise of the crowded conference room. "Let’s get on the horn to every jurisdiction along the I-95 corridor, Maryland to South Carolina. I want to be able to deploy checkpoints up and down the interstate after the next abduction. This guy left a witness last time, so he’s not perfect. And with the extensive media coverage now, citizens will be on the lookout for this dark vehicle. I think we have a good shot, if the kidnapping is reported early enough, to catch our perp red handed. This is a priority folks, so let’s get on it!"

  27

  Death clenched the steering wheel of the old hearse and smiled when
he saw Tony and his little girl friend coming out of the darkened mall. Death would succeed where Frye had stumbled. He got out of the hearse and walked boldly across the parking lot.

  Tony and the girl were at her vehicle when she noticed Death approaching them.

  "Happy Halloween," she laughed.

  Tony felt his stomach knot up, "It isn’t Halloween yet, Stace. Get in the car."

  "What? Why? I want to say hello, maybe there’s a cute boy under there."

  The girl approached Death with her arms wide open. The boney jaw line creaked open in a mock smile and the parking lot lights caught a faint glimmer of steel. Stacey’s stomach burned and she looked down at her abdomen. She saw what appeared to be her intestines sliding down the front of her pants. She wanted to warn Tony but couldn’t find enough breath in her lungs to do so. Instead she sat down on the pavement and tried to hug her entrails back into her stomach.

  Tony was confused when Stacey abruptly sat down. He fought the urge to run and instead, walked toward Death. Suddenly he was sprayed in the face with something and before he hit the ground, Tony was asleep.

  28

  Agent Wheatley grabbed Tatum’s elbow. The SAC hung up his phone and turned to his assistant, "What do you have?"

  "Toxicology report on Jeff Reynolds. The boy came out of the coma but expired soon after," Wheatley said.

  "Give me the highlights."

  "Other than the severe trauma he received from the attack with the baseball bat, there is only one to speak of, sir. The lab found trace amounts of a hallucinogenic compound, possibly BZ gas. It’s a chemical warfare agent. It's possible our perp is using it as a knockout gas."

  "Let’s hope that’s all," Tatum muttered. "Run it down for me. I want to know everything about this gas and most importantly..."

  "Where to get it," Wheatley finished.

  "Exactly," Tatum smiled. "Let’s track this bastard down."

  "We’ve got another abduction," A voice called out over the conference room chatter.

  "Quiet!" Tatum roared. "Where?"

  "Colonial Heights, Virginia! One victim abducted, the other attacked in a mall parking lot!"

  "Give me police checkpoints from Fairfax to Charlotte!"

  "You got it!" an agent called out.

  "I want somebody at the mall and talking to security!"

  "I’m there!" Provo yelled back. She grabbed Eric and plowed through the bustling room.

  "Wheatley!"

  "Yes sir!" The agent said as he ran over to the SAC.

  Tatum lowered his voice just above a whisper, "Who knows about this BZ gas?"

  "Just the two of us and three techies."

  "Get on the horn with them immediately. Make sure they keep their traps shut. I want this under wrapped for as long as possible, no leaks. You understand?"

  "Yes sir."

  "Wheatley?"

  "Sir."

  "I’m holding you personally responsible for this."

  "Yes sir."

  "I want you to pull one of the analysts and start working this gas. I want everything before our briefing in the morning."

  "Yes sir."

  "What’s the status of my check points?" Tatum yelled across the room. "This bastard has a hostage, he can’t be but so hard to spot!"

  29

  Frye watched in horror as the southbound traffic on I-95 slowed to a crawl in front of him. Just in the distance, he could make out the soft glow of police sirens. Either there was a wreck ahead or...

  No, Furman did not allow his mind to take him there just yet. Better not to cross that bridge until he had too. Frye remained calm and thought about his little Tony in the back of the hearse. Oh what fun that would be.

  He remembered the exhilaration he got when he first killed. Furman had been only seven, perhaps eight years old when he discovered his true nature. Frye had found a green mound of earth in the woods. Later he discovered that it was a smaller version of the giant Indian burial mound visible from Route 13. But when he was a child, it had been his sanctuary. He happened upon it quite by accident. One afternoon after a rather vicious argument between his parents, Furman struck out into the woods as he often did. Only this day, after winding his way through the close-knit trees, he had become lost. The thick cypress had become a wooden labyrinth of tunnels, dead ends and pitfalls. Furman wound his way through the massive maze for hours until he stumbled upon its hidden treasure. A little hill hidden behind a circumference of ancient trees. It was covered with soft moss and as Furman found, was wonderful to fall asleep on.

  Furman soon spent more time in his hidden fortress than he did anywhere else, often sleeping there to elude his father’s nightly visits. Then one day, Furman found a squatter in his home away from home, an injured bird. Frye quietly sat and watched the little bird for hours that day as it fluttered around on the soft green moss. It was so helpless, in so much pain. It reminded him of someone. That’s when hate began to boil in his belly. He despised the defenseless bird, it was so weak, so vulnerable. Didn’t it know how strong Furman was? He was a big boy. His dad even said so, he would say, "Furman, you're such a big boy." That’s right, he was and he would show the little bird just how big he was, just how strong he could be.

  Furman pulled a heavy stone out from the moss and raised it over his head. The bird seemed to chirp at him, alarmed, aware of what was happening at last. Yes, Furman knew that feeling as well. He slammed the big rock down. There was an audible crunch of bone and all became very quiet. The adrenaline rush coursed through Furman’s body and he was hooked. Just the thought of getting his new pet home so they could play was driving him mad. Electricity coursed through his limbs and Furman felt invincible, like Death himself.

  Furman unconsciously rolled down the driver's side window to let in some fresh air. It had become incredibly hot in the cab of the hearse. The cool winter air whipped old dust off of the dash and Furman tried to calm down. He tapped the steering wheel to some unheard rhythm. He palms were covered in sweat. Furman wiped them across the legs of his pants as he pulled into the checkpoint.

  "Good evening, sir," said a cop from underneath a wide brim hat. "I’m going to ask you to pull over to the side of the road please."

  "But you didn’t make anyone else pull over?" Furman stammered.

  "Please sir. Right over here if you would?" The cop motioned toward the shoulder.

  Furman cursed under his breath. Stay calm, he reminded himself. He couldn’t attack a police officer and escape alive. Although he would of liked to have given it a try. No, no, he urged himself. Slow and steady wins the race. They wold probably ask him a question or two. He was driving a hearse for God’s sake. Then, when he had charmingly given them the answered they wanted to hear, he would be on his way.

  "Would you step out of the car sir?" the cop asked.

  He did.

  "Is this your vehicle?"

  "Yes... yes it's mine. I work for a funeral home in Elizabeth City. What’s going on here?"

  The officer looked inside the cab of the hearse. "Is that your gym bag?"

  It’s Death's, "Yes."

  "Can we take a look inside?"

  "I suppose," Furman stepped in front of the cop. The officer’s hand immediately went to the handle of his gun. Furman plopped into the driver’s seat and opened the bag. He pulled out a long black cloak.

  "I’m coming from a costume party," Furman offered.

  "Is that right?" The officer’s hand relaxed. He aimed his flashlight into the vehicle.

  "Yeah, I went as Death." Furman pulled out a skull mask.

  "Pretty scary," the officer said.

  "Yeah," Furman replied. Then his heart leapt into his chest. The bloody scythe was in the bottom of the bag.

  "What else do you have in there?" the officer said and leaned forward to shine his light into the bag.

  "Hey Jonesy? Let’s have a look in the back!" Another officer called out.

  The cop pointed his flashlight into Furman’s eyes, "Would y
ou, mind?"

  Out of the frying pan and into the fire, Furman thought. "Not at all."

  Frye opened the back door. It was empty except for a large coffin.

  "Don’t have any dead bodies in there, do you?" The officer joked.

  "What do you think? I am Death," Furman replied sarcastically. He threw on the skull mask and cackled.

  "That’s pretty good," Jonesy smiled. "Where can I get one of those? My kid would love it for Halloween. It looks so realistic."

  "It’s a custom job," Furman said. "I sell them online. Here take one of my cards and shoot me an email. I’ll send your kid one for free."

  "That’s great! Thanks a lot, Mr….?" Jonesy said reading the card, "Frye."

  "Not a problem," Furman smiled closing the back door. "I hope you guys catch whoever your looking for."

  "Thanks" said the other officer. "But I don’t think they’ll ever get him. This guy's too slippery. Only way we’ll catch him is if he makes a mistake."

  "Well, they always do," Furman said sliding behind the wheel of the hearse and starting the engine. "Best of luck, guys."

  "Thanks," Jonesy said. "Drive safely"

  Oh I will, Furman thought. I have too much to lose to make a mistake like that.

  30

  Eric had his unmarked cruiser up to 85mph as he weaved in and out of traffic.

  "Are you always this sloppy?" Provo smirked.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Jesus, Eric. Your car is filthy. I’d hate to see what your place looks like."

  "Who said you’ll ever get the chance to see my place," Eric winked.