Hunting Michael Underwood

by L V Gaudet

  “You know, you, him, augh.” Nathan grimaces in an expression of agony. “My suit, the beams, the signals, they’re getting through.”

  Jason kneels in front of him. Nathan watches Jason deliberately reach towards him with one hand, pinching a piece of foil in his fingers and pealing it off.”

  “NOOO!!!” Nathan shrieks wildly.

  Jason stops, still holding the foil. “Then talk. What did you do with the boy? Did you kill him?”

  “No. No no no no.” He shakes his head vehemently.

  “Where is he?”

  “B-b-basement.”

  “What basement? Where?”

  “M-m-my house. Ac-c-cross the s-s-street.”

  Jason studies him for a moment, thinking.

  “What do you mean I became the boy?”

  Nathan gapes at him. Of course he should know this. Is it a trick? I need to be careful, or he’ll take my soul and make me one of him too. Like vampires.

  “Y-y-you are o-o-one of them. A ch-ch-changeling. A m-m-monster. I saw you. You l-l-looked out the window upstairs, a man. Th-then you looked out, b-b-but you were a b-b-boy.”

  Jason nods, understanding now. This guy is a bona fide lunatic.

  “If you hurt that kid, I’ll put a hurt on you like you can’t even imagine.”

  Jason gets up, starts to turn, and changes his mind. Facing his prisoner, he takes the lampshade hat off his head. He holds it between them, studying it.

  Nathan looks up at him with wide eyes filled with desperation. “M-m-my hat, I need it,” he mewls like a small child.

  “This hat?”

  “Y-y-yes.”

  Jason puts it on the floor before him and winks at Nathan. He deliberately stomps on it, crushing it to Nathan‘s horror.

  Staring at his ruined hat, Nathan’s mouth opens wide and he screams, the shrieks tearing violently from his throat, spittle flying, screech after agonized screech.

  “Shut up or I’ll rip all that crap off you,” Jason says in a low dangerous voice.

  Nathan shuts up, whimpering.

  “Take me to him.” Jason loosens the cord on Nathan‘s feet just enough to let him take small steps and unties the cord from the stair railing, roughly yanking him to his feet.

  39Trevor Mitchell is Mr. Miller

  Ryan pulls into the gravel lot of a diner that seems to have been dropped randomly in the middle of nowhere, his truck bouncing and rolling over the potholes. He parks on the far end of the lot, gets out, and starts walking towards the diner.

  Inside, a man sits at a booth towards the back away from the door and against a window.

  He is middle-aged with thinning hair cut in a businessman style. He is wearing a cheap suit jacket, trousers, dress shirt with the top two buttons undone, and no tie.

  Ryan’s temporary Anderson.

  Anderson watches the truck pull in, park, and Ryan get out, approaching the diner. A wry smile creases his lips as he watches. It does not reach his eyes. He turns his attention back to his coffee when Ryan reaches the door, pretending to be uninterested in the man entering.

  Ryan enters the diner, pauses to look around, and heads for the booth. He slides in across from Anderson, nodding a greeting.

  He looks agitated, Anderson thinks. He’s uptight. He smiles inwardly, enjoying this.

  “I wasn’t sure you were going to show up,” Anderson says, not looking up.

  “I’ve been busy,” Ryan says noncommittally.

  “I know.”

  They pause with the arrival of the waitress to take Ryan’s order and fill his coffee cup, resuming once she is out of earshot.

  “There is another job lined up,” Anderson says, casually sipping his coffee. “There shouldn’t be anything unexpected. Mr. Miller is experienced.”

  Ryan stirs sugar into his coffee and takes a sip, grimacing at the painful burn of the too hot coffee.

  “Is everything else going okay?” Anderson watches him, evaluating his body language.

  Ryan hesitates, weighing whether or not to bring up the subject of bringing Elaine in to accompany him on his jobs. He quickly decides against it. It’s too soon.

  I don’t trust this guy, Anderson, he decides. Something about him just puts him off.

  “Everything is fine.” Ryan thinks about what Jason told him. He trusts Anderson even less.

  He is probably weighing and judging me right now. He’ll report back to his boss, his Anderson, whatever he’s called. Then they’ll decide if I live or die. I can run. I can go home, get Elaine and disappear. No, they’ll find us. You don’t walk away. You don’t run away. There is nowhere you can go that they won’t find you.

  “I think we need a few more moves before we can settle down. A few more identity changes, then we can settle down for good.” Ryan decides his best chance is putting them at the mercy of the organization. With their help, they can vanish forever under new aliases. Without their help, they can vanish, but they’ll be hunted.

  All those years on the run, and Jason always found me. How? It had to be them. They keep tabs on everyone. Hell, they knew where I’ve been, who I’ve been, in the years I dropped off the grid. When I finally contacted them, they already knew.

  Anderson nods from across the table. He was expecting this. Michael and his girlfriend are already invisible to the rest of the world.

  Almost invisible, except from us. You can’t hide from the organization. It’s about time he learned that and accepted it.

  “We can have that arranged. It’s good. I think I have a new manager for you.” Anderson smiles for the first time. It’s not a friendly smile, more smug. “You know where to find the details of the new job.”

  “I do.”

  “We will meet again after it’s done.”

  Ryan nods, leaving money on the table for his bill and an average tip as he gets up. He doesn’t look back as he walks out despite the itch in his back to turn around.

  Anderson watches out the window as Ryan gets back in his truck and drives away. “This will be interesting.”

  Ryan pulls up in front of the house. Getting out, he walks to the door, hesitating before opening it.

  Is she here? Or will she be with him?

  He opens the door and steps in. The house is quiet and no one comes to greet him. With his heart heavy, he goes to the bedroom to pack for the trip. He feels stiff, like he has slept for too long without moving.

  Grabbing his bag, he carries it out and drops it by the front door. He heads to the kitchen to pack some sandwiches.

  Ryan steps into the kitchen and stops.

  Elaine is there, sitting at the kitchen table. She avoids looking at him.

  “Hi,” he says, feeling like there is a huge gulf between them that he is not welcome to cross. The emotional distance is like a physical force separating them.

  “Hi.” She still doesn’t look at him.

  Ryan fidgets uncertainly, then moves further in, going to the fridge and pulling out stuff to make sandwiches. He looks at her when he grabs a loaf of bread.

  “Are you hungry?” he asks, starting on the sandwiches.

  “No.”

  “I’ll make you one anyway.” He continues to work, the silence between them maddening. He stops before he’s finished, turning to her.

  “I’m sorry. Whatever it is, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for dragging you away, running away. For changing your identity and not letting you see your mom. I’m sorry for not being around enough, for- for having to take these jobs out of town. I’m sorry for everything.”

  Are you sorry for kidnapping me? For keeping me a prisoner in your stinking root cellar? Elaine feels the words in her mind like an acute pain. Are you sorry for murdering those women? For Cassie? For that woman in the hospital, Jane Doe, who you thought was her? Are you sorry that you are still looking for her? Or that you will never find her because you killed her a long time ago?

  Trevor hasn’t hurt anyone. I don’t have to be afraid he will go crazy and kill me, talking to
his dead sister who is not there.

  She feels the fear, but it’s clouded with doubt and guilt. Michael would never hurt me. The thought comes unwanted and she pushes it away. Yes, he could, she reminds herself.

  She says nothing, only looking down at the cold half-empty coffee in front of her. She stopped drinking it hours ago.

  Ryan looks at her nervously. “You know I have another one of those jobs. I told you. I need to leave soon.” He pauses. “I wish I could take you with me. Soon. I’ll be able to take you soon.”

  He stops, swallows, trying to think of how to say the next part.

  “When I come back, we’ll be moving again.”

  Elaine stiffens.

  “I’ll get a new job. We’ll find a better house, new identities.”

  Elaine finally looks up at him. She is torn. Part of her wants Ryan to take her away from Trevor and the confusing emotions conflicting her feelings between the two men in her life. She blinks. Suddenly she does not want Trevor taken away. She does not want Ryan deciding her life for her, where she lives, trapped in the house alone and not allowed to go out because of his fear they will be caught. Deciding who she is.

  Ryan steps closer to her. He pulls a chair closer and sits, taking her hands in his. He looks down. He can’t see the reaction in her eyes.

  “I know you’ve been seeing him. I know,” he swallows, “you’ve developed feelings for him. But I know you still have feelings for me too. I don’t want to lose you. We can still have what we talked about. A peaceful life. No more running or hiding. We can still get married, have kids.”

  Elaine is shaking her head slowly.

  “It’s not too late,” Ryan says.

  “I don’t know what I want,” Elaine finally manages.

  A heavy sigh escapes Ryan. His shoulders slump and he nods.

  “I understand. Maybe this trip is good. It will give you some time alone to think.”

  He finishes making his sandwiches, wrapping and bagging them with a couple water bottles, and leaving a sandwich for her. He picks them up and starts walking out of the kitchen, stopping in the doorway to take one last look at her.

  She’s so beautiful, sitting there. Sad and beautiful. Somehow, I’ll make this right.

  “I love you,” he whispers and leaves.

  Elaine doesn’t look up. She doesn’t say a word, doesn’t get up to see him off. She just sits there staring at her cold half-empty coffee. Tears start sliding down her cheeks.

  Ryan pulls up outside an old motel. It is the kind of place you would stay only because it is marginally better than sleeping in the ruined ashes that remain of the other fleabag motel after it burned down. It will look even bleaker in the daylight, the worst of it hidden by the dark night.

  He has been on the road for two days, sleeping in only short catnaps before hitting the road again. Exhaustion pulls at him, making his head so heavy he can barely hold it up. This is where he is to meet Mr. Miller tomorrow.

  He studies the place. There is only one car in the lot, parked near the office.

  He takes a slow drive around the motel, casing it out. There is not a single room light on. If anyone is staying in any of the rooms, they are either out or gone to bed.

  “Probably nobody but Mr. Miller is desperate enough to stay in this dump.”

  Ryan swings the truck back around to the road and drives off the road and across the shallow ditch, finding a secluded spot to park behind the bushes on the edge. He can still see anyone coming up the road in either direction and the front of the motel.

  Shutting off the engine, he sits to wait and watch.

  “Wake up David. Wake up.”

  Ryan blinks his eyes groggily. “Huh?” Exhaustion makes the sleep cling to him in a fog of confusion.

  “David, you have to wake up.”

  He rubs his eyes, righting himself from his slouched position, and looks around.

  Little Cassie is sitting in the passenger seat looking up at him with a serious expression.

  The sun is up, the bright light glinting off the paint of the truck. Anyone driving by would have seen it glinting in the trees.

  He tries to shake the sleep out of his head.

  “What time is it?”

  “Daytime,” Cassie says helpfully.

  “No, what time is it?” Ryan looks at his watch. He relaxes. “Still time.”

  Cassie looks at him. “You should go now.”

  “Why? The meeting isn’t for a few hours.”

  She points through the trees to the motel.

  There is a second car parked there now.

  “Maybe you are right. I should take a look around. It will give me a chance to stretch my legs.”

  Ryan gets out and walks through the trees towards the motel. He does a full walk around the building, returning to the truck and getting in.

  “It looks all right. I can’t tell what room he’s in from where the car is parked.”

  “You are going to see Auntie Sophie after this aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t. She probably doesn’t want to see you anyway. Besides, she doesn’t know where I am.”

  “I think she does.”

  “She won’t tell you, David.”

  “Stop calling me that.” His jaw clenches.

  Lawrence’s buzzer rings. He is on his couch surrounded by boxes and stacks of papers and files. He tries to avoid knocking any over as he gets up, stepping high to step over them, and fails. A pile leans, tips, and falls, sending files and papers skittering across the floor.

  The buzzer rings again, impatiently. He reaches the door, punching the buzzer button on the wall with his thumb, holding it down to silence the noise.

  “Yeah,” he calls into the speaker on the wall.

  “McNelly here,” the voice crackles through the speaker.

  Without another word, Lawrence presses the other button, sounding the buzzer below and releasing the lock.

  He starts unlocking the locks on the door, finishing and watching out the peephole for the fat detective to come lumbering to his door.

  He opens the door just as Jim is reaching for it, stepping back and waving him in.

  “You’ve been busy,” Jim says, taking in the mountain of boxes that has grown since he was here last. It feels like months, although it has been only days.

  Lawrence closes the door, locking just a few of the locks.

  “I see you added some,” Jim nods towards the door.

  “Can’t be too safe,” Lawrence frowns. “Did Beth find her?”

  Jim smiles. “Of course she did. She’s Beth.”

  “You should ask her out,” Lawrence says, heading for the kitchen. “Coffee?”

  “You got anything stronger?”

  “I might.”

  Jim listens to the sound of plinking and Lawrence comes back with two glasses of ice and a bottle of rye whiskey. “Turpentine?”

  “Absolutely. So what’s all this?” He indicates the files.

  “I’m looking for something.”

  “Are you ready for a road trip to visit Sophie McAllister?”

  “Have the DNA results come back yet?”

  “It’s too soon. It could take a few weeks yet. I tried to push a rush on it, but they move in their own time.”

  Lawrence pours them both a glass, handing one to Jim. Jim grimaces as he swallows a mouthful.

  Ryan takes one last drive around the motel, scouting it out, before he parks his truck on the side of the building. Getting out, he looks left and right before walking around the side away from the front office and around the corner to the front. He stops in front of the designated room number, takes a slow deep breath, and knocks.

  His heart is pounding in his chest while he waits. The door opens. He looks up and staggers back.

  Jason’s pulse races and his heart pounds. If anyone is watching, if just one neighbour or passerby sees, they will call the police. The kid might not have time for him to worry abou
t that.

  Jason waited until night when the cover of darkness will help, and most people are sleeping.

  Gripping the T.V. cord leash tight, wrapping it around his hand so his prisoner can’t pull it free from his grasp, he opens the front door and shoves Nathan out ahead of him. Nathan wobbles, only able to take small steps with his feet hobbled to keep him from running or kicking. Jason has to help him down the steps.

  “All right, lead the way. Where’s the kid?”

  Nathan winces and moans with the white hot agony of the stars shooting little pinpricks of light through him like little daggers, trying to kill him.

  “I need my suit,” Nathan whines. “They’re killing me. I have to keep myself protected when the stars are out. I have a special suit for the stars.”

  “Shut up and walk.” Jason shoves him forward and Nathan shuffle stumbles ahead.

  Nathan is looking up at the sky, praying the clouds to come in and smother the moon and stars, giving him some protection from them. He can hear the moon whispering to him in its low voice. Its voice is pale like its light, lifeless. The voice of death.

  He wants to cover his ears to block it out, but his hands are still tied painfully tight behind his back.

  “Shut up,” he moans. “Shut up.” It is whispering bad things to him, drawing in the stars, making them echo its words like a thousand voices whispering in his head. “Shut up. Shut up. Shutupshutupshutupshutup.”

  He starts shuffle-running across the lawn, stumbling down the curb and continues his shuffle-run across the street. Jason walks fast to keep up, letting his pathetic two-legged dog lead the way. Nathan hops up the curb on the other side onto the grass, shuffle-running across to the front door of the house. He has to crawl up the steps dragging his hobbled feet up, Jason unwilling to take the risk of giving him his feet. Nathan bangs his body against the door, unable to work the knob without hands.

  Jason leans past him, opening the door, and the bound man falls into the house, hitting the floor with a thud and a grunt. He rolls away from the entrance to the darkness within, yanking Jason off balance with the cord around his neck still wrapped around Jason’s hand, choking himself on his own leash.