When the massive stone cathedral came into view, an entirely different image of it was waiting for me. Copying the scene at the police precinct, a mob of protestors were scattered along the church steps, held back by a barrier of police and fencing. Of all the places to take out one’s pent-up rage, a historical church in Queen Anne seemed low on the list of prospects. That was, until I realized it wasn’t the church they were protesting, but the support group housed inside it, this same time every Monday night.
The Huntsman’s vision had spread. Maybe not in its totality, but in its objective of eliciting fear in those who would consider harming an innocent.
After parking, I allowed myself a minute to take in the war-like sight. More people dressed in black, faces mostly disguised, throwing fists in the air to the beat of their indistinct chants. Among the fray were several stuffed burlap dummies swinging from the ends of rope, a spray-painted symbol of death marking the chests.
Pulling out my phone, I snapped several photos, wondering what I’d feel when looking back on the images decades from now. Speculating at the transformation my life would have taken by then, as I knew with certainty change was coming. I felt the plates shifting beneath my feet, forcing transformation if it wasn’t willingly embraced.
Tucking my container of mace into my hand, I stepped out onto the wet sidewalks and made my way toward the swarm. The rain from this morning hadn’t let up, and in the time it took me to cross the street and circumnavigate the main throng of rioters, I was sopping wet.
“The building’s closed off, ma’am,” one of the officers shouted at me when I approached the barrier.
I had to holler back to be heard above the noise. “My husband’s inside.”
Behind the clear face shield, I could make out the officer’s scrutinizing inspection, his immense gun resting between us as a nonverbal threat.
“Dr. Noah Wolff. He’s the psychiatrist who facilities the meeting,” I added when I realized the origin of the scrutinizing look.
“I’d advise you to wait for your husband somewhere else, ma’am. All hell’s going to come loose when the men inside this place file out.” His giant helmet tipped in the direction of the rioters. “You don’t want to get caught in the mix.”
“I’ve been duly warned. But I’ll take my chances.” I blinked at him through the rain, waiting to be allowed passage and not beyond pressing past if necessary.
In the end, I didn’t have to make that choice. The officer stepped aside, allowing me to slide through the barricade.
“Be careful, ma’am. You’re entering the lion’s den,” he shouted, following me to the large door to pull it open.
“I will,” I answered, knowing that something far more dangerous than a pack of lions prowled inside these church walls.
The heavy door sealed me inside, transforming the roar of noise into a hollow echo. Unlike the remodeled Episcopal church where I’d visited Noah on a different night, this historic building had not been remodeled in any capacity beyond mandatory restoration. The church had been given a historic building status decades ago, so no basements or additions had been added onto it. That meant the meetings took place inside the sanctuary, especially when the meeting had an attendance as large as the one Noah was currently leading.
Lingering outside the open doors leading into the sanctuary, I could only make out bodies, not words. I wasn’t sure if the turnout was usually this large, but I counted at least three dozen figures clustered in the front pews.
Three dozen. Nearly the same number Noah had executed.
To see it in visual terms, accepting these were the type of men he’d ended, gave meaning—an inescapable gravity—to the situation.
Part of me wondered if there’d been a recent growth in these kinds of support groups around the nation. I assumed when the ever-present target on your back drew more attention than normal it increased your need for support, but perhaps some of them were actually in search of help, wanting to stay on the good side of the law—even if only for fear of tempting an untimely death at the hands of the Huntsman and now, his burgeoning Disciples.
I couldn’t be sure. And frankly, I didn’t care. Like Noah, I’d accepted that counseling, jail time, medications, and registrations weren’t adequate deterrents for most of the predators drawn to children.
Only one deterrent was suitable where appetites this perverse prevailed.
From up front, I could have sworn Noah saw me, his gaze landing on my spot in the shadows. He couldn’t have seen me—not unless he could see in the dark—but I guessed he felt my presence.
The tenuous rope that connected us was a collection of fibers fraying and firming through the span of the trials and triumphs we’d endured together. But unlike a sailor’s rope that lost its strength the longer it was exposed to inclement weather, the human tie grew stronger, every storm binding the connection tighter. We were linked. Bound to each other’s fates.
As the meeting drew to an end, Noah shook everyone’s hand. His effect was so genuine even I, who knew the truth, was lulled into believing the authenticity of the act.
“Be sure to take the back doors when you leave,” Noah’s voice rang through the sanctuary as men filed out. “Officers will be stationed outside to provide safe passage should you require it.”
A couple of men who were the first to meander out of the sanctuary huffed. “Never thought I’d see the day when I’d be safer with a cop at my side than without.”
“I can barely walk into a supermarket without being called out. All these neighborhood watch groups popping up and damn Disciples handing out fliers with our faces on them at every corner.”
Turning to them, I couldn’t help myself. “If you would never have committed an egregious crime, you wouldn’t have to worry about being recognized as a sexual predator.”
“Haven’t you ever heard of a second chance?” The younger one who had the looks of a college football star and the eyes of a predator waved me off.
“And what about a second chance for the children you forced yourselves upon?” I stared at them, waiting for a sufficient answer I guessed would not come. “Where’s their second chance?”
“Think you missed the group meeting you’re supposed to be at. The pitchfork wavers are outside, dressed in black and masks because they’re too chicken-shit to show their faces.”
Something warmed in my blood. Moving toward the two men, I didn’t stop until I was right in front of them. “Here’s my face,” I said, meeting their eyes. “Remember it.”
Saying nothing else, I stood there, forcing them to be the ones to look away first. The ones to scurry off into the void. They were followed by the other men from the group.
“Contemplating the dark side?” His voice spilled like an echo from behind, billowing around me as though it were encasing me.
“I’m on your side, whatever side of the light that puts me.” Turning slowly, I found him standing beside one of the pews, appraising me with a look that somehow managed to invoke both the urge to run from and to him. “Whatever side of the law that finds me.”
From the corner of my eye, I noticed a shadow emerge from the end of one of the pews. Adrenaline burst into my veins when I saw who it was.
“Noah, leave.” I moved between him and Ed. “Run.”
Noah didn’t budge, almost appearing amused at my attempts to run defense. “Promise to give chase if I do?”
After firing a brief glare at him, I focused on Ed, contemplating what he was going to do. Ed knew who Noah was and had served the Seattle PD for close to forty years. “Noah, I’m serious.”
“Clearly,” Noah replied, gesturing at me as proof.
Ed started for the aisle.
“He knows.” I stared at Noah, a silent plea etched into the furrows of my face. “He’s got proof.”
Noah’s eyes cut across the aisle toward Ed. “I’m aware of that.”
“And he’s not going anywhere.” Ed’s deep voice rumbled through the sanctuary. He
lifted his hands as he approached, as though to calm a feral creature. “I showed him the footage earlier, after you flew out of my Buick like I was fixing to filet you and serve you for dinner.”
“You’re a police officer,” I argued.
“And you’re a prosecutor, kid.” Ed’s heavy footsteps rang against the rafters. “But you and me, we’re on the same side of this thing.”
“You’ve got that wrong.” My head shook, causing a spray of rain droplets to fall from the ends of my hair. “This instance, I’m on the wrong side of the law.”
Ed stopped moving when he was in front of me, the weathered lines of his face drawn deep from his serious expression. “So am I. I’m with you. And him.”
My eyes swept from Ed to Noah, confusion making me blink in rapid succession. “What’s going on?”
Noah’s long arm gestured across the aisle. “Ed visited my office earlier this afternoon, showing me the intersection footage and stating his suspicions.”
“What did you tell him?” My voice stumbled over the second half of my question.
“The truth.”
The air left my lungs in a plunging gasp. “You confessed to the murders of over thirty people, Noah.”
He held his arms out, lifting the cuffs of his shirtsleeves to reveal his wrists to me. “Do you see any handcuffs?”
“Will somebody please tell me what’s going on?” My voice churned up the aisle, echoing off the high ceilings and stained glass.
“I want in.” Ed’s throat moved when my eyes landed on him.
“You want in?” I repeated, waiting for some kind of explanation.
Ed waved his finger between Noah and me. “I want to assist you two in whatever manner I can.”
“Us two?” When I glanced at Noah for some kind of direction, his chin tipped at me in a way that suggested he thought I was doing fine. “Last I checked, there was the Huntsman, singular, not Huntsmen, plural.”
The corners of Ed’s eyes narrowed. “And how long have you known and remained silent?”
“A whole twenty hours.”
“And that was a whole twenty hours you had to turn the most active serial killer in known existence over to the authorities. But you didn’t.” Ed stuck his hands into the pockets of his rain jacket. “I’d say that’s you joining—voluntarily or not—the team.”
My teeth ground. “There isn’t a team.”
“Well maybe there should be.” Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he pulled up an image on his screen. He flashed it to Noah first, then me. “This is Dallas Dubois, twenty-six years old and already has a record the size of a hardened criminal twice his age. He likes kids. Little ones. Does things to them I won’t say out loud inside a place of God.” Ed stared at the image on his phone, a silent storm of emotions playing across his face. “I have a buddy down in the Salt Lake precinct. This animal was recently brought in as the main suspect of a murdered kid they found floating in some local river. There were signs of severe sexual and physical abuse, even with the body decomp’ing in the water for weeks.”
Ed pulled up another image, a long rush of air coming from his nose as he studied it. “Whatever evidence might have been present when the body went into the water was long gone by the time someone pulled it out, and Dubois’s girlfriend gave him an alibi for the approximate time of death.”
When Ed showed me the photo, I didn’t look away or close my eyes as images like this advised. Neither did Noah when Ed’s phone shifted toward him. The ridge of Noah’s jaw faintly pressed against his skin, his shoulders stiffening beneath his dress shirt.
“So Dubois pulls the Get Out of Jail Free card, and Salt Lake’s going to be dragging another six-year-old out of the river sometime in the future.” Ed stuffed his phone back into his pocket. “I wanted to see if this waste of space was a case you two might be interested in taking a closer look at.”
Why Ed was here, the reason he’d shown us the video evidence, was beginning to take shape. He wasn’t there to take Noah in . . . he was there to give him his next target.
I found myself staring at Ed, heart and head pounding as the realization came to a point.
“I’ll look into it.” Noah’s head tipped my direction. “But she’s not a part of this.”
“Yes.” My voice rang off the ceiling. “I am a part of this.”
Noah’s light eyes flashed when they fell on me. The corner of his mouth twitched when he noticed my fists balled at my sides. “Since when?”
I lifted my left hand between us. “Since the moment I vowed to spend a lifetime at your side.”
Noah’s forehead creased when he focused on my wedding ring. “I believe I broke those vows when I undertook this project without your knowledge, alienating you from my life as a result.”
Closing the distance between us, I slid my hand into his. His fingers knotted through mine, his wide palm engulfing my hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I’ve lied to you.”
“To protect me from the truth,” I replied.
“I’ve cheated on you.”
“By expelling flesh, not indulging in it.”
“I’ve stolen from you,” he said. “Our family.”
“Time lost we’ll make up for going forward.”
His eyes flickered to mine. “I’ve murdered thirty-three people.”
My fingers tightened around his. “And saved countless children’s lives by doing so.”
A storm of indecision cascaded down Noah’s face, his throat moving when he swallowed.
“Looks like your solo act just became a trio, Dr. Wolff.” Ed clucked his tongue as he moved closer. “I’m here to assist in whatever way so you can continue with the good work you’re doing.”
“You make me sound like some missionary building schools in impoverished countries. I’m not a saint, make no mistake of that, either of you. If you don’t believe that, come watch me end the life of the next man I decide on.” A gleam flashed in Noah’s eyes, predatory in origin. “There’s no remorse in my face when I watch the breath leave him, no conflict in my eyes when I watch the light disappear from his. My hands don’t shake, and my pulse doesn’t quicken. I’m more machine than man when I take a life. A saint I’m not.”
A grunt rolled deep in Ed’s chest. “You’re free to think of yourself as some unredeemable sinner, but I’ve dealt with enough bad men to recognize a good one.”
Noah sighed, his gaze cutting Ed’s direction. “You’re sure? Once you take the first step down this path, there’s no turning back or stepping off. It’s a lifetime commitment if you want membership to this grim organization.”
“Let’s see. Am I sure?” Ed mused, eyes narrowing. “My whole life I’ve dedicated to cleaning up the streets. It’s only recently I’ve accepted that unconventional ways have their merits too.” Ed shifted his weight. “I’ve worked in law enforcement long enough to accept its shortcomings. So yeah, I’m damn sure.”
Noah nodded solemnly, his free hand brushing a piece of wet hair behind my ear. “And you?”
“I’ve already given you my answer. How many times do you need to hear it before you accept it?”
“At least once more.”
My head angled up toward his. “I’m with you.”
His mouth quirked. “There is power in numbers.”
“You just tripled your power in five minutes,” I replied, one eyebrow rising. “Plus, the Huntsman’s been caught in the eyes of the authorities.”
Something dark registered in his eyes before he let go of my hand and turned away. “I’m not sure I can allow an innocent man to pay for my crimes.”
“Innocent is not a word I would use to describe Sammy Sullivan,” Ed scoffed. “And let’s not forget he was arrested for nearly beating the life out of a man, and then he confessed to being the Huntsman.”
Back to us, Noah ambled past a couple of pews in silent contemplation. “Why confess to crimes he didn’t commit? Especially when those crimes come attached to a life se
ntence spent behind bars?”
“For the notoriety. The attention. The glory.” Ed leaned into the doorway. “The Huntsman’s been elevated to cult-level fame, a real-life superhero with a dark side. What’s a life spent behind bars when Sullivan knows his name will be eternalized for his actions?”
“For my actions.”
Ed’s brows lifted. “You’re jealous some other person is getting all the credit for your hard work?”
Noah’s back moved from his sardonic huff. “Not jealous, but conflicted.”
“That’s because you have a conscience. Something Sullivan is void of.” Ed shrugged. “Let the bastard take the fall. He volunteered for that honor, and in so doing, he lets you continue cleaning up the refuse the first line of defense let slip through.”
“It’s the first time an innocent man has paid with his life for my actions.”
“There’s nothing blameless about any of Samuel Sullivan’s actions.” I watched Noah as he appeared to be seeking counsel from the crucifix bolstered behind the pulpit. “This isn’t only about you, Noah. Think about that. What you started . . . it’s bigger than you and your conscience. It’s larger than wrestling guilt and weighing your options. This is about protecting those children the legal system is going to fail. It’s about keeping those monsters under their beds a fable they’ll look back on in adulthood and laugh at, instead of having their fears confirmed that monsters really do exist. Don’t let one man, Sullivan or yourself, be the reason the veil of protection gets lifted from future victims.”
Noah was silent for a while, weighing his convictions against my words, I guessed. When Ed opened his mouth to say something, I shook my head at him. Noah had been a silent reflector as long as I’d known him, but to his credit, he worked out his problems and doubts in that stormy mix more times than not.
“We’re going to need a place to meet,” Noah said a minute later, turning around to face us. “Somewhere private.”
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