by Noah Fregger
“Whoa, Maddox.” Rick raised his hands. “Hold on a minute.”
“Who else is in on it?”
“We didn’t do it,” Kyle insisted.
“Hold on, Boss.” Jackson stepped in front of the hunter, between his trigger finger and Rick’s face. “This is Rick we’re talkin’ about. He aint no mastermind. Whatever took that body is seriously fucking with us right now.” Jackson took a step closer. “This is Houdini, Boss. It aint this stupid piece of shit. Even I feel like putting a bullet in him every now and then, but he aint the one doing this.”
The hunter kept his weapon raised, not because he felt much like killing Rick anymore, but because, for the first time in a long while, he had no idea how to proceed–what his next move should be. And for a man used to being several steps ahead, it was extremely disorienting.
“Boss,” Jackson said, turning his palms toward the floor.
He lowered the weapon, leaving Rick free to breathe a sigh of relief. The hunter stepped out, his boots crunching on broken glass. He followed the footprints into the sunlight, where each print became widely separated from the last. Whoever it was had left in nothing short of a sprint. And despite the shiver threatening to travel his spine, he couldn’t allow himself to reconsider the option of the unknown. Even if what his men were telling him was true, there would still have to be a rational explanation behind an invisible bogeyman.
Hunt her, he thought. It’s only verbal message to them. Hunt her.
What did that mean? Who were they supposed to hunt?
But then it struck him, the harnessed chill releasing itself at that moment.
Not “hunt her,” he realized. “Hunter.”
That thing had beckoned him by name.
18
Won’t Feel a Thing
Mike said “Here ya go, Sam,” as he poured out a small helping of honey baked beans for the dog. “Might make you gassy, but it’s better than nothing.”
The German Shepherd showed his gratification by polishing off the helping in a couple hearty licks.
“Slow down there, Sammy.” He rubbed the dog’s head. “It aint a race.” Mike ate a spoonful himself. “Damn good beans though. My thanks to … ” He shuffled through a stack of mail on the counter, finding the former resident’s name within. “Ms. Jana Limawitz, thank you for leaving these beans behind for me and Sammy.”
Sam concurred, moistening his chops with the slime of his tongue. Food was about as slim as Mike had allowed his poor companion to become.
“That’s one of the benefits to being nomadic, Sammy,” Mike announced, waving the slip of mail between them. “All these nice people we get to meet.”
The luxury apartment’s decor definitely had the premeditation of a woman’s touch. Mike couldn’t exactly define Fung Shui, but he was certain the place was up to its ears in it. The drapes matched the couch; the coffee table matched the entertainment center; and the marble-topped island in the kitchen was simply superb.
“A guy could get used to this.” He propped his feet up and relaxed in the leather recliner. “Maybe we should stick around for a few days, huh?”
Sam made himself comfortable at his master’s side.
“I saw a queen-size bed in there, too, Sam–plenty of room for the both of us.”
But Sam rose suddenly, his ears perked, nose forward–intently focused.
“What’s wrong, Sam?” Mike turned and surveyed the room. “There’s nothing here but you and me, Boy.”
With ears laid flat, the German Shepherd emitted a low growl.
Mike swung the foot rest down, clicking it in place, as he stood with Sam. The dog was peering down the short hallway, toward the front door.
Maybe this place is already taken.
Possibly. Sam could have been sensing the current tenant coming home. Mike pulled out his weapon and pressed his finger to his lips. Sam obliged, falling silent. Mike stepped cautiously toward the front door, Sam along his stride. But no one yet came to try the knob, no footsteps resonated in approach beyond the doorway.
“I think you might be mistaken, Sammy,” Mike whispered.
But the dog’s haunches never settled.
“There’s no one out there.”
But a knock soon rapped softly upon the other side of the door, Sam erupting in a fury of snarls and barks.
Dammit.
Mike eased the German Shepherd back as he looked through the view port. No one stood on the other side, the hall beyond remaining very vacant.
He hushed Sammy sternly, placing his hand on the dog’s snout. “Way to give away our position, Sam,” Mike scolded. “But I think you scared them off.”
Whoever it was must have moved on, perhaps someone randomly checking apartment room doors.
But then the knock returned, soft as before.
Mike checked the hallway again through the hole while Sam continued to growl behind him. Still no one awaited his response from the other side.
“What the hell?”
Another knock.
“Who’s there, God Dammit?!”
“Calm yourself, Michael,” a deepened voice offered from beyond the threshold.
“Who are you?” Mike placed his pistol to the door. “How do you know my name?”
“I’m afraid I require your assistance, Michael.”
“Yeah, I bet you do,” Mike snapped. “Last time I offered my assistance to someone, I nearly got choked out. So … you know … fuck off.”
There was a lengthy pause from the other side, so long, in fact, that Mike thought the man had walked away. “That’s quite unfortunate,” he answered finally. “Elizabeth will be saddened by your decision, Michael.”
Mike’s brow crumpled. “What did you say?”
“She is waiting for you, Michael,” the man stated. “I can take you to her.”
“My wife?”
“Yes, Michael.”
“My wife is dead, you dipshit.” Mike grew livid. “I don’t know where you learned my name, and I don’t know where you learned hers; but it’s time for you to be on your fucking way!”
“Please, Michael,” a woman interrupted. “Must you be so difficult?”
The voice stung his eyes as it wrenched at his heart, a pain welling deep in his chest. “L … Liz?” The question escaped him, although he knew it to be impossible.
“Yes, Michael,” she answered warmly. “I see you’ve been taking good care of Sammy.”
“But … ” He pressed his weight to the door, feeling his knees giving out beneath him. “But you died, Liz.”
“It’s over now, Michael. We can be together again. All you have to do is open the door and come with me.”
“It’s over?” He looked again, but even through the veil of coming tears, he could still see no one there. Mike might have believed himself mad, if not for Sammy; but the dog hadn’t been comforted, as he had, by the sound of their lost Liz’s voice. The dog still seemed hesitant, untrusting, growling there at his side.
“I can’t see you, Liz.”
“I’m here, Michael.” Her words, sweet as water to parched lips. “I’m here for you.”
With a twist of the lock, Mike released the slide latch and cracked the door ajar; and with that, Sammy disappeared somewhere within the apartment, leaving his master alone with whatever awaited him beyond that threshold.
If the afterlife was on the other side, if this was the moment he’d read about in various religious scripture, Mike was prepared.
Swinging open the door, he was ready.
But it wasn’t Liz he found standing there in the hallway. It was something else entirely.
He tried to scream, but a scaly hand soon wrapped its way around his mouth.
“Do not panic, Michael.” It lifted him from the floor. “I promise you won’t feel a thing.”
19
Far Better Than Fine
Mohammad ignited the shield just after plowing through both sheets of glass, but not a single bullet even came close to
him. He was through the wall and back in the factory in a matter of seconds, his engineered heart pounding within his chest. He’d found them, every one of them. And they would know the reason behind his wrath before long.
“I am impressed.” Gabriel approached Mohammad later in the evening. “I wasn’t expecting you to find them so soon.”
Mohammad nodded. “They were in that boy’s memory.”
“He is ready for reintroduction,” Gabriel announced. “Giving his history, I thought you might like to see him safely back.”
“I would.”
“As entertaining as that was to watch, I see it’s time now for me to teach you how to make a proper exit.” Gabriel pressed his hand to the hyper-wall, emitting his own map of the city. “Every door you see are doors that I have constructed; but every vertical surface is potentially a door, not only a way out, but also a way back in.” He then touched his gloved hand to a portion of the structure not yet penetrated by the technology. That same hologram of the city appeared, along with a sheet of soft white sliding atop the newly-christened hyper-wall. “All of this exists on a spectrum imperceptible to the human eye,” Gabriel added. “None of it will give away your position.” The Traveler let the hologram dissipate as his features hardened. “But now the time has come for a test.”
“What kind of test?”
“I watched you defeat that human on Lexington,” Gabriel said. “You have a physical edge in this world. You’ll find your strength, agility and reflexes to be unmatched. There is only one problem.”
“And what’s that?”
“There are both benefits and drawbacks to starting with an already established mind. You have a grasp of this world, but your brain needs rewiring. There are rules to be broken, new logic to write in its place. A rock separated from stone can itself become a chisel; but not until it meets the hammer could it know of its true potential.”
“I take it you’re the hammer, then?”
“No.” Gabriel smiled. “I am the craftsman, Mohammad; and I have constructed both the hammer and the chisel.”
“So when will I meet this hammer?”
“Soon.” Gabriel nodded. “But just as my analogy suggests, you’ll find it to be a most violent introduction.”
“Allow me to help you,” the voice offered, just before it brought him to nothing; and Ethan wrapped himself in it, found bliss in the emptiness, the weight of his life lifted from his shoulders.
Freedom had finally come for him.
But Ethan was soon met with the curious scent of a freshly trimmed, summer lawn, as he found himself standing in a very familiar place. Directly to his left was that same playground, still painted in orange and black, its swings swaying on the gentle wind; it was a field he hadn’t seen since childhood.
All was deserted, barren; even the elementary school to his right, a gray and empty structure of dark windowed asphalt, had not a soul about it.
“Ethan,” a voice called to him.
He turned to find the silhouette of a man approaching, carving the lush grass in his direction.
Ethan froze, squinting at the apparition as it stepped out from the tricks of the sun.
“Dad?”
He smiled, his voice just as warm as Ethan remembered. “There’s my boy.”
Laughter then rose from the playground, the giggles of a dark haired boy as he flung himself across the glistening-tipped monkey bars.
“Is this heaven?”
But Dad only smiled back, a hint of sadness upon his face.
“What is it?”
The boy was calling to him, Dad’s attention stolen by the playful child at the moment.
The child … the child was Ethan.
“What is this place?”
But the boy, kicking sand as he ran, had left the playground to sprint across the grass. Dad knelt as the boy collided with him, wrapping little arms around his neck.
“I missed you,” the boy was saying, his voice muffled beneath the strength of their embrace.
“What is this place?” Ethan asked again, but the question was instantly lost, hardly a whisper off his lips. He tried again, but not a sound escaped him, Dad and the boy beginning to walk away as he could only shout in pleas of pure silence. Ethan was forced to watch, with his feet fixed upon the grass, as their bodies grew thin against the blinding sun, just before Dad turned to raise his hand to the sky.
Another goodbye.
And they were gone.
Overtaking the playground and school, the light then brightened, crawling the field until there was nothing but white around him. He wrenched his eyes against it, his screams imperceptible upon the wailing winds.
But then, instantly, there was silence, stillness.
“Dad?” he heard himself say.
Ethan cracked his eyes to a colorful setting, listening to the sweeping breeze of an impending dusk, the brilliance of its sunset casting perfect purples and pinks high into the clouds above him. With the ground on his back, the peaks of shattered buildings loomed overhead as he stared skyward. The air was crisp, refreshing, the image of Dad just as vivid in his mind’s eye as anything else he could currently witness. He had been dying. He was sure of it. But now, sitting up and surveying the alley, he felt better than he had in a long while.
Ethan rose to his feet, stretching out the muscles in his back. Broken and dilapidated, the world around him was still just as he’d remembered it–the miraculous, it seemed, reserved solely for him. He might have preferred death, considering. But maybe this was Hell, something he could never truly escape from. Perhaps it wasn’t miraculous at all–just steadfast, permanent damnation.
“You okay?” a voice asked from behind him.
Startled, Ethan spun to find a man observing him intently.
“Had a dream about your dad?” With a darker complexion, kind eyes, and a rather comforting grin, the man set his arm atop a dumpster and put his weight against it. “Not the best place to take a snooze, though, huh?”
But Ethan didn’t know how to respond. If this was actual, legitimate concern, it had remained nearly as alien to Ethan as the ones that brought them the hybrid species. “I’m fine,” he muttered, beginning to walk away.
“No,” the man objected. “You’re far better than fine, Son.”
“Whatever, Man.” Ethan waved his hand in the air, disregarding the odd remark, when he noticed the unusual lack of discomfort in the motion. He stopped, looking down as he curled and uncurled his fingers; and there, at the center of his palm, no remnants of any wound could be found. Ethan turned to look back at the dark man, but found nothing but a vacant alley, filled only with the elongated shadow of coming twilight.
Overcome by an icy mixture of fright and excitement, Ethan propelled himself in a maddened haste across the sidewalk, eager to share the experience with Amanda, along with the proof present right on his flesh. She was the reason, after all, why he’d ventured out at death’s door–the notion of dying alone, far worse than any other circumstance he could play through his sickly brain.
He had to find her, had to tell her that she was his Eurydice, that she remained the only reason why continued life in this Hades could seem at all appealing.
20
Check Mate
There were people looking to him for protection. How could he convince them they were safe now, after some unseen intruder came in to make a fool out of him? Supernatural or not, the hunter found the outcome to still be the same. It raised doubt. And doubt is dangerous. Better to be feared than doubted.
This would be the perfect time for some degenerate to stage a coup, when others might like to try their luck at a new leader. Talk all they want, no one could do a better job than him. Already he’d taken the necessary precautions. His men were guarding the place in shifts, armed to the teeth, just in case this supposed “bogeyman” felt like returning.
The hunter, himself, brought a whole stockpile of weapons up into his manager’s loft and locked the door. Victoria wishe
d to bed with him that evening, so he’d allowed her entry. As always, he enjoyed her company. She had a way of soothing his mind; and intimacy with her was just another means of release. Seldom did he wish for it in that regard, but this night was different.
He found himself longing for the simplicities of the old world. Throughout his life, the hunter could only recall a handful of casual sexual encounters … how each of their names escaped him. They were important at the time, lust prevalent and heavy, met with a short-lived embrace. At least it seemed short-lived in retrospect. His whole life was a fleeting moment, the years he had with Andrea but the blink of an eye.
Even with Victoria at his side, he still thought of Andrea, what she’d think of him. But yesterday’s moral compass was in need of substantial recalibration; the standard of what used to define a good man no longer applied in this world, surely she knew that. Still, in dreams he’d often find her face, marked deeply by the concern and disapproval she had of the man he’d become in her absence. Countless lives had ended as a simple result of his whim. Every tally adorning the side of his building, though placed beside the names of his men, each of them belonged to him. He’d been at the helm of genocide–the oppressor, the orchestrator of everything. Would Andrea have stood by him for that? Would she have understood?
But hybrid blood wasn’t the only kind lining the insides of his fingers–that of men drenched his hands as well. He’d murdered in multiples with hardly a reservation, for the high road to which he’d formerly been accustomed was now scarcely traveled and cluttered with the dead. And in order to regain the respect of his people, the hunter would need to kill again. If there was to be a knife planted firmly in someone’s spine, he opted to be the one holding its hilt. It appeared his relationship with Rick, strained as it had become, was finally coming to a head.
The hunter only noticed he’d been claimed by sleep when he’d been rustled from it somehow, the warmth of Victoria’s head on his chest, the steady rise and fall of her slumbering body. They were still alone within his loft at some undisclosed hour of the night. Tomorrow would surely bring forth an all new set of challenges. Nothing was easy any longer.