Fury and elation competed for control of my nervous system. I had experienced the sensations before but this time the thrill coursed up and down me as if I were a storm-struck lightning rod. Hot breath hissed between my teeth as I grinned. Ah, it was good to be alive when the blood sang. My twitching fingers clenched tightly. I was ready. Ravenous. Damn, it’s hard not to scream with anticipation at times like this.
In a dozen agile steps, I had zigzagged through the grinding traffic to reach the far side of the street where a set of wrought iron gates were open and inviting. Grassland lay beyond, exuding a hundred hazy perfumes of summer bloom. It was a great relief to leave behind the sour carbon of endless exhausts but if he thought this heady blend of aromatic flora would confuse me then he was gravely mistaken. I knew his signature now. I was closing in.
With my emotions just about in check, I looked around. A black path stretched away in a mild curve that reached a line of trees and then disappeared over a green crest. In between, groups of women lovingly tended to gurgling children on the grass while men in pin stripes sat on nearby benches enjoying a break from the office. All blissfully ignorant. All exuding the most innocuous aromas. People ambled past, unaware that the air around them had been tainted by the acrid scent of a fleeing killer. I envied them their ignorance, but only for a moment.
The smell of his fear hung like a beige miasmic trail through the musky garden ahead. It would grow more rank as he sensed my breath upon his shoulder. I flexed my limbs in preparation for the chase, and a jolt of exhilaration electrified me again.
Coming ready or not, I growled.
Veronica Brooks and her soft green eyes sprang into my head. She smiled wickedly, urging me on into merciless pursuit.
I kind of liked her for that too.
Along the tarmac path I moved with deceptive speed. Passers-by glimpsed me in motion only as blur at the edges of their perception and even then, just as an ordinary man in a hurry. Dogs barked occasionally at my heels but for the most part, the world let me pass without objection or opposition. I surged ahead. The distance between myself and my quarry eroded so rapidly that the rancid trace of his terror increased a hundred fold. He was venting fear and the emissions excited me. Blood pulsed through my veins like a sharp drug. I thundered on.
When I reached the end of the path, the park narrowed to a thin strip of trees then to a single track which was barred by another set of heavy gates. This time they were closed and locked. I wondered if my prey had accomplished this himself or enlisted help. If it were the latter then the hunt grew more intense. And, of course, more appealing. He may well have access to a vehicle now and perhaps more weapons trained on me as I deliberated. A potentially perilous predicament indeed. Stimulating, nevertheless.
I sniffed the air but sensed only a slight increase in tension. Just the tart smell of agitated bowels and maybe the salty tang of tears rippled through the breeze. As I tuned into his decay, I heard his heart begin to labour. I cackled with satisfaction at the distraught thump. It must have come as quite a shock to turn around and find me so close. Still, he better not have a heart attack yet. We still had unfinished business.
An image of Veronica Brooks nodding her approval cheered me so I scaled the metal barrier in careless leaps to continue the chase.
Only when I landed neatly on the other side of the gate did the real danger become apparent. I felt the bullet graze my sleeve a fraction of a second before throwing myself to the ground and rolling behind a tree. Another projectile gouged a strip of bark from the trunk inches from my head. A third ploughed up dirt just to my right. The smell of cordite choked me. I considered retreat, but only for a second.
Veronica Brooks would not hear of it and I agreed.
Beyond the roar of gunfire, I heard the sniper’s pulse throbbing again. This time it was loud and fast.
For a few seconds, the odour from up ahead changed to a sweet flowing stream of jubilation that gradually waned as he realised his failure. I wanted to call out to him that not only had he missed his target again, but had now ensured a lingering death. He had fired at me four times and I would take a finger for each shot.
If he fired a dozen or more times, I sniggered, then I would just have to use my imagination.
The sound of a vehicle engine coughing into life made my heart sink. He would be difficult though not impossible to catch if he put too much ground between us. I could not risk the possibility that the growling motor was no more than a ruse to lure me out so I shuffled cautiously forward into the deep shadow of a tree to await an opportunity. A grumble of frustration built inside me. I wanted to feel his flesh rip in my hands so badly.
The engine revved angrily a few times as if in challenge and then finally, I heard the gears engage. The crackle of tyres skidding on gravel indicated the car’s hasty departure. I leaped to my feet and skulked silently forward, but only the unmistakable hint of mocking triumph still hung in the air.
Veronica Brooks tutted her disapproval and I didn’t like her for that much.
I watched the clouds of dust rise in the vehicle’s wake as it sped away and considered my best course of action. To pursue on foot would be wearisome and tedious. Not to mention infuriating. Nevertheless, as no other form of transport immediately presented itself, it would be necessary to give chase at running pace. I mentally chalked up another entry in my assailant’s growing list of crimes and wondered which body part I would claim for this inconvenience.
I started out at a loping sort of jog, which ate up the ground but was no match for my quarry’s tireless combustion. Dust clogged my pores as the scorching sun raked me but it was internal heat that finally made me sweat. The desire to reap havoc was an inferno inside me. I felt empty but for the bile that rose and fell, searing my chest like a burning stake. My stomach rumbled mournfully.
They say that people thirst for revenge but it always made me hungry.
I inhaled deeply of the air as I ran. It was bitter and tasted of corruption but always, in amongst the vapours, was that tell-tale strand of a man’s growing dread. It pulled me along; almost like the reeling-in of a tiring fish that thrashed wildly, uselessly, in its diminishing and futile attempts to flee. For all of his bullets and bravado, this killer’s nightmare was well upon him. I stifled my bloodlust and conserved my breath for the hunt.
Finding the car abandoned after only five miles was an agreeable surprise. A quick look inside told me two things. My assassin may be adequately skilled with a firearm but was certainly no mechanic. Some part of the vehicle’s innards had expired from excessive use, causing it to overheat and stop; a problem to which he could apparently find no solution other than flight.
You’d better run, I thought grimly. Run until your lungs burst because you will have no use for them later.
I also detected a second scent now; one which coiled with that of the creature I trailed, like intertwining serpents. It almost beckoned as it twisted on the breeze, slowly but surely leading me back into the city.
So, there were two of them now, I thought and salivated.
Two hearts erratically beating the drums of retreat. I got the message.
Sorry boys, but surrender was no longer an option. There wasn’t a white flag big enough to clean up the mess I was going to make.
The air thickened around me again and this time I heard their misery. Two spineless laments, discordant and so full of whining remorse it sickened me to listen. Their combined scent, however, was quite familiar. Not because I knew them but because twin terror is a pungent cocktail that emits a powerful appeal. The drifting vapours nourished me. They helped satisfy my appetites. I licked my lips. Ground my teeth. Then smiled and moved in.
There was no longer any need for haste. I tempered my murderous instincts with caution as I had no wish to fall victim to yet another ambush. The blood still pounded in my veins and my tongue grew dry but I steadied myself with the thought that somewhere up ahead, two men were sick with mounting fear. The concentration of
their odours told me so.
If Veronica Brooks were here to experience such spirited anticipation, would she thrill to it as eagerly as I?
A not-so-mild flash of green eyes just behind my own left me in no doubt.
Through a maze of side streets, I kept up the relentless chase. The miles I had lost pursuing the car were no longer of consequence as my stealthy yet swift advance had cut down the deficit in minutes. At the corner of the next narrow junction, I sank into a crouch before whipping my head around the brickwork for a careful reconnoitre, then quickly pulled back again to avoid any gunfire.
No lethal projectiles came my way but the exciting sight of two men running together, only a hundred or so yards ahead down the road, almost overbalanced me. It is easy to become rash on such occasions so I regulated my breathing to just vigorous. Cars flashed past in the afternoon sunshine but I hardly saw them. I hardly saw anything bar the two of them, panting with fatigue but too afraid to stop.
I gave them my silent promise.
You will rest soon.
As I gathered my energies for the final push, a thought occurred to me. Certainly, this man had lay in wait for me at the museum, presumably expecting a simple kill, but if he was so confident, so cool, why were he and his accomplice so petrified now? Did my reputation really precede me so savagely? If so, how could they have been so sure before and so pitiful now?
Veronica Brooks, whose voice I had never heard in my life, mocked my uncertainty with graceless derision.
Then a notion struck me. Perhaps a man who lived by the gun, who killed so impassively from a distance, secure with his faithful weapon, suffered much more when that trusted tool was rendered obsolete. I wondered idly what use a man with no fingers might find for a rifle anyway. But then, of course, the time he would have to ponder such concepts would be so short that the question became moot.
A peal of laughter in my head told me that Veronica Brooks was back on side and the time for speculation was now over.
From my vantage point I watched them cross the street and enter a building I didn’t recognise. Still, my knowledge of the city was hardly comprehensive and this part of town had held little attraction for me in the past. I waited until there was a lull in the traffic then sprinted forward to halt a few doors down from where I had last seen them. Flat to the wall I edged along until I was at the imposing wooden portal through which they had disappeared. A glance at the brass lettering on the wall outside did not fill me with confidence either.
I was also irritated to discover that the intensity of the men’s scent had diluted to a less profound horror. As if the edifice in which they were hiding was somehow a filter for their fear or even a refuge for killers of innocent women. I read the sign again. It was an urban church of secular design and home to no denomination of which I had ever heard. The notion revolted me. If they planned to claim sanctuary here they would find that no pagan litany would prove a deterrent to my brand of inquisition.
It took only a few seconds to find the rear entrance and just a few more to deem it impenetrable. A church with bars on the windows and a deadbolt on the door surely had something to hide. I intended to find out what it was. My focus had not changed. Blood would still be spilt in generous crimson splashes, but my senses were now alert to new possibilities. Perhaps someone here could explain the attempt on my life and the subsequent destruction of Veronica Brooks. It was unlikely that the perpetrator would have the time or a tongue to do it.
My curiosity was piqued, as was my anger. The murderer and his accomplice taunted me with their smug conviction that one such as me might recognise their asylum.
My laughter rumbled like the growl of a hungry tiger.
It was a simple matter to scale the side of the building using the single drainpipe which ran from top to bottom.
I peered in through two more windows on the way up but heavy drapes prevented me from seeing anything other than more iron bars.
When I reached the flat rooftop, I was surprised to discover that the fortifications did not extend to the skylight. I peered down into semi-darkness.
Could it be a trap? Let’s hope so. My limbs were tight from running and could do with a stretch.
I paused for a moment to sniff the air but sensed only confusion without intent. No signs of life were apparent in the room below so I effortlessly detached the glass from its frame and let myself drop noiselessly inside.
The column of pale sunlight from above failed to penetrate the furthest corners. It took less than a moment for me to adapt. My night vision, though not the equal of my spectacular sense of smell, coped easily enough with the musty gloom. The several rolls and shimmies I had performed upon landing proved unnecessary as all was still and quiet. All that was new here was my probing shadow.
Breathless and tingling, I straightened up in anticipation of a challenge but nothing presented itself. Disappointing, but I could wait.
Amongst the dusty aromas of antiquated furniture and fusty carpets, I detected an unpleasant undercurrent seeping up from below. As sinister as it was familiar. People had died in this building. Lots of them. A disturbing thought perhaps, yet encouraging nonetheless. If this was some sort of private abattoir then surely a few more cadavers wouldn’t hurt. Still, the cloud of death particles here was vile and ultimately I would be glad to conclude my investigations and leave.
The door clicked open to my touch but there was no one in the passage beyond to witness the trespass. There was however, adequate lighting thoughtfully provided for the next stage of my hunt.
Despite the convenience of my unobserved access, impatience was gnawing at me. There was a dryness in my throat which I attributed to the foul atmosphere and suppressed impetuosity.
Keep steady, I told myself.
It had been a long journey from the museum and it would be madness to allow my passion for dismemberment to betray me now.
I refined my olfactory keenness to pierce the dense presence of ruinous death everywhere, in order to locate my own pair of killers who were taking shelter somewhere below. They would not be difficult to find despite the killing echoes that still bounced around the building. Their scents in this charnel house were like a sour breath on a wind of decay.
Veronica Brooks wrinkled her nose and I knew just how she felt.
A movement down the hall caught my eye. The ugly snub nose of a revolver poked around the corner but I did not wait to identify its owner. In three strides I was upon him, tearing the weapon from his fist along with three fingers. He opened his mouth to cry out but the sound never arrived, issuing instead from the foaming gap in his throat which I had provided for him. I let the twitching body slump to the floor. He was not the one I sought.
More men were coming.
As I slunk away to choose my ground, the rush coursed through me in a cascade of adrenaline.
I sniggered. The first kill of the day always juiced me.
Two men in dark suits ran up the stairs to block my passage. They stopped. Took aim. Weapons were discharged. They missed. I didn’t. Scarlet ribbons draped the walls. Onwards. The metallic smell of blood was making my head spin. I charged on regardless. Down the stairs, two at a time. More men. More blood. No time even to take a breath. I burst through a set of double doors where I knew the killers waited. My bloodstream was a raging torrent of red aggression.
The assassin cried out in alarm as I swept messily through the line of men assigned to protect him. The red spray did not hide him. No projectile viscera delayed me. Nothing could keep me from his throat. In behind, the accomplice had sunk to his knees in supplication, mumbling appeals to an indifferent god whose name was unfamiliar to me. I did not need keen senses to know he had soiled himself.
After all that chasing and climbing, I should have just laid waste to the place and everyone in it. Instead I took the assassin’s rifle and used it to bar the doors, frustrating the deadly attempts of further intruders. Then I delivered a ferocious blow to the grovelling assistant to quie
ten his snivelling. In the end, as it was always going to be, the murderer of Veronica Brooks and I stood a few feet apart; he with his deadly weapon out of reach, me with mine at my fingertips. I recalled my earlier desire to remove some of his integral parts and, unusually for me, curbed my enthusiasm. It would not last long.
“Why did you take a shot at me?” I asked, not unreasonably.
“You really don’t know, do you? What actually happened here. Perhaps it’s true then. You are overrated,” was his rather rude reply.
“You killed an innocent woman. Why?” I continued calmly.
“Innocent? You wish,” drawled the assassin, who had recovered some of his poise even though his odour was still steeped in vinegar.
I considered this remark for a moment but quickly decided that analysis would take far too long and so crushed four of his fingers instead. I enjoyed his shocked expression as he held up his ruined hand in front of him and screamed. I waved my own index finger from side to side. Stop whining, it said. They were mine to take. I had promised myself his tongue too but that would seem counterproductive under the circumstances.
When he had stopped shrieking, I asked the question again. It was not the first time that someone had indicated their aversion to me by hiring a killer to do their dirty work but it was the only time that an innocent had died in my place. The concept of others dying instead of me was not so very terrible, of course, but the sight of that sad, green-eyed girl with the hole in her head lying twisted on the marble floor had moved me in unexpected ways.
From a place deep in my mind, Veronica Brooks agreed with my methods, I was sure.
“You have six fingers left. Tell me!”
“Screw you!”
Crack!
“Five! Now tell me!”
I had thought that I was the fastest guy in town, certainly in the room, but a man with only five working digits, dripping and seeping as they were, can still be pretty quick on his feet apparently. Even with me all over him. When my unsuccessful assassin suddenly burst into life and ran towards me with his bleeding hands flapping in my face, I admit that it took me by surprise. I even staggered backwards over a chair as a result. It only thwarted me for a few seconds but it was enough.
Tales from The Lake 3 Page 19