by S. R. Rashad
But this morning, a few hours before the rising sun, his new and intense predatory instinct tells him this is the time. As he looks through his scope, he sees a figure and the unmistakable glow is her. He can barely contain his thrill. He lets her come further down the trail. Then looking through his scope, he pans left with nervous anticipation and then quickly right, and sees no one, but her. She is alone. His heart races with excitement. She's moving quickly. In just a few seconds, she'll be in range...Now...she is in the crosshairs. “Yes,”...he is about to fire, then it hits him... At this distance, he realizes he can't see her face. He can't feel her fear. And her eyes...He needs to see the truth of the situation in her eyes, and feel his dominance. This is where the thrill lies for him. This is his joy. There is no hunt without joy and dominance. Up close and personal for him, that’s how it has to be done. He decides to withdraw the crossbow, but as he pulls it back, the bow fires. An arrow is released..."damn it!" He yells.
She is knocked into a tree, then on to the ground by the force of the arrow as it finds its way into her right leg. She screams in bloody agony. She is in a state of fright filled awe and bewilderment, as she looks at the fine carbon fiber and steel arrow protruding from her thigh. She has to do something. Her medical knowledge kicks in, superseding her fear and anxiety. Okay, she can tell from the kind of pain she feels that there are no broken bones, good. There is blood coming from the wound, but from the entry point of the arrow and the slow blood flow, it's not enough to be arterial. But she still needs to act fast. She looks around for where the arrow came form, just then, she sees a camouflaged hunter approaching and yelling. “Shit, shit shit! Did it get you, fuck. Oh, my god, look at you. Look at all that blood…” Peter says, “...no one's supposed to be around at this time...Oh god,” as he becomes more and more hysterical. A game he's learn to play.
"What the hell are you doing," she asks with a hateful and dumbfounded look on her face.
"I was just practicing with my new toy." He goes on..."I come out here when no one is around and just..." She interrupts him..."St Mary’s hospital is near. I need to get there. Can you just help me?"
"Of course," says peter..."again I'm so so sorry."
"Let's just try to get there as quickly as possible, ok." She says.
"Absolutely...my truck is just down the trail a bit," he says..
"First, I'll need to make a tourniquet to help stop the bleeding," she says as she looks around for something.
Peter is enjoying the sight of the blood. He's finding it difficult to play along. He wants to end her now. But there may be passersby, at any moment. He needs to get her away from here to finish the task.
“Here,” peter says as he hands her one of his extra crossbow slings. Peter is finding great joy in the absurdity and sheer laughable irony. Like in a snake bite, the cure for the venom is the venom. The sling that shoots the arrow that causes the bleeding, is now being used to stop the bleeding…the magnificent bleeding. He stares mouth agape, at her leg, as she ties the tourniquet.
“Can you walk?” He says.
“Yes, I think so,” as she tries to stand, she falls back down from the intensity of the pain.
“You look a bit wobbly, there. Let me help you.”
As he reaches down, she puts her arm around him. At that same moment, peter reaches behind her, picking up the torn bit of blood soaked track pant, she removed to see the wound better, and he pockets it.
Peter always enjoys chatting with them just before...
He likes to have a deeper bond with them. He enjoys this kind of intimacy. It helps him feel.
“You’ll be fine I hope, shit.” He says… “I am a complete terror with this thing. Why do I toy with such deadly things. I should know better. This is a public place, of course people will be around…stupid, stupid.”
No one ever seems more empathic than Peter. This is the secret to his charm. The more beautiful the spider’s web, the more the fly wants to fly into it. And peter’s webs are becoming things of sublime beauty.
“Well, the good thing is, you didn’t hit anything major. No broken bones, no ruptured arteries, and I think no major nerve damage. Well, I know I feel a great deal of pain if that means anything. The arrow definitely ripped into muscle and maybe even tendon, though. Right now, I just need the bleeding to stop.”
“Yes, the bleeding,” he says …. “You're gonna want that to stop,” as he stares a little too adoringly, fighting the temptation.
He points to where he parked his truck. “there, that’s my truck.”
“Great, the hospital isn’t that far,” she says, feeling a little relieved.
As they get to the truck, Peter opens the passenger side door, helping her into the seat. He closes the door behind her. She immediately notices that there is no doorknob or handle on the passenger side.
Peter walks around letting himself in…
“Now, lets get you that attention you need,” he looks over at her and smiles a little too adoringly.
“It’s crazy that there is no doorknob or handle here” she says bringing Peters attention to her door. “This must freak your passengers out,” she says curiously.
“Yea that… these old trucks, you know.” He says dismissively.
“No, I don’t know,” as she begins to get a little weirded out… “kinda date rapey…I’m sure I’m not the first to feel this way.”
“No, you are the first,” he says as he brings her attention back to her leg, “looks like the bleeding has stopped, huh.”
She's not understanding why he's so nonchalant about the no handle thing. “Well, I can’t believe I’m the first to notice,” she says angrily.
“Yup, the first…” He sits back in his seat, taking a deep breath and sighs as he no longer feels the need to pretend. “You see, I only removed them the other day.” He says bluntly, staring at her leg, then sharply up into her eyes. “I am truly sorry about that arrow.”
“Wait, you removed them. Why the hell would you do that?”
And like that, the reality of the situation begins to hit her. She looks at her leg. She thinks about him hunting or practicing hunting late at night. There’s nothing to hunt there and who practices hunting. No, this can’t be the truth…Shit, she knows it. She's sure she’s in trouble.
“Hey mister, I can get to the hospital on my own,” she says as she starts to shake a bit, “And I definitely won’t say anything to anyone. I’ll say I fell on the arrow and that there was no one around.”
“Now, that’s absurd. Who’s gonna believe that. Besides, we’re not going to the hospital.”
“Please mister, what do you want. You don’t have to rape me. I’ll sleep with you. What do you like?”
What does he like? Peter likes this. He loves it as a matter of fact, the deals, the fear. The moment they know they belong to him.“What I want, I take. I have what I want.”
For Peter, this moment brings to mind the only time he can recall enjoying the hunt with his father. He had just turned ten and papa vonnetzer took him out hunting for his birthday. His father wounded a moose. Shooting it in its hind leg, it fell. Peter and his father ran over to it. They watched as it attempted to stand and get away. But it just couldn’t do it. It wobbled in agony. It stumbled again and again, each time letting out the most beastly noises, ghastly whines and whimpers. Peter smiled, which nearly turned to laughter until his father said, “Peter we do not laugh at the suffering of other creatures. My aim was to hit the heart, a quick and merciful death is part of the hunter’s creed.” Peter learned from that incident to hide his delight. For him, he enjoyed what others did not. He turns to the pain and suffering of other beings, while most turned away. Here was his first recollection of being different---Special. His mother said he was special. And indeed he is, and the woman in the seat next to him, and the world will know.
“No, I won't rape you. I am no rapist. But I would like something from you--would you like to know what that is?” He says cheerfully.
“So, no. you don’t care to know. That’s not polite. Now is it.” He says angrily.
“Okay, okay…what do you want?” she says nervously hoping to calm his anger or God knows what he’ll do..
“Thank you. Thank you…” he leans over, puts his face in her hair and inhales deeply, saying. “Your hair. I want your hair.”
“My hair?” she doesn’t understand. “My hair?”
“Yes, your hair…I am sorry about the arrow, really. I find shooting things with arrows repulsive”—this is the only truth he has said so far…
“We can’t go to the hospital though. I’m sure they won't understand I made a mistake. The law is firm on shooting people with arrows. I have a shaving kit in the back of the truck. We’ll pull over just up the road. I’ll clip some of your hair. Then I’ll let you out and you can go over to the hospital. It has to be that way, sorry. I’m not ready to talk to the law about that arrow.”
She’s still afraid, but not as much as before. Peter drives further up the road not toward the hospital, but closer to the dilapidated cabin, deep in the woods, which he has been using as a home base; it used to be part of a long since abandoned camp. And by the looks of it, It hasn’t been used in years.
He stops the truck and gets out, walks around and opens the passenger side door…
“There, I’ll grab my clippers, ‘snip snip’ and you can just go down the road to the hospital, okay?”
She gets out of the truck and looks in the direction of the hospital, and sees faint lights which may be the hospital, far in the distance...
“Hey, we’re pretty far away from the hospital. I don’t know if I can walk that far in my condition.”
Peter had to drive this far, near his cabin and away from people.
“Wait…wait, you’re right,” he reaches into the back seat grabbing what looks like a barber’s kit.
With his back to her, reaching down into the kit, he removes a small custom blade, a 3 inch stainless steel A.G. Russell hunting knife, a preferred instrument. It cuts clean and sharp…
“Shit, I should have driven a little closer. Let's remedy this situation.”
He says, still having his back to her. He slowly unfolds the knife. So, it doesn't make a sound. She grabs the handle to open the door to get back into the “rapey” truck. Just then, Peter walks around the truck, comes up quickly and silently behind her and plunges the small custom hunting knife into her lower back, just missing her kidney, and turns his head upward, looking toward the night sky, he lets out a sigh of delight. He feels it once more, the rush. His body tingles. Just then, ignoring her pain, she turns rapidly, kneeing him in the groin with all the force she can muster. Peter bends over from the pain, clutching his crotch, “Fuck.” He yells.
She wastes no time. She takes off half running, half limping. She feels pain with each step but she knows what will happen if she doesn’t get away. Peter looks at the sight of her trying to run and laughs… “Umm, come on. Come on. Where are you going? You can barely walk, let alone run,” he shouts. He stands there and watches awhile before he takes pursuit, enjoying this moment. Hunting with his father, never felt like this, never reached these heights. “Okay, since you are a little wounded...” which is an understatement to say the least. “I’ll count to…umm…let’s say ten. How does that sound, fair?” he shouts. There’s nothing fair here, nothing at all. But hey, it’s hunter’s rules.
She hears him yelling, taunting her. She decides to turn and head into the woods. She believes she’ll have a better chance there. The truck can’t get through the bush and the dense forest. And she knows if she can’t out run him, she can out hide him. After all, growing up in a large family, hide-n-seek was a favorite pass-time for the Miller kids. And the other kids seldom found her. But, one thing she hadn’t taken into consideration was the hunting skills of her pursuer. Not to mention, her blood leaves traces everywhere. Peter follows her into the deep bush… “Marco…”
“I say Marco. You say polo,” he is in full enjoyment now. She can barely go on. She has to rest. The pain and the blood loss is becoming too much, and she now has two wounds she needs to tend to. She sees an embankment and a pile of leafs. She puts mud on her back wound to stop the bleeding. Then she lays down by the embankment and covers herself with leafs hoping Peter passes her by.
In this near pitch black night, Peter is finding it hard to make out where her trail leads. He saw some blood spatter on the road, then there was a trail of snapped branches that lead into the woods. Then her trail goes cold. And with no flashlight and very little light from the few scattered street lamps, this task is becoming far too difficult. He decides to stand and listen. At night, he knows one's hearing can be a far more reliable sense than one’s eyes, in most cases. But the crickets, rodents and other nightly woodland creatures make it hard to distinguish the subtle sounds of movement among the trees and bushes. He starts to use deductive reasoning to aid him. She is wounded and limping. Her speed can’t be great. The wounds have drained her of considerable blood. So she is faint and weary. She will have to rest. He saw her enter the woods not more than a few minutes ago. She has to be within striking distance.
He walks a little farther and stops. She should be about here. He listens more intently, then hears a car approaching. He moves into the dark brush and turns to watch the approaching car. She hears the same car and is hoping to run out and get their attention, but she is afraid she may give away her location to the monster who isn't more then forty feet away, just on the opposite side of the road. This will have to be timed perfectly. Fortune favors the bold. She psyches herself up to make a move. If she’s going to go, it will have to happen now. The car is approaching rapidly. It is just yards away. She grabs a rock, stands up, and positions herself to throw the rock in the car’s direction, getting their attention. But suddenly, as the car moves into view, the intense high beam headlights flash directly in her face and is too much for her. She is blinded by the extreme brightness. She covers her eyes as she tosses the rock. But now, the super bright lights make her visible to peter. And her blind throw over shoots the car by a good deal. The car never stops. The woods are near black again. But now, he knows exactly where she is. He charges across the road, and into the brush, moving quickly toward her. She hears him coming. She is terrified in a near state of heightened panic. She runs back out to the open road. She finds strength again. She will make it to the hospital or someone’s home or perhaps there will be another car shortly. She enters the outer extreme of her fight or flight reflex. She is barely limping at all. She is a great runner and knows she can surely out run him, even in her present condition. Whatever the case, she is committed to running down the path of the dark dimly lit paved road now.
She is in the clear. She turns around periodically and doesn't see him. She has made it far, not long now before she is by the hospital. A deep, deep sense of relief sets in. She looks back once more. He’s not there for sure. Another car is approaching this time, no high beams. “Hey, Hey” she yells and runs toward it. Yes, the car sees her and is slowing down, great...wait…she knows that truck. It's… She is struck by the open down of the truck as the monster swings open his door, hitting her. She is knocked to the ground. Peter quickly jumps out the truck and grabs a fallen hefty tree branch, rushes over to her and as she gets off the ground, he gives her a solid whack. She falls back, but doesn't fall down.
“You’re strong,” he says.
He tries to hit her again. She blocks it, knocking the branch from him.
“Damn it!” He yells.
He reaches down for the branch. She takes off again. Peter thinks quickly. He picks up a huge rock and throws it at her with great force. It hits her in her back, right in the stab wound he inflicted earlier. She falls to the ground. Peter rushes her before she can get up. He is on her, overtakes her, pounces on her. Pinning her down,
he turns her around so he can see her face. He straddles her, pulling out his hunting knife. He looks into her exhausted eyes, feels her fear. She has no more fight in her. He smiles, breathes heavily and deeply, then rips into her with his blade, forcing the knife deep into the fleshiest part of her lower abdomen pulling it up to just under her chest. Her intestines and stomach burst forth. Blood is everywhere as her guts seem to explode from her body. The sight of the blood and guts excites him. He’s feeling the savagery of the moment. Like a wild animal, he submerges his face deep into her large gaping bloody innards. He’s gargling blood as he comes up for air. His face is completely covered in blood and guts. He finds more joy and satisfaction in this moment than he has in all the years at the university, pure, complete elation. To study the cultures and cults who conduct human sacrifice is one thing, but to be in the presence of a being, as she makes herself a thing of sacrificial beauty to him, is another thing entirely. The act has to be experienced. No books. No papers. No theory. The pureness of him and the victim, the music of the gods ring forth.
He collects her insides and drags her body to his truck. He drives back to the deserted cabin in the woods. He dumps out all the clothing from the huge suitcase he brought with him. Then he folds, bends and contorts her body, stuffing her into the suitcase. He makes a fire in the fireplace, takes off his blood drenched clothes and tosses them into the fire. He stands naked in front of the fire. As he feels its warmth, her blood begins to dry on his skin. He looks at himself in the full length mirror, naked and covered in blood, and smiles at the sight of himself. He feels whole. He feels true. He feels beautiful. Her blood and life force are transferred over to him. He can feel himself grow stronger, more vital, more invigorated. A thing should always be itself. All the parts that make it what it is, must be accepted as whole, as complete. Peter VonNetzer is complete now in his monsterhood.