by T S Paul
“Everyone on this bus except you was schooled in Quantico. This unit is made up entirely of paranormals,” I informed him.
“You’re not human?” Blake’s eyes were growing wider.
“Of course not. What sort of unit did you think you were going to? I’m a Witch. Cat and Chuck are Weres. Our missing forensic tech, Anastasia, is one of the only three Vampires in FBI service. Who better to catch rogues than those who understand them?” I informed him.
“I’m not sure, now,” Blake leaned back into the chair.
“Not every unit is a perfect fit the first time. Talk to Cat or Chuck, they didn’t start out with me. How many times have you transferred?” I asked.
“Four times. This would be my fifth unit. You have a point. Let me work with you for a while and learn what you have to teach. If, when the case is over, you don’t think it will work, I’ll try another unit somewhere. Will that work for you?” Blake asked with a serious look on his face.
“I’d like to give you the benefit of the doubt, Blake. Director Mills warned me that you might not fit in with us. That’s fine. We all have the same basic training. If you don’t wish to help investigate, I can always use a researcher or forensic assistant. Anastasia, our tech, should be back with us within the next two days. Chuck has investigative skills that he isn’t using. Putting him back in the field isn’t a hardship for him. It’s completely up to you though, what will it be?” I smiled. Either I would get an investigator or an assistant lab tech. A win-win situation for the team.
“I’ll take the investigator spot. It’s the job I want to do with the Bureau,” Blake replied.
“Good. So, let’s get back to it. According to the DOT cameras in town and some of the information we found in your pants, the pack has a big event tonight. We need to be there. The locals may not believe that a serial killer roams the town, but we know better. This may attract him, or he’s already there,” I instructed Blake.
“Do I need to tell the others?” Blake asked.
I shook my head, no. “Weres have super hearing. If she listens hard enough, Cat could probably tell you what people are saying on the phone next door at the sheriff's offices. Trust me when I say that Cat and Chuck already know.”
<<<>>>
Coach Fox didn’t know what was happening to him. The last thing he remembered was being tossed into what felt like a truck bed and then nothing. He woke up in a pile of wood chips and sawdust his hands tied in from of him with stout nylon rope. The room was dark and smelled like rotting meat. It gagged him every time he opened his mouth.
“Is anyone out there?” Chris called.
He could see the door to the room. It was hung incorrectly, and glimmers of light shone through the gaps in the frame. Chris could see shadows of what he assumed were people, moving beyond it.
“Hello? Is anyone out there?” He called again.
There was a loud thump, and the door opened suddenly. Light poured into the room blinding him. The shape of a man stood in the door. “Keep quiet, you. Your time will come tonight.”
The man disappeared, and the door slammed closed with a bang.
Tonight? Had an entire day passed already? It was the weekend. Did anyone even know he was missing? Too many questions raced their way through Chris’s head.
Chris lay on the pile of wood dust staring up at the ceiling for what seemed like hours until the door opened up again. Wiggling back and forth he tried to push himself upward. Several people appeared in the doorway.
“Hello, Coach. Heck of a losing season you’re having this year. I,” Adam Moon looked over his own shoulder at some of his enforcers, “have a proposition for you.”
“Who are you people? Just let me go!” Chris yelled.
Adam smiled. “We’ll get to that. First the proposition. You have an interesting background, Chris. High school football hero that made big in college. You got to ride in the local parade, got your picture in the paper, you even got a key to the city. All-State. Most yards ever run for a graduating senior. You did even better in college. A full ride. All your expenses paid for. The school even paid to get you off that nasty steroid addiction you had. Naughty, naughty, Coach Fox, not the best role model now are you?”
Coach Chris froze. Nobody was supposed to know about that. Those records were sealed and buried! “How?”
Adam laughed, “nothing is gone forever. Money is the cure for all that ails you. You should know that by now. If it exists, it will be found. A real shame about your injury. Too bad you traded one addiction for another. Pharmaceutical drugs are sometimes worse than the really hard stuff. But you got it under control and came here to teach. But you know what, drugs are expensive. You just had to buy some didn’t you?”
Chris hung his head and almost cried. “What do you want me to do?”
“You can keep your money and even your job if you like. But you do have to choose. The offer is this, once a decade or so we have a hunt. We hunt the most dangerous of animals, we hunt people.” Adam smiled as he looked down at the coach.
“What?” Morbid and bloody images forced their way into Chris’s brain as he imagines these fiends shooting him down in the woods.
“Our deal is simple. We offer to pay you one million dollars in cash to allow us to hunt you. There is a catch, though,” Adam stated.
One million? Chris thought about all the stuff he could buy with that much. It bordered on what he thought he might be making now if he’d not been injured. “What’s the catch?”
Pitching his voice like that of a game show host Adam told him. “Door number one leads to a marvelous chase through the woods and hills around Jackson. If you can reach a certain point without being caught or seriously injured, the million dollars is yours! Totally free and clear brought to you by the local drug pushers of Madison County. Or you can take door number two. This door features the same hunt as door number one except if you are caught, you die without any of the bonus money of door number one.”
Chris had been nodding and considering the first offer, but now he was pulling back, horrified.
Adam ignored Chris’s antics, he’d seen it all before. “If your refuse doors one and two there is a third option. Do you want to hear about door number three?”
Not having any real choice Chris nodded.
“Excellent choice, Coach. Door number three is your final option. This is your chance to escape all of this and live your life however you like it to be, on the run. You see Chris, members of our studio audience have planted drugs and drug paraphernalia all around your house and yard. Using your fingerprints while you were sleeping we’ve built an entire functioning methamphetamine lab where you used to have a workout room. It pays to have friends in law enforcement as well. You’re in the database now, and all those nasty juvenile records have been unsealed. Nice home movies by the way.” Adam winked and made the A-OK symbol with his fingers.
With horror, Chris looked at the black ink marks staining the tips of his fingers. He was dead. D-e-a-d, dead. If these people didn’t kill him, his parents might. It was easy to cover things up when you were a hero. Not as easy as a zero. “I guess... I guess… I’ll take door number one.”
“Wonderful choice. Now as you may not know the winner of our little contest a chance for an additional bonus round. Do you or do you not want the bonus round?” Adam laughed. This was his favorite part of the hunt, and he loved the spiel he was doing.
“All in,” Chris muttered.
“So for the bonus round, we promise to take away any and all drug-related items from your person and property. You just have to never, ever, speak of this adventure again. Or the drugs will come roaring back. Do we have an understanding?” Adam asked.
So he either ran a race with a potential pay off at the end or go to prison. If he were lucky, the cops would let him live to enjoy it. Or he could die. The answer to it all was easy. “We do. I understand.”
“Good. The boys here will take you to get cleaned up and fed. Conserve your
energy, Chris. You’re going to need it. Adam stepped back, and two very large enforcers stepped forward.
<<<>>>
“What sort of obstacles do you think they’ll throw at us?” A large blond woman asked.
LJ or Jack as they were now calling him answered. “Some of the packs I was in said it varies, but the first round is like the army. Running, jumping, swimming, and coordination is what they look for. Then the hunt.”
Big Red looked at Jack. “Did yours say anything about the hunt?”
“Just that it’s a real one. We hunt an actual human through the woods,” Jack replied.
“Nice. Too bad it can’t be my old boss at the grocery store. He used to wipe down everything I touched with alcohol prep pads.” A brunette Wolf replied. She was the only other female present.
They all broke up after her statement. There were fourteen of them all sitting in one big room under the main house. It was multi-leveled and set up for large groups.
Jack listened in on the conversations for a moment. Almost everyone in the room had a bad human story to tell. His was private. There was no need for anyone to know what happened to him. Pain and suffering make you stronger. He really wanted to be that strong person. Thinking about it only made it and the voices worse.
“I wish you’d never been born.” It was his mother’s favorite saying. She yelled it at Jack often when she tossed him out of the house for one imaginary infraction after another. The humans of the Department of Family Services in Arkansas tried to help him every time he showed up at school hurt or roughed up. They sent letters and scheduled meetings. None of which helped or made the slightest difference.
Joshua Pepin was a hard man. He used the letters from school as kindling and paid no heed to humans or to law officials. His family, his rules.
Jack was ten years old when the punishments took a turn for the worse. He could handle being whipped with a belt, switch, or even an old cane. Weres regenerated at a frightening speed. Only two things slowed or even stopped the process: silver and fire.
Silver in the form of two pairs of handcuffs would prevent Jack from shifting beyond his eyes and face. He could heal in that state, but it was at a snail's pace rather than that of a jackrabbit.
“This will teach you to talk back to your mother or me. She calls you a demon spawn. How you ever came from my loins is a complete mystery. Robert does this very thing to those in the pack that disobey. They survived it and so will you,” Joshua Pepin raged as he locked Jack into the special handcuffs.
At first, nothing happened, and then the burning started. A little tickle, then it felt like sunburn. Slowly, ever so slowly, the pain began until his wrists burned like the handcuffs were made of molten metal. Every time he moved they hurt even more.
His father watched every moment of it from the darkness of the basement. Whenever Jack cried out in pain, Joshua would hit him with buckets of sand and sometimes water.
The water was cooling for just a moment but the sand, the sand would grate on the already inflamed skin making it hurt ever so much more. Jack would sometimes dream of getting hit by a bucket full of water.
As he grew older, Jack got into more and more trouble. His mother was no help at all. She berated her son at every turn and always lied to Joshua about Jack’s behavior. Sometimes she would watch the punishment and give pointers. Occasionally, she would hold the poker.
Being the son of the pack leader wasn’t easy. Jack was under a microscope at all times. Say the wrong thing to the wrong person and back to the room of pain. That is what he called the lower floor of the house he grew up in.
It was a week from his birthday when what little sanity Jack had been able to preserve came tumbling down. Being tortured with hot pokers and silver handcuffs was nothing compared to what happened when his father discovered he wasn’t really his father.
With his mother chanting ‘burn the demon,’ Joshua set Jack on fire while he was chained to the wall of the basement. It didn’t matter that Bethany was the one that was unfaithful to her husband with his father no less. Jack had nothing to do with that. His only crime was coming home with bad grades and being at the right place at the wrong time.
Jack hung there screaming in pain. He could feel the flames, fed by the gasoline that his father poured over him, lick across his skin and burned all of his hair to a crisp. The fat in his skin caught fire. Dripping as it burned, it caught his shoes aflame. His natural healing powers were strong, but not strong enough to heal this. They could only keep healing his skin halfway as it continued to melt. Jack lacked the nutrients and fluids to power the change. His body strained against the handcuffs as it burned. The screams could be heard outside regardless of the walls or house.
Ironically it was the Reverend Austin that saved Jack. Finding out that your father is actually your brother and that the church leader you trusted was really your father was bad. Being half burned alive on the same day as all of that was worse.
But he was going to make it better. Jack was going to take all the pain away and stop the voices once and for all. He just needed to do to her what she did to him. Once that happened, it would all be over. That was his one mistake. The other five women were wrong. They were human. He needed a Were to complete the spell. What he needed was his mother. And now he’s found her again. This time he would get it right.
Chapter 15
“... and then he fell flat on his face into the grass. Chuck was supposed to send the tape on to the Bs. It’s pretty funny,” I laughed as I told Madeline the story.
“I’ll have to watch it. Please don’t break him, Agatha. Trained agents are hard to come by sometimes.
So, this Vampire, do you truly think it’s the progenitor of the race?” Director Mills asked.
“I really don’t know for sure. He is oldest I know of for sure. Ana freaked out when I told her about him. She changed her travel plans to get here faster. It sounded ominous to me that he would ‘find me’ so he could speak to me,” I informed her.
“What about Agent Blake? Does he remember anything else about the incident?” Director Mills asked.
I chuckled. “If he did, having Fergus scare him half to death didn’t help. I wish we had a camera back there to see THAT reaction! Now that he’s calmed down I’ll poke at him. Was there anything else you wanted…”
The phone started making a strange noise. It was like an off-key throbbing beep.
“Agatha, I have to go. I’m getting an overseas alert that requires my direct attention. Talk to you later,” the director hung up abruptly.
I looked at the phone in my hand and set it on the table. Why was the Director of Quantico dealing with stuff overseas? And what did it mean for the future?
<<<>>>
Johann Rudolf was in a bind. His orders were very specific. Scout out a monastery and town. Report on numbers and positions of any hostiles. The tactical squad would take care of any supernatural threats or hostages if needed. Or at least that was the initial plan. Johann wanted to believe that it was the Americans fault though. If they hadn’t brought this mess to the attention of Mother Church, then he could have been asleep in his barracks right now. Sleeping instead of stumbling around in the dark scouting for hostiles.
Getting in and out of the town of Montemaggiore Belsito, wasn’t as easy as his commander made it out to be. This area of Sicily was prone to earthquakes, and there had been one recently. One that hadn't shown up on any of the country’s seismographs apparently. Many of the buildings on the edge of town were in ruins. Picking his way through the wreckage, he was nearly killed by falling stone.
Cursing under his breath, Johann quickly made the sign of the cross. He wasn’t really a monk or even a lay brother, but saying the Lord's name in vain wasn’t a good idea when you were in His service. The radio silence order wasn’t making this trek any easier. If he didn’t report in for more than two days, the Guard would send an assault force, but not until then. For now, he was on his own.
The distan
t ringing of a church bell caught Johann’s attention. There had been some sort of battle in the town. Once quaint stone streets were torn up and blackened in places. Each cross street he’d come to was barricaded and torn up.
According to the briefing he received, the town was rebuilt several times throughout history. One defining feature was the grid pattern the town retained. All roads led toward the church at the top of the hill. If the bell was ringing, there had to be at least one person left alive. He had yet to see anyone living. Not even a cat or stray dog had crossed his path.
The Strega and the Missionaries of Death had lain hidden in plain sight for more than two centuries here. No one suspected anything. Not even local government officials dared to question the church. Only priests were seen to enter and exit the church.
When the first reports of Demons came in, the church was quick to investigate. A local media representative had snapped the picture that made international news. No one wanted a repeat of 1945 when the Demon horde descended upon Rome. It was only by the grace of God that the Guard at that time was able to win out over them.
Johann shuddered at the thought of it happening again. Neither Rome or Italy was prepared for that to happen. His mission was to prove or disprove the existence of any Demons. Things were not looking good as it was. He needed to hurry.
The bell was starting to get on his nerves as it rang out across the town. Clang, clang, clang, the sound was neverending. Johann prayed it wasn’t an automatic system.
Maps didn’t do this town justice. Raised streets and balconies beyond count were everywhere. Each street had more than one level and on each were wrecked, burnt cars and trucks. Some had been used as crude barricades at one point. Still not a body in sight. As Johann neared the church, there were boarded up buildings on one side and burnt out shops on the other. A few private vehicles still smoked in the night breeze where they were parked.
The dark sky lightened as the sun began to rise. Things unseen in the dark came to light as Johann began to see blood everywhere. In some places it looked as if a team of demented painters had begun work here, splashing their medium in all directions. There were no complete bodies, but he was starting to find...pieces.