Hunter of the Damned

by Jennifer Martucci

  “How many Hunters are here?” I ask Lillian, the words falling from me as reflexively as breathing. The constant scrutiny from each of my kind that I encounter is overwhelming. I need to know how many more await me.

  “Fifty two,” she replies and my jaw nearly drops. “And more come every day.”

  Head swimming that fifty two Hunters reside in the home in which I currently stand, I look around and wonder where they sleep, how it works. “Why?”

  Lillian’s arresting silver gaze drills me, the glittering color of her irises resembling that of crushed diamonds. “Why?” she repeats my question, her tone terse, still her face remains impassive. “We are under attack. Surely you know Agares is back, and his legions are already far more organized than we are. I can only hope that more Hunters sense his presence and join us.”

  “We’re being slaughtered,” Luke says.

  Both Lillian’s statement and his leave me with chills racing across my flesh.

  Lillian nods somberly. “Yes, we’ve lost many.” Sadness haunts her features. “We need to organize now. We need to be able to defend ourselves when they come. We can’t risk losing more.”

  At her words, my mind produces an image of Aeric, our brother. “Our losses have been great,” I say and advance a step toward Lillian. Reaching out, I place my hand on her forearm lightly. Skin as cool and smooth as marble meets my fingertips. “You know about Aeris, right?” I ask gently.

  From the corner of her eyes, tears gather and roll down her cheeks. “I do.” Her voice quivers. “I felt it as it was about to happen and then the world around me disappeared. When color and sound returned to me, I was there. I was with Aeric and saw everything.” A flood of emotion spills over her lower lashes, falling to her chin in a stream.

  “We killed some that were responsible, but not the one responsible for taking Aeric’s life. We tracked them down at an abandoned warehouse and killed them all,” I say as if answering a death with more death will actually balance the scales of justice. If there were such a thing as justice, those whose lives were claimed would return from death. But such a phenomenon is impossible.

  “Balam. That’s who killed him. Balam killed Aeric, and he will pay.” Lillian’s voice is velvet wrapped in steel. Anger rises from her.

  “He will pay. They all will.” I feel a warm hand on my back and turn to see Scarlett’s eyes blaze like firelight. Chest heaving and nostrils flared, her desire for vengeance matches mine. A small part of me wants to turn and scoop her up into my arms, to hug her tightly just for sharing what I feel, but I don’t, and will never be able to. That realization lands like a fist to my gut.

  “Gideon, are you ready for him?” The sound of Lillian’s voice returns my attention to her.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “I mean are you yourself again? Do you remember everything you’ve done, who you are and what you have to do?”

  I pause, giving true consideration to her question. “No,” I stun myself by my brutal honesty. “I’m not even sure I am who you think I am.” I close my eyes. “I get snippets of this other life, but all I can really remember and feel certain about is that I’m Daniel Callahan, a kid from Yonkers who got shot.” I open my eyes and feel the sting of tears. “After that happened, my whole life was turned upside down. I lost everything.”

  Lillian’s frosty gaze warms. “You are and always will be Daniel. But you are also something else. Something far greater, and we need you.”

  I lock eyes with her, feeling a deep sibling bond. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” I don’t bother trying to hide the emotion thickening my voice and moistening my eyes.

  Closing the small distance between us, Lillian places a hand on my head. Ribbons of warmth flow from her fingertips. The heat diffuses from her and into my skull, through my chest and through my limbs, and a swirl of memories rushes at me. I see myself, but I am not Daniel. I’m the man I saw in front of the light, the man who blocked me from entering and thrust me back to this earthly realm. Towering and muscular with pin-straight ebony hair that trails past my shoulders, I have eyes as blue as ice covered water, eyes so similar in color to Sarah’s it causes an ache in my chest so profound breathing becomes a challenge. Two others are with me. Lillian and Aeric. I see all three of us as plainly as I’d see Scarlett and Luke standing before me. I see the three of us being cast back to earth. I see battles and death, so much death. Our kind, regular human beings. Thousands being slaughtered. A battlefield littered with bodies unfurls before me. I stand upon it and encounter a being I recognize. Agares. Agares squares off with me, swinging his blade and opening up my stomach. I feel the sharp sting of pain, the gush of warm that surges from the wound. Even though it happened long ago, my hands clutch it, searching for a gaping slit that isn’t there

  Breaths sawing rapidly as I relive the experience, I see myself fighting through the pain, through the injury, and watch as I strike back, carving a channel down his chest with my blade. Blood soaks his shirt and his skin pales. But still he refuses to relent. He swings his weapon, nicking my arm then my leg. Baring my teeth and wincing in agony, I spin and swing my sword laterally. Its razor-sharp tip drags across Agares’ abdomen, eviscerating him.

  His life force flickers. I watch it flicker then dim. He feels it. Realization registers in his features as his true form starts to exit his body, and he turns and runs. I follow, chasing him down as his human form falls from him. But before it is completely shed, he flees the earthly plane in an act of pure cowardice, refusing to accept his fate, refusing to accept death. Dropping to my knees in the seconds after he vanishes, I see my own essence rise from me. It surges upward into the sky until it merges with the light of day. Awareness that I’ve succeeded at defeating him tingles through my core. But it accompanies knowledge that I will never return as my true self. I will be reborn in another form.

  I watch all of this as though I’m watching a movie. I see my life unfold next, the life of Daniel Callahan, and I realize that we are indeed, one person now. I also understand that I need to be what I was if I am to defeat Agares again. I am nowhere near as strong as I was on the battlefield that day I won. Recognition of that fact troubles me. I turn my head, pulling away from Lillian’s hand and immediately feel cold replace the warmth of her touch. And as the warmth seeps, so too do the images. The world around me comes into focus and I see Luke and Scarlett watching me, rapt.

  “I see who you are, Daniel. You were the right choice.” Her gaze drifts heavenward before it settles on me once again. You are strong, far stronger than you know. Your heart is pure.” She studies my features for a long moment before a small crease pleats her brow.

  “What? What is it?” I can’t help but ask.

  “Daniel, you defeated Adron. That was one of Agares’s generals.” Her words are more of a question than a statement.

  “Yes,” I answer.

  “And your mother Cathy and sister Kiera still live in the town of Patterson where he died.” Again, her words are a question and not a statement. And they send alarm racing through my blood.

  “Yes, why?” My heart pounds so loud it nearly drown out her response.

  “He will go there and he will look for you.” Lillian levels me with a knowing gaze.

  Breathless from anxiety and feeling a cold numbing sensation center in the vicinity of my heart and slowing leak throughout my chest and extremities, I have trouble forming the question frozen on my tongue. My throat feels as though it’s lined with sand, parched and paralyzed. “Are you saying he’ll find and kill them?” I grind out the sentence, my voice a hoarse rasp.

  Shaking her head slowly, her brow dips lower. “I don’t know, but they aren’t safe. We need to go there now.” Suddenly urgent, her tone sends dread sinking through my center like a stone. It’s a contrast to the shock of panic that hits me like a defibrillator.

  “Patterson is halfway across the country! We can’t get to them no matter how fast we drive!” Shaking, my mind swims
laps around every horrifying possible outcome, the gruesome fate my family will face. My stomach roils and bile burns up the back of my throat.

  “No, there’s another way,” Lillian says and is so stark raving calm I could scream. “But we have to go now.”

  My breathing become so short and shallow hyperventilation threatens. Lillian places a hand on my shoulder and pins me with her liquid mercury gaze. “Daniel, trust me,” is all she says and immediately, I feel my lungs expand and my breathing deepen. The lightheadedness I’m experiencing dissipates. I do not know why or how, but she shares her calm. I realize I have no choice but to trust her if I ever want to see my mother and Kiera.

  Chapter 14

  ~ Agares ~

  Agares is as calm and still as a coiled serpent as he stands in the kitchen of the farmhouse in which he’s set up camp. Remaining as he is, waiting for his prey to come to him, leaves him feeling restless and idle. Accustomed to being a creature of action and aggression, baiting his nemesis is maddening. He knows that once Gideon realizes his fake family—the one that belonged to Daniel Callahan—has been abducted, he’ll have no choice but to come for them, to rescue them. His sappy, oversized heart won’t be capable of doing anything else. The part of him that’s still the boy, Daniel, and will always be will demand it. The human host Gideon selected will always retain his humanity. It’s a fatal flaw of Hunters as far as Agares is concerned. They’re weaker than his kind because they come back as part of another. When his kind return, they devour whatever is left of the person they inhabit. They* remain who they always were and do not cling to other forms and act as parasites. Only Hunters do that. As a result, they are an inferior, hybrid species. Gideon, in particular, retains far too much humanity, which is why he will fail this time and fall to Agares.

  Smiling to himself and envisioning the angelic warrior’s head bowed in shame and submission before him and on bended knee, Agares feels a brief moment of satisfaction permeate his core before the sound of an engine rumbling in the distance sets him on edge. Tingling awareness snakes through his core and excitement stirs. He wonders whether Gideon has arrived early, the notion of ending things sooner than anticipated a thrilling prospect. Closing his eyes, he reaches out with his senses, pushing out past the farmhouse walls, transcending time and space, until his energy collides with that of the occupants of the approaching vehicle. Undoubtedly human, there are two—a male and female—making their way up the long dirt driveway. Exhaling loudly through pursed lips, Agares crosses the kitchen and makes his way to the living room where he peeks out from behind the curtains and sees a rusted, beat-up pickup truck crest the hill and pull in front of the house. The door creaks open and from it, a thick leg juts out. Mottled pink and a deep, purplish red, a dirty pant leg lifts and reveals what looks like a gelatinous ham hock. Agares swallows the vomit that rockets up his throat at sight of the leg, though more comes when a man wearing filthy overalls slides from behind the steering wheel and climbs out. A full, round belly strains against the denim front patch, jiggling in time with his jowls as a hound dog’s does, as the man lumbers to the front of the truck. He turns his head, looking to the female passenger and watches as she exits. He gestures for her to hurry, a look of concern marring his droopy features. Clad in worn jeans stained in various spots, the woman purses her lips unattractively as she waddles as fast as she can to be beside him. The sweater she wears is ratty and ill-fitting, and her hair is greasy and unkempt. He hasn’t the vaguest idea how old they are, but judging from their worn and weathered appearances, he’d place them in their fifties. He pegs them as farmers, no doubt wasting their waking hours planting seeds and cultivating them only to die in their beds decades later, never doing anything useful with their time, with their lives. The thought sends a shiver of disgust up his spine as he watches them plod to the front door. They begin knocking.

  “John? Carroll? Are you in there?” The man shouts at the door while the woman presses her ear to it. “We’ve been calling you since yesterday. Is everything alright?” he continues. They wait for a response but do not get one. The woman shrugs her meaty shoulders.

  Agares, feeling the pressing need to slaughter both of them, fights the urge just yet and moves to the kitchen out of sight. This need multiplies when he hears the sound of the front door open. Holding his breath in anticipation, he listens as the man and woman continue their fruitless search.

  “Hello! John, are you home? I see your truck is here!” the man shouts.

  “Carroll! Are you here?” the woman calls out.

  But instead of getting a reply from the couple he killed, whom he now knows are named John and Carroll, they receive a reply from one of the women he abducted from the Callahan home. “Is someone up there?” The voice is shrill and racked with terror. “Please help us!” she pleads. He pictures both of them, tied up and left in the basement as bait, blonde hair plastered to their heads and eye makeup smeared. He didn’t gag them to silence them because he wanted Gideon to hear their cries, hear the fear and panic in their tones when he bursts through the door in a righteous, vengeful flurry. This change of events, while unanticipated, has the potential to be entertaining, so he lets them live to see what they’ll do. “We’re downstairs! Please! Help us!” the Callahan women call out again.

  The man and woman exchange worried glances before their hands fly to their pockets and they pull out their phones. The man attempts to dial. “I’m not getting a signal!” his hands tremble as much as his voice. He shifts, holding his phone over his head as he tries to reposition himself for reception.

  “I’m not getting one either!” the woman panics.

  Agares suppresses a chuckle. He wonders how long these two fools will continue to attempt to get their useless phones to work. He made sure to send out a blast of energy that blocks cellphone reception. He’s never be stupid enough to allow them to call for help and have police officers race to his hideout, force him to kill them, and then he’d be forced to relocate. No way. He listens intently, waiting and watching them as if they are lab rats that are part of an experiment. He watches as the female rushes to the house phone. She lifts the receiver to her ear and a look of pure horror contorts her face. “Arnie, there’s no dial tone!” she exclaims.

  “Help us, please!” the women in the basement continue, their voices growing more annoying with each second that passes. Just imagining their puffy eyes and swollen red noses with snot burbling from their nostrils makes his stomach turn. Humans are so fragile, so weak and easily broken. They spend their lives pining for love, for acceptance, for validation and success when all that they pine for can be provided by themselves, independently.

  “Let’s go, Arnie. I don’t like this,” the woman says. Predictably, she lives down to Agares’s low expectations and wants an endorsement from the ridiculous man who bears an equally ridiculous name befitting his ridiculous appearance.

  “We can’t just leave!” Arnie rumples his face in consternation. “It sounds like someone’s in trouble.” His pulse drills the side of his throat with such force it causes the loose skin there to flap and jiggle. Not accustomed to being a hero in any way at all, Arnie deliberates.

  “That isn’t Carroll down there,” the woman pleads as she wrings her hands, her eyes darting left and right. “I don’t know what’s going on here but something sure as heck doesn’t feel right.” She shivers as if sensing the presence of darkness. “Let’s leave and call the police from the road, once we’re out of here and a safe distance away.” Whether it’s self-preservation or cowardice, Agares enjoys hearing the woman go against human nature, which is to love one another and help and blah, blah, blah. She’s going against the grain. She’s listening to her gut, which warns like the wail of a siren, to leave, save her hide. Arnie, though clearly debating, isn’t sold on the notion of leaving with his oversized hide intact.

  As much as he’d love to continue to watch as this plays out, and as entertaining as it is, Agares realizes that he may have to step out o
f concealment and kill them at any moment.

  Arnie removes the foam and mesh baseball cap he wears and rubs his mostly bald head. “I can’t leave,” he says finally. “I’m going downstairs. You wait here.”

  The woman’s eyes glaze with tears and her body trembles. “If you’re going then I’m going too,” she says.

  Hearing this interaction, Agares steps out from the kitchen as Arnie and the woman make their way to the basement. “Hello?” Arnie calls out as he descends the stairs.

  “We’re down here! Help us please!” the older of the Callahan women, her voice only slightly roughened by age, calls out. In it, a thread of relief is woven. She hasn’t the vaguest idea what Agares is and what he’s capable of. Both of them believe he’s just a run of the mill kidnapper or killer. Stupid human females! They have no idea! Agares advances several paces and stands at the top of the staircase. He peers down and watches as the slovenly pair approach the two Callahan women, both chained to a water pipe running up the wall.

  “Sweet Jesus.” Arnie’s words are fraught with shock and horror. “What happened here? Who could do this?” He speaks more to himself than to anyone else, likely posing his questions to the deity he named. Agares forces himself to contain the vicious laughter that bubbles within him. Deities don’t answer. Never did and never will. It’s all part of their sense of humor. Make their pets and place them on the planet with free will and without interference. And people say dwellers of the underworld are cruel! Boy, do they have it backward. “Are you alright?” Arnie asks and diverts his attention back to the buffoonery at hand.