Darby Stansfield Thriller Series (Books 1-3 & Bonus Novella)

by Ty Hutchinson

  What about the others? I thought of the other possibilities at my church. There were Father Peter and Father Boris. I didn’t think the Prividenie would dare approach Deacon Vitaly or any of the lower-level staff. So Father Peter and Father Boris it was. Which of them might have been approached? Who was also listening to the Prividenie? My Prividenie.

  I looked at the work schedule. Father Peter was listed for tomorrow night. Father Boris had the following night. I would need to figure out a way to keep watch over them without the Prividenie seeing me, should he in fact be watching them. I must also consider that they could be meeting outside of the church, at their apartments or in a park.

  This was getting out of hand. I decided to concentrate on the church. If I saw or heard nothing, then I would except that the Prividenie was only meeting with me and not the others. Though, it would be unacceptable if he were.

  Wait, what was happening to me? Why did I care that I was the only one? Because it made me feel special, as though the Prividenie had singled me out. That’s why: I was the only one worthy of hearing his confessions, because I could remain neutral. A man like him who can kill so many, so often, and escape the authorities is in his own right a master, a professional. I had to know I was the only one. I couldn’t—I didn’t want to share. I was the one he picked.

  Eleven

  The next night I had devised a plan to catch the Prividenie in the act. The nightly service ends at ten. It takes about twenty minutes for everyone to clear out. That would be the first opportunity the Prividenie would have to enter the church. The second opportunity would be while Father Peter retires to the office to write a report on how the service went for Deacon Vitaly. After that, his time is spent shutting down the church before leaving. The Prividenie would already have to be inside.

  I decided to hide in the bushes near the side entrance to the church. These doors would be the ideal way inside while Father Peter was busy with the congregants as they left. I made sure I was well hidden in the bushes before the start of the service at nine.

  The night air was dry and cold for late March, leaving the bushes I had hidden in crispy and fragile. Noise could be a factor, meaning it was important I stay still to conceal my position. It didn’t bother me one bit though. I was focused on my task at hand. I had to be sure. No mistakes.

  By the time the end of the service rolled around, my knees were aching from crouching for so long, but there had been no sign of the Prividenie. I thought he would have shown a little early to wait. There was still time, though, when the congregants made their way out.

  I stretched a little to keep the blood flow going. Now was not the time for my legs to fall asleep. And then I heard it—a cracking noise. I stopped, listened hard. Footsteps. Yes, I heard footsteps. Whoever it was was moving slowly and carefully my way. I’ve got him.

  A figure appeared. It slowly walked along the path to the door where I was. I could not recognize any facial features from where I was. He was too far away and backlit by the moonlight. The shadow crept closer, forcing me to decide how to confront the Prividenie. Frighten him, and I could be kill number one hundred. But I was angry and disappointed in him.

  The shadow had now reached the door. It stood there silently, conducting its own surveillance. My knees ached and my thighs burned. I wasn’t sure how much more I could withstand. I said a prayer for strength. The shadow remained motionless. Not a peep could be heard between the two of us.

  Just as the Prividenie reached out for the knob, I spoke. “You disappoint me.”

  The shadow turned in my direction. “Who said that? Show yourself.”

  I stood and moved toward the shadow. I grabbed it by the shoulder and turned it to face the moonlight. It was not the Prividenie. Of course I knew that by the sound of the voice. It was a young member of the congregation, Stanislav Karpol. Just a teenager.

  “Father Fedor, you scared me.”

  “What are you doing here? This is not the entrance to the church. You know that.”

  “I’m sorry. I wanted to talk to Father Peter, in private without anyone else knowing. This is why I’ve come this way.”

  “Well, I believe the congregation is gone. You can safely enter the church from the front. Father Peter is inside.”

  “Thank you, Father. I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused.”

  “No trouble. Now be on your way.”

  Stanislav turned away and took a few steps before stopping and turning back toward me. “Excuse me, Father. I’m sorry to trouble you again, but I’m wondering, why were you hiding in the bushes?”

  What a nosy one. How dare this young man question an elder, or a priest for that matter? “If you must know, I was waiting for a member of the congregation who wanted to talk in private. You see, Stanislav, you are not the only one with secrets. Everybody has them.”

  As I watched Stanislav walk away, I wondered if he would mention our encounter to Father Peter or anyone else. I was sure I scared him enough to keep his mouth shut, but one never knows. I made a mental note to check in on Stanislav every once in awhile.

  I stretched for a bit before positioning myself back into the bushes. The odds of the Prividenie showing up tonight were minimal at this point. Only a frightened boy with secrets so far.

  I waited quietly, counting my breaths and listening to my own heartbeat. It would be impossible for anyone to slip by me. No one did. After awhile I heard Father Peter and Stanislav leaving. I heard the heaviness of the front door lock into place. The Prividenie had not shown himself that night. With Father Peter in the clear, only Father Boris was left. However, I felt confident that I was the only one contacted.

  Twelve

  The Prividenie watched Father Fedor walk away from the church. Why must you risk what we have built so far? Wasn’t I clear from the beginning that no one was to know about us?

  The Prividenie moved within the shadows careful not to let the little foot traffic on the streets notice him. He wanted to see to it that Father Fedor was heading home, where he should be. It was safest. The Prividenie felt that, the more the priest interacted with people, the more opportunity he had to tell his secret. He didn’t entirely trust him. Maybe he needed to pay him a visit outside of the church.

  He watched the priest enter his apartment building. His flat was on the ground floor. One by one the weak lamps flickered on giving life to the windows. From this side of the building, the Prividenie could see into the living room and the kitchen. Behind the building there was a single window into the bedroom. He would often stand there and watch Father Fedor sleep at night, wondering if he would ever realize there was a plan.

  The Prividenie had a plan in place. In fact, there was always something he was working on. Planning is what gave the Prividenie his power. It’s what made him one of the best. He had become such a successful hit man that he was often the target of his competitors. It always ended with them dead. He was becoming the best. There was no question about it.

  His competitors failed to achieve what he had because of discipline. They drank, they smoked, they robbed, they raped, they killed outside of a contract; these were all considered distractions by the Prividenie. These recreational activities that the other hit men indulged in took the focus off of perfecting their profession. As a result, they would reach a certain skill level and never advance further.

  The Prividenie was quite the opposite. He always thought one day, he would slip and make a mistake. He never took a hit for granted. After every successful kill, he would tell himself that he got lucky. He needed to get better. He needed to be more inventive. He needed to be prepared for every possible scenario. It was this commitment that made him good at what he did.

  The Prividenie moved from his spot. That was enough babysitting for tonight. If Father Fedor continued this sort of behavior, he would have to set him straight.

  Moving silently and easily in the shadows was a skill the Prividenie had worked on for years. He had always admired the stories of the ninja merce
naries of Japan and their ability to move through the night undetected. He spent years studying everything he could. Fact or fiction—it didn’t matter. These unconventional methods of warfare were well suited to his profession, where the element of surprise would always guarantee a successful hit.

  Down an alley the Prividenie moved quietly until a drunk and his bottle crossed his path. The Prividenie stopped and watched him for a while. He could walk right by him and not be noticed, though his elusive skills would not be needed here. But that’s not what kept the Prividenie from moving forward. No, it was the hunger. He felt it immediately. His mouth watered for a kill. A non-contract kill.

  This hunger was becoming all too familiar. In the beginning, it was easy to put these thoughts out of his mind. He was well disciplined, so he thought. But he realized discipline was not the answer to the hunger. He had developed a taste for it. That required a different offense. So much killing will do this to a man. He fought the hunger for a long time and then, a few months ago, he gave into his desires.

  He once took a woman off the street and into a warehouse, where he tied her to a pole. He stabbed her again and again—nothing life threatening. Then he gutted her with a large knife and allowed everything inside of her to drain out onto the wooden floorboards while she still breathed. That was when the Prividenie realized the kill did nothing for his hunger—it was the torture that fed the craving. That’s when some of his contracted kills began to take a turn. He would torture before killing. Not all of them, just a few. This fed the craving and kept the Prividenie from indulging in non-contract killings.

  That is until temptation flaunted itself in front of the Prividenie.

  Sorry, my drunken friend. Wrong place. Wrong time.

  Thirteen

  Mind tricks.

  The hour hand dragged itself from number to number. I swore the clock had slowed. I even exchanged the batteries for a fresh pair, but still the hour took its time to complete the circle. I wondered if nightfall would ever come. It had been a week since I last saw the Prividenie. I was eager to continue our talks.

  The nightly service went over by ten minutes. Once it ended, though, I quickly and literally pushed the congregation out of the church and locked the doors. I knew some would complain, but at that point I couldn’t be bothered with ruffling feathers. I headed straight for the wall of icons and pushed open the door to the sanctuary.

  There he was, in the same corner, where he should be. Waiting.

  “Are you in a rush, Father?”

  “Uh, no. Why do you ask?”

  “I get the feeling.”

  “You get the feeling? Well, I knew you would come tonight, so why wait around? The sooner we start, the sooner we all go home.”

  I did not want the Prividenie to know I looked forward to our meetings. I had to keep my emotions out of it. I don’t know why. I just felt like I needed to show strength to what he was saying. “So shall we continue? I believe we left off at number six.”

  “That we did. My seventh kill was the first to take place outside of Novosibirsk. I had to travel east to the city of Krasnoyarsk. It’s another large city in Siberia.”

  “I know of it. Go on.”

  “The target was a businessman who worked for a large aluminum company. He was having trouble repaying his debt to the local Vory v zakone. They had already concluded that he would not pay, no matter what. This criminal outfit didn’t have the capabilities to assassinate and they reached out to Makarov, the head of the mafiya in Novosibirsk, who then contacted me. The man targeted was the first I encountered that had bodyguards.”

  “Did you kill the bodyguards?”

  “No, I only kill who is necessary. This kill would be the first not by my hands. I had anticipated this problem and had been practicing with a sniper rifle for months before this assignment came along. I was not great, but I felt confident.

  “I found access to a rooftop across the street from his apartment. I got him on the second day while he stood in front of the window on the phone. One bullet in the head.”

  “And how did you feel killing this way?”

  “I loved it. I loved that he didn’t see it coming. There were no signs, no noises—nothing to alert him. I continued to use the sniper rifle for my next kills. I even increased the difficulty when it wasn’t needed, to better myself. I loved watching these people through the scope. So unaware they were of how grave the situation had become for them at that moment.

  “After pulling the trigger, a second would pass where I was no longer in control of the situation. I had to hope that my training, my aiming, my breathing—they were all working together. And then bam, like an exploding watermelon, their head would erupt and I would finally breathe again. Glorious, isn’t it, Father?”

  “Glorious? I wouldn’t go so far as to call an exploding head glorious.”

  “Why not, Father? Are you aware of the skill needed to hit such an object from five hundred yards out? No, of course you aren’t. That doesn’t cross your mind—just the poor hapless soul who lost his head. Let’s not forget that this man wasn’t a saint. He committed a sin.”

  “And for that he deserves to die? Is it not the judgment of our Father in Heaven to decide that?”

  “That is where you are wrong, Father. I have the capability; therefore I have the power. I would not have been blessed with such skills if it were otherwise.”

  Clearly this conversation was going nowhere. To argue with a man like this over morals was a waste of time. He had no morals. “Why don’t you carry on?” I motioned with my hand.

  “The next kill was a woman.”

  This was a first. Will he eventually graduate to children? I asked why.

  “She was a whore and the wife of a powerful politician. She would sleep around and then flaunt it in his face.”

  “You know this firsthand?”

  “It does not matter how I know. She’s a whore. Believe my words, Father.”

  I didn’t bother to respond to him. I knew that’s what he wanted. I sat silently, feigning disinterest.

  “Father, do you want to hear how she met her fate?”

  “I don’t,” Yes, I do, “but it is my duty.”

  The Prividenie shifted in his seat, like a grandfather would before telling a child a story. “I entered the politician’s apartment at exactly 9 p.m. He was away at a dinner. His wife was home, alone. She had been drinking and did not hear me come in through the terrace doors. She would not have heard me anyway.

  “She was facing away from me, half lying on a chaise. The fireplace was in use with two logs burning—so she did not notice the slight chill that sneaked in with me. In her left hand she held a crystal glass filled with vodka. The bottle sat in a metal bucket of ice on a marble and glass table. She was having a conversation with herself. I stood behind her, listening. Venomous words about her husband leapt forth from her tongue, leaving no confusion as to what she thought of him.

  “She wore Chanel perfume, diamond earrings, bracelets, and nothing more. Her nakedness would easily reduce men to blabbering idiots, willing to do anything she desired in return for a night with her.

  “Not I. My strength was my power. I knelt down behind the chaise, the French perfume richly intoxicating at this distance. Such natural beauty this woman possessed, all of it minimized by the ugly on the inside. She did not deserve it.”

  “Why did she not deserve—”

  “SHUT. UP.”

  The abruptness of the Prividenie’s voice awakened my fear. Chills ran rampant through my body. I was suddenly terribly afraid of this man.

  He then continued, louder and at a much faster pace. “I slid the fifteen-inch hunting knife out from the hardened leather sheath. The blade was sharp; I had seen to it myself. She brought the glass to her red lips and let the last of the liquid slip into her mouth. I admit it. This was no challenge. You, Father, could have done this hit.

  “Nonetheless, it was time. Would it be a clean cut across the neck, deep enoug
h so she would bleed into her lungs and drown in her own blood? Perhaps puncturing the sternum, sinking the blade into her until I reached the handle and then slicing upward slowly? This is very painful. She would be very aware of her death. But no, I was already there too long. Fast would have to do.

  “As I raised my arm, knife in hand, I whispered into her ear, ‘The end.’ Down came the blade entering the soft spot where the left side of her neck met her shoulder. The sharp metal sunk in easily. Blood erupted from the wound as it sliced through an artery, then continuing on to halve her heart, stopping the pumping instantly. Her body tensed for a moment and then relaxed. I slide the knife out of her. I passed each side of the blade across the chaise, relieving it of her blood. I then sheathed my weapon and left the apartment the same way I had entered, undetected.”

  The Prividenie leaned back in the chair with as much smugness as a shadow could offer. I could see it clearly though. This man cared not for human life. He had no emotion. The way he described this kill in such vivid detail—there was no need, no cause for it. I certainly gave him no reason.

  He wanted me to not only hear, but also see what he had done. He wanted me right by his side, so that I could experience the death of this woman. I began to doubt whether this man could be saved. This was his eighth confession. I was fearful of the others to come. Could I make it to the end?

  I wondered and then asked myself: could I be having a conversation with the devil?

  Fourteen

  Despite nightly chats with the Prividenie, I found myself in a jovial mood a week later. It was my daughter’s birthday and we would be celebrating. My young and beautiful daughter was turning twenty-seven. A few of her friends and I were invited over to dinner at her place.