Hunter’s Baby

by Alexis Abbott

  “Traffic, huh?” says my sister dubiously.

  “Yep. Just some regular mid-afternoon traffic I’m concerned about. No big deal,” I reply, giving her a meaningful look. Her brows furrow and her mouth sets into a hard line. She’s catching on. I see her start to turn around to look out the back windshield very, very slowly. She yawns and lifts up her arms over her head as though she’s simply stretching, so as not to alert Flora that there’s anything going on. Far, far back, probably about a half mile behind us, is the same vehicle. Hunter’s vehicle. Or at least, that’s what it looks like from this far away. I can’t be one-hundred-percent certain from this distance, but… I mean, who else would it be?

  Sage bites her lip and gives me a subtle shrug.

  “Does it look like...traffic to you?” I ask her pointedly.

  “Hmm. Maybe. Should we be concerned about that for any reason? About the, uh, traffic, I mean? Like, is that a matter that should concern us right now?” she replies, careful to keep her tone light and breezy. I glance at Flora and I’m relieved to see that she is currently totally engrossed in counting the polka dots on her leggings. I can see her tiny rosebud lips moving, mouthing three, four, five, and so on.

  “Well, I thought we’d left the traffic behind for a reason, you know?” I tell Sage, hoping that our makeshift code is intelligible between us. We have gotten pretty damn skilled at finding ways to codify our language so it’s mostly undetectable by little ears, but this one is a bit of a stretch, especially because Sage probably has no idea as to why we actually left the cottage in the first place. For all she knows, Hunter and I could’ve just had a simple lovers’ quarrel or whatever. That realization makes me shiver. I can’t imagine how much she would panic if she found out the truth. How would anyone to react to that kind of revelation? I’m still not sure how I feel about it, myself, other than my need to put as much distance between my problems and me as humanly possible.

  “Uh-huh. Gotcha. And, um, what reason is that, may I ask?” Sage presses me, folding her arms over her chest. Oh no. That’s not a good sign. She normally only does that when she’s getting annoyed with me. Clearly my sister isn’t having as much fun with this little game of crack-the-code as I’d hoped. Still, I couldn’t exactly lay out the bare, naked truth for her. Not here. Not now. Not in front of Flora.

  Or ever, maybe. I mean, if Hunter really is who I suspect he is, who he confessed to be in a vague, roundabout way, then that’s the kind of knowledge I should take with me to the grave. Right? I care about him deeply. That much I know for sure. And so of course my reflex is to want to protect him from harm. That means I have to keep his true identity and criminal rap sheet to myself, doesn’t it? Then again, if he really is the wild, evil, out-of-control killer I suspect he may be, then would it be my civic duty to turn him in? Hunter implied in our hushed conversation that if (or when) he kills, he only kills those who “deserve” it. Bad guys. Evil men who make the world a dangerous place. So does that make Hunter a good guy? Does it balance out? Can he be both an avenging angel and a gentle, adoring lover? Can he be a hunting-knife-wielding vigilante and a tender-hearted father to a little girl all at once? I have so many more questions; some for Hunter, and some that no living being can possibly answer.

  Sage loudly clears her throat in the seat behind me and I give her a hasty, sheepish smile in the rearview. She’s waiting for me to give her a concrete reason as to why I’m worried that we’re being followed. But I don’t have a reason for her. Not one I can put into coherent words and give breath to. Ugh, why does this have to be so hard? I never hide things from my sister, but this time...it’s different.

  Isn’t it?

  That vehicle is still tailing us from a safe distance. Whether or not it’s Hunter, I decide I want to shake them off somehow, so on a whim, I take the nearest exit to the right and start looking for residential streets. Maybe if I get off the blank, flat highway, it will be more difficult for my assailant to keep tabs on me.

  “Why did you turn down this way?” asks Sage, leaning forward.

  “Oh, I just wanted to get off the highway for a bit. It’s so monotonous, you know. I get bored of it,” I remark with false levity.

  “So you knocked our journey way off course for...a change of scenery?” she asks flatly.

  “Not way off course,” I defend myself weakly. I turn down a few more streets to the right, following the rows of businesses and shops in search of a more populated area. Of course, the stretch of road between Ithaca and Albany isn’t the most exciting or metropolitan route in the world, but even out in the country they have got to have supermarkets and stuff. Besides, we’ve barely made it past the outskirts of Ithaca’s city limits. We’re technically still in the metro area. But I want to be cautious about this and make sure I shake off our follower long before we make it much farther down the road. Who knows? It could be Hunter trying to follow us home so that he’ll know where we live. The thought of him doing just that makes me want to cry. I hate thinking of him this way. I can’t imagine him as a truly evil guy with evil intentions. That image just clashes so violently with the picture I have of him in my head. Of the gentle, loving, doting man who cared for me so tenderly years ago.

  Come on, Blossom. Focus.

  I keep making random left and right turns until I find myself driving through cutesy, quiet suburban neighborhoods. There are kids out riding their bikes, dads in windbreaker jackets mowing the lawn, moms planting flowers. It’s the epitome of a suburban, domestic paradise. It’s almost enough to make me smile and forget about the harrowing escape we’re currently engaged in. I can’t help but wonder what it must be like to live in a place like this. Surrounded by a warm, predictable, dependable, stable cocoon. No worries, no fears. Just wholesome family comfort.

  I shake myself out of it. That domestic daydream will never be my life. I will never have the kind of stability and completeness to make that happen. These suburbs are for families with two well-adjusted parents who make good money, for perfect, traditional, cookie-cutter family structures. I know what I have is pretty good. I love that my daughter gets to grow up between a mother and an aunt who love her and spend lots of quality time with her. I can keep a roof over our heads and food on our plates. That should be enough to settle for, right? Besides, clearly I can’t be trusted to choose the right kind of man to round out my family. I always considered myself a damn good judge of character, especially once Flora was born and my maternal instincts kicked in. All this time, Hunter has been my ideal man, my prince charming. And yet, he’s so much darker and more mysterious than I ever could have imagined. I guess the man of my dreams is more like the man of my nightmares.

  So I got that wrong, too. I put us-- all of us-- in danger. Not anymore.

  After about twenty minutes of weaving in and out of the residential streets, I look back again and realize with a sigh of relief that we’re no longer being tailed by that vehicle. Up ahead on the left, I see a supermarket, a giant box store. I decide that’s what we need right now. A little time to stretch our legs. Besides, I need to pick up something for Flora’s lunch on Monday. Sage is a great caretaker, but she’s never been much of a cook. So I pull the car into the lot and park as close to the entrance as I can, then turn the engine off.

  “Where we going?” Flora asks, turning as far to the left and right as she can in her booster seat to look around.

  “Good question,” Sage murmurs, looking at me.

  “The store! Just take it as a chance to stretch your legs, okay?” I reply brightly.

  “Can I pick out a toy if I’m a good girl?” Flora gasps, her brown eyes wide.

  I grin and nod. “Sure. Why not. Let’s go.”

  “Yay!” she exclaims, kicking her pudgy little legs as Sage unbuckles her from the seat. I come around to the passenger door and slide it open, lifting the little girl out. At first, I carry her on my hip as we walk into the market. I know she’s more than old enough to walk around on her own, but I still worry. Especi
ally with that close call. I don’t want her apart from me.

  Once we get inside, though, I relax a little. The market is bustling and packed, but everyone seems smiley and upbeat. Everyone is polite. I let my guard down, albeit reluctantly.

  “Is it cool if I go look at makeup?” Sage asks me.

  “Yeah, yeah. Sure. Just be careful. And keep your eye on your phone in case I need to get ahold of you. I’m just going to grab a few things. Won’t be very long,” I tell her as I grab a cart and slide Flora into the child seat.

  Sage nods and heads off, walking briskly toward the beauty section. I can tell she’s annoyed with me. She doesn’t like when I keep things from her, even little things. Ever since we were children, we always shared every secret together. Sage is a tough cookie, and very independent. It’s just in her nature to be a little prickly sometimes. But she’s always been more vulnerable with me. I’m the only one she lets into her world. So I know it feels like a betrayal to her that I’m clearly holding something back. I make the mental resolution to come clean about it sometime. Maybe not soon, but someday.

  I steer the cart toward the food aisles, humming some incoherent tune to myself as I idly shop. I don’t have anything specific in mind. I grab a box of frosted flakes, some wheat bread, peanut butter, strawberry jam, carrot sticks, a gigantic bottle of apple juice, pretzels, and-- as a special treat for Sage and me-- a tub of roasted red pepper hummus. It’s one of our favorites, and back when we first moved in together and we were really struggling to get by, we used to pool our meager funds at the end of the month to buy good hummus. Maybe it sounds a little pathetic to some people, but for us, it was just a delicious little pick-me-up to brighten up our grim days. Even now that we’re closer to thriving than merely surviving, that hummus has a special place in our hearts.

  As I shop, Flora plays with my hand, running her little fingers over it as I have my fingers wrapped around the steering bar of the shopping cart. She, like me, is humming and singing soft, nonsensical songs to herself. I make my way toward the ice cream aisle, wondering if there’s any chance a pint of mint chocolate chip might survive the three-hour drive back to Albany without melting completely, I absently stroke Flora’s soft brown hair. I’m just about to reach for a pint of ice cream when suddenly there’s someone beside me, gently tapping me on the shoulder.

  I gasp a little, clearly still on edge from what happened this morning, and I whip around to face the squat middle-aged woman peering up at me with rosy cheeks and frosty white hair. She looks apologetic. “Oh! Sorry to frighten you, dear, but I’m a little lost,” she begins, smiling.

  “Oh. Uh, well, I don’t work here or anything, but--”

  “I’m just wondering if you could point me to where I might find the cereal,” she continues, still beaming up at me with that rosy grandma face.

  I’m about to shake my head and move on when I remember that I actually do know the answer this time. “I did just grab some cereal, actually. It’s just a few rows from the back. Aisle four, I believe?” I tell her.

  “Ah! Thank you, dear. Much appreciated,” she says sweetly, and toddles off on her merry way. I watch her go for a moment, then turn around to reach for Flora’s hand again. But to my confusion, I seem to miss completely. I look over at the cart, bewildered, and my heart nearly sinks to the floor.

  She’s gone.

  “No. No, no,” I murmur, bile starting to rise in my throat. That’s definitely my cart, and there’s definitely no adorable five-year-old in it. “This can’t be happening,” I gasp, cupping my face with both hands. I start spinning around in frantic circles, then race up and down the aisles, calling out for her in a breathy voice. I can hardly get enough oxygen into my lungs to keep upright, I’m spiraling so fast.

  “Flora! Flora!” I cry out, tears springing to my eyes. I only looked away from her for a second. How did this happen? Who the hell would do this? I don’t know anyone in the area, and what would anyone want with a little girl, anyway?

  Wait. I do know someone around here.

  Hunter.

  Could he-- would he have pulled something like this? Maybe he did follow me here. Maybe he did decide to take what he believes he’s owed. Maybe he kidnapped his own daughter.

  Hunter

  I didn’t think she would be that good at trying to shake me, but this is the Blossom I fell for so long ago-- of course she has some unexpected skills up her sleeve, I should have known.

  Scaring her was the last thing I wanted to do, of course, but I couldn’t just let her walk out of my life with the wrong impression. I have to find her again and explain my actions. It isn’t just because her running off like this leaves me with a huge risk to my identity to deal with. I don’t want her to go. Legitimately, passionately, I don’t want her to leave my life again. Not without getting a chance to let her see why I do what I do.

  How could I not follow her? As soon as the three of them pulled off, I got in my car and tailed them from as far a distance as I could. There’s only so much you can do to keep yourself from being noticed on these long woodland roads, so it was even more surprising that it wasn’t until we hit heavier traffic that she seemed to notice me.

  I won’t hurt her, and it’s painful to me that she doubtlessly thinks that’s exactly what I’m planning to do. When you’re alone with your fears, it’s easy to start having imaginary conversations and getting riled up about them. During that tense drive, all I could think about was how she’s probably comparing me to the dozens of other maniacs she’s learned about over the years in those damn podcasts-- sociopaths with Freudian issues who kill just because they like feeling powerful and being able to get away with murder at the drop of a hat, getting off on the suffering of other people and asserting dominance.

  That isn’t me. I meant every word I said to Sage. I suffered through hell because the system wasn’t enough to keep me safe when I was vulnerable. It hurt me, and it hurt Blossom. I started doing this because I stand up for what I believe in, and what I believe in is a safer future for everyone.

  But getting Blossom to see that is another thing entirely.

  She didn’t actually shake me in traffic. I knew I was pushing her too hard, so I backed off and let myself disappear in the suburbs. It was a big risk, because it meant that for a while, she legitimately did have a chance of escaping my sights, but I found her again and tailed her at a safer distance the rest of the way to the store.

  But I couldn’t just charge in after her and make a scene. That isn’t how I want any of this to go down, and considering that she’s probably more than on edge already, doing something brash like that would make it a surefire thing that the police would get involved. From there, it would only be a matter of hours before I was handcuffed and getting shipped off to trial.

  Whether she knows it, Blossom holds the fate of the Lilac Killer in her hands.

  So, I circled around the store several times, eyes hounding the parking lot for signs of Blossom. I’ve spotted her parked car, so I know she’s still here, but catching her as she comes out will be a different matter. Frankly, I don’t even know what I’m going to do when I do see her. Veering in front of them in the parking lot would be just as bad as chasing them down in the store. I need to be careful about this. Not just for my sake, either-- Sage may or may not know what’s really going on in Blossom’s head, but Flora is definitely ignorant of the truth.

  I don’t need to be her father to know she should stay that way.

  But just as I’m making yet another round of the block, I see that familiar face burst out of the entrance of the store. It’s Blossom, her blonde hair looking frazzled and her eyes wild. She looks furious and terrified all at once, and I grip the steering wheel hard. What the hell happened to her? Without a second thought, I pull into the parking lot and stop the car a long ways from the entrance. She’s clearly disturbed, and I don’t want to scare her more by driving up close to her.

  I check to make sure my knife is in its place in the sheat
h hidden beneath my pant leg, then climb out of the car. I start hurrying toward the parking lot aisle where Blossom is making her way through the cars, shouting, and then she sees me. I hold up a cautious hand to let her know I don’t mean any harm, but she brushes away my worries the next second with the one thing I expected least.

  She starts barreling down the parking lot toward me at full tilt, fire blazing in her eyes.

  I’m so caught off-guard that I barely react as she closes the distance between us, and she throws herself on me, hands clutching my shirt. She tries to pull me toward her, but she ends up just pulling herself up to me.

  “Where is she?!”

  “Who?” I say, wide-eyed, putting a hand over one of hers and trying to calm her down.

  “Don’t fuck with me, Hunter! I swear to god, I’ll get the fucking FBI out here in the blink of an eye if you don’t tell me where she is,” she shouts, and I can see real, primal anger in her eyes. I’ve never seen this side of Blossom before.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Blossom,” I say, trying to use the most soothing voice I can, but there are already tears in her eyes. Those eyes say a thousand words. They bore into me, sharper than the nails digging into my shirt, and they search me. It’s like an hours-long interrogation taking place in complete silence in the span of just a second. But I know she can see the truth in my eyes.

  I don’t think we could really lie to each other, even if we wanted to.

  Her face doesn’t soften, but she loosens her grip on my shirt.

  “Flora,” she breathes hoarsely, eyes turning desperate. “Flora, she’s gone, Hunter!”

  “What?!” I say, and immediately, every instinct in my body kicks into high gear.

  “She can’t be far, I saw her last just a few minutes ago!” she says, letting go of my shirt.