by Chris Carter
Hunter gave Garcia a quick nod, who responded in the same way. They were as ready as they’d ever be.
Both detectives held their breath as Hunter stood with his back against the wall to the right of the door and pushed it open in one fast movement. Immediately, Garcia stepped inside, both of his arms stretched out, his weapon held by a double-hand grip. He was followed a fraction of a second later by Hunter.
The room was in complete darkness, but the tiny amount of light that seeped through from the corridor outside allowed them to understand its setup. It was small, maybe only ten feet in depth by seven wide. There was a metal bed pushed up against one of the walls and a bucket on the floor to the right of the bed; nothing else. The walls were made of red bricks and the floor was concrete. It looked like a medieval dungeon, and if fear had a smell, that room was drenched in it. There was no one in there.
Garcia breathed out and cringed. ‘Damn, look at this place, man. Stephen King couldn’t have imagined this hellhole.’
Hunter closed the door silently and he and Garcia moved on. The corridor swung left. Hunter went through the same process, trying each key as he reached the first door in this new hallway. The room was identical to the first one and again in total darkness. There was no one in there either.
Garcia started fidgeting.
They reached the next door and the process started again. As Hunter pushed the door open and they stepped inside with their weapons at the ready, they heard a faint and frightened cry.
One Hundred and Ten
Hunter and Garcia paused by the door. Both of their guns aiming at whoever or whatever had made that noise, but neither of them fired. Due to the darkness, it took Hunter a couple of seconds to spot her. She was pressed against one of the corners of the room, curled up into a tiny ball. Her knees were tight against her chest. Her arms hugging her legs so hard the blood seemed to have drained from them. Her eyes were wide open, staring at the door and the two new arrivals. One word could describe her whole being – fear.
Hunter recognized her straight away – Katia Kudrov.
He holstered his gun and quickly lifted his hands up in a surrender gesture.
‘We’re Los Angeles police officers,’ he announced in the calmest voice he could muster. ‘We’ve been looking for you for a while, Katia.’
Katia burst into tears, her body convulsing with emotion. Hunter stepped into the room and approached her very slowly.
‘You’re gonna be OK, we’re here now.’
Her eyes were still wide, staring at Hunter as if he was an illusion. Her breathing was coming to her in bursts. Hunter feared she was too shocked to speak.
‘Can you talk?’ he asked. ‘Are you hurt?’
Katia sucked in a deep breath through her nose and nodded.
‘Ye— yes, I can talk. No— no, I’m not hurt.’
Hunter kneeled down before her and took her in his arms. She hugged him tight and broke down in a barrage of desperate tears and high-pitched yelps. Hunter felt as though he was absorbing her fear through his skin.
Garcia stood by the door, both hands wrapped firmly around his gun, his gaze incessantly moving up and down the corridor outside.
Katia’s eyes met Hunter’s. ‘Than— thank you.’
‘Are there others here?’
She nodded. ‘I think so. I never saw anyone. I’m never let out of this room. The lights are always off. But I’m sure I heard something one day. I mean, I heard someone. Another woman.’
Hunter nodded. ‘You are the first one we found, we’ve gotta look for others.’
Katia’s arms tightened further around Hunter. ‘No . . . don’t leave me.’
‘We’re not leaving you. You’re coming with us. Can you walk?’
Katia breathed out and nodded.
Hunter helped her stand up. She looked much skinnier than the pictures he’d seen of her.
‘When was the last time you ate?’
She gave him a tiny shrug. ‘I don’t know. The food and the water are drugged.’
‘Do you feel dizzy?’
A succession of quick nods. ‘A little, but I can walk.’
Hunter’s questioning gaze moved to Garcia.
‘We’re good here, let’s move.’
Hunter moved Katia in between him and Garcia and drew his weapon again. They stepped towards the door cautiously, ready to brave the corridors again.
All of a sudden all the lights went off.
They were left in absolute darkness.
For an instant all three of them were frozen to the spot. Katia let out another cry, but the fear in her voice this time almost chilled the air.
‘Oh my God, he’s here.’
Hunter reached for her again. ‘It’s all right, Katia. It’s gonna be OK. We’re still here with you.’ As his hand touched her arm, he felt her shivering.
‘No yo— you don’t understand. It won’t be OK.’
‘What do you mean?’ Garcia whispered.
‘He’s like a ghost. He moves like a ghost. You can’t hear him when he comes for you.’ She started crying and her voice faltered. ‘And . . . he . . . he can see you but you can’t see him.’ Her breathing accelerated. ‘He can see in the dark.’
One Hundred and Eleven
Hunter pulled Katia into his arms again.
‘Katia, it’ll be OK. We’ll get out of here.’
‘No . . .’ Desperation took over her voice. ‘You’re not listening. We can’t hide from him. There’s nowhere we can go where he won’t find us. We won’t get out of here alive. He could be standing behind you right now and you wouldn’t know. Unless he wanted you to.’
That statement sent a shiver up Garcia’s spine and he mechanically extended his left arm like a blind man, feeling the space around him – nothing but air.
‘I could never see him,’ Katia continued, ‘but I sensed him many times, right here, in the room with me. He wouldn’t say a word. He wouldn’t make a sound, but I knew he was there, watching me, just observing. I never heard him come in or go out. He moves like a ghost.’
‘OK,’ Hunter said. ‘The three of us moving blind isn’t a great idea. We won’t be able to cover each other.’
‘What do you wanna do?’ Garcia whispered.
‘Katia, stay in here. Stay in the room.’
‘What?’
‘I’ve been checking every inch of this place. He’s got no surveillance. There are no cameras, no microphones, nothing. He might know that we’re here, but there’s no way he can be sure that we’ve gotten to you or to anyone else. If you stay in the room just like you’ve been doing since the day you were captured, he’s got no reason to be angry with you.’
‘No . . . no. I’d rather die than stay here alone for another second. You don’t know what I’ve been through. I can’t stay here. Please don’t leave me here to face him again. You can’t leave me here alone.’
‘Katia, listen, if the three of us move out of this room together right now, and if this guy can see in the dark and move as silently as you said he can, we’ve got no chance.’
‘No . . . I can’t stay here alone. Please don’t make me stay here alone. I’d rather die.’
‘I’ll stay with you.’ Garcia said. ‘Robert is right. We won’t be able to cover each other if we move out of here together. He could easily pick us out one by one and we wouldn’t even know. I’ll stay here with you. As Robert said, he doesn’t know which room we’re in. For all he knows you’re here, alone, just like you were minutes ago. I’ll stay. There’s no way he can know I’m with you. If this door opens without the person identifying himself, I’ll smoke the bastard.’ He cocked his gun and Katia jumped.
‘It’s a good idea,’ Hunter agreed.
‘Why don’t you stay too,’ Katia pleaded. ‘Why can’t we all just wait for him in here and fight him together? We’ve got a better chance that way.’
‘Because he might not come directly here,’ Hunter explained. ‘We know for sure that he’s got at l
east one more victim held hostage. Our captain. He might go straight for her just to punish us. I have to try and find her before he gets to her. I can’t just sit here and wait. Her life depends on it.’
‘He’s right, Katia,’ Garcia said.
‘We can’t waste any more time,’ Hunter took over again. ‘Trust me, Katia. I’ll be back for you.’
Garcia put his arm around Katia and slowly brought her back into the room.
‘Good luck,’ he said as Hunter closed the door behind him and took a deep breath.
This already looks like a bad idea, he thought. Walking around in pitch-dark corridors, fighting a killer blind. What the hell am I thinking?
Hunter knew that there were about twenty feet between him and the end of the corridor. No more doors on this stretch. He moved cautiously, but he moved fast. The hallway swung left again. He stood still, listening as hard as he could.
Nothing except absolute silence.
Hunter had always been good at identifying sounds. Sneaking up on him would be a tough task. Though Katia had told him that Andrew could see in the dark and move like a ghost, he couldn’t believe anyone could be that quiet.
He was wrong.
One Hundred and Twelve
Andrew stood just a few meters from Hunter, observing, his breathing so quiet and smooth that even a person standing inches from him wouldn’t have noticed him. He’d heard the entire conversation just moments earlier. He knew Garcia had stayed in the room with Katia. But he’d deal with them later. A satisfied smile parted his lips. He could see the anxiety on Hunter’s face. He could sense the tension in his movements. Hunter had guts, Andrew had to give him that. He’d knowingly walked into a fight he couldn’t win.
Hunter started moving forward again. His left hand in constant contact with the corridor’s internal wall as he searched for the next door.
Five steps were all he managed.
The first blow came to his gun hand, so powerful and precise it almost snapped his wrist in two. Hunter never heard a thing. He never sensed another presence. Katia was right. Andrew could see in the dark. There was no other way he could have delivered such an accurate strike.
Hunter’s gun left his hand like a rocket propelled into the air. He heard it hit the ground somewhere in front of him and to his right. Instinctively, he pulled back and assumed a fighting position, but how do you fight when you can’t see or hear your opponent?
Somehow Andrew had moved around Hunter, because the next blow came from behind him, straight to the lower back. Hunter was catapulted forward and he felt an agonizing pain creep up his spine.
‘I guess you decided not to take my advice,’ Andrew said, his voice firm and confident. ‘Bad move, Detective.’
Hunter turned in the direction of the voice and blindly delivered a punch around chest height. He hit nothing but air.
‘Wrong again.’ This time the voice came from Hunter’s left, just inches away.
How could he move so fast and so quietly?
Hunter twisted his body and swung his elbow around as fast and as hard as he could, but Andrew had moved again. And again, Hunter hit nothing.
The next punch hit Hunter in the stomach. It was so well placed and powerful he doubled over and tasted acrid bile in his mouth. No time to react. A quick follow-up punch hit him on the left side of his face. Hunter felt his lip split and the bitter taste in his mouth was quickly substituted by a metallic and sharp one – blood.
Hunter swung his arm around again. A desperate attempt from someone who knew this war was lost. He couldn’t even defend himself. The only thing he could do was wait for the next blow. And it came in the form of a low kick to the knee. A jolt of pain ran up Hunter’s leg and gravity sent him plunging to the floor. His back and head slammed against the wall behind him hard. Andrew wasn’t only invisible and soundless; he knew how to fight too.
‘The question is,’ Andrew said, ‘should I keep on beating you up until you’re dead . . . or should I use your gun and end this with a bullet to your head?’
‘Andrew, you don’t have to do this.’ Hunter’s voice was heavy, defeated, and gurgling in blood.
‘I told you not to call me Andrew.’
‘OK,’ Hunter accepted it. ‘Do you want me to call you Bryan? Bryan Coleman?’
Silence, and for the first time Hunter sensed Andrew’s hesitation.
‘That’s the new identity you chose for yourself, right? Bryan Coleman? Director of Production at the A & E TV network. We sat face to face just a couple of days ago.’
‘Wow,’ Andrew said, clapping his hands. ‘Your reputation is well deserved. You figured out something no one else could.’
‘Your identity isn’t a secret any more,’ Hunter carried on. ‘Whatever happens here tonight, the LAPD know who you are now. You can’t stay in the dark forever.’ Hunter paused, took a deep breath and felt his lungs burn with pain. ‘You need help, Bryan. Somehow, alone, for twenty years, you managed to cope with something that no one could handle on their own.’
‘You don’t know anything, Detective. You have no idea what I’ve been through.’
Andrew had moved again. His voice was now coming from Hunter’s right.
‘I spent three days in that attic, hiding, scared, trying to decide what to do.’ He paused. ‘I decided I didn’t wanna stay in Healdsburg. I didn’t wanna be taken away to some orphanage somewhere. I didn’t wanna be the kid everyone had pity on. So I waited into night-time and then I ran. It was quite easy to hide in the back of a truck at the interstate gas station.’
Hunter remembered that the Harpers’ old family house was less than half a mile from Interstate 101.
‘You’d be surprised how easy it is for a kid to survive on the streets of a big city like LA. But being away from Healdsburg didn’t help. For twenty years I’ve had the same images playing in my head every time I close my eyes.’
Hunter coughed a red mist of blood. ‘What happened in your house twenty years ago wasn’t your fault, Bryan. You can’t blame yourself for what your father did.’
‘My father loved my mother. He gave his life for her.’
‘He didn’t give his life for her. He took his life as well as hers in a moment of rage.’
‘BECAUSE SHE BETRAYED HIM.’ The shout came from directly in front of Hunter, but too far away for him to react. ‘He loved her with every beat of his heart. It took me years to understand what had really happened. But now I know that he took her life and his for love . . . pure love.’
Hunter had been right, Andrew’s vision of what true love meant was completely distorted, but arguing it right now was pointless. Hunter needed to try and calm him down, not irritate him further.
‘It’s still not your fault,’ he said.
‘SHUT UP. You don’t know what happened. You don’t know what caused my father to lose his mind. But I’ll tell you . . . I did. I told him. It was all my fault.’
One Hundred and Thirteen
Hunter sensed the anguish and pain in Andrew’s voice. Pain that came from deep inside. Something he had been carrying with him for all these years.
‘How do you think my father found out about Mr. Gardner and my mother?’ Andrew asked.
Hunter hadn’t thought of that, but he didn’t need to reflect for long to know the answer.
‘I saw them together one day. I saw them in my parents’ room, in my parents’ bed. I knew what they were doing was wrong . . . really wrong.’ A desperate quiver had found its way into Andrew’s voice, the memory still way too vivid in his mind. ‘I didn’t know what to do. Somehow I knew that what my mom was doing would destroy her marriage to my father. I didn’t want that to happen. I wanted them to be happy again . . . together.’ He hesitated for an instant.
‘So you told your father,’ Hunter whispered.
‘A week before it all happened. I told him that I saw Nathan Gardner coming into our house one day. That was all I told him, nothing else.’ The hurt in his voice grew stronger. ‘I didn’
t know that my father would be capable of . . .’ He trailed off.
‘Still not your fault,’ Hunter said again. ‘As you’ve said, you didn’t know your father would react the way he did. Your intention was to save your parents’ marriage, to keep them together. His reaction wasn’t your fault.’
Silence took over for a moment.
‘Do you know what I remember the most about my mother?’ Andrew had moved yet again. ‘She told me that when I was her age I’d find someone just like her – beautiful . . . talented . . . Someone I could fall in love with.’ He paused for a second. ‘I’ve waited for that birthday for twenty years. For the day that I could finally start choosing my perfect partner.’
Suddenly everything started to make sense to Hunter. They’d been right. The women Andrew Harper kidnapped symbolized a combination of maternal and romantic love. He wanted to fall in love with them, but he also wanted – needed – them to look like his mother. She had told him that when he was thirty, her exact age when she died, he’d find his perfect match, someone just like her. Hunter had checked Andrew’s birth certificate. His birthday was on February 22 – two days before Kelly Jensen, his first kidnap victim, had been taken. Andrew had been searching for his victims for a while, but his subconscious prohibited him from taking any action until his thirtieth birthday. In his fragile mind, his mother’s words were a rule that couldn’t be broken. He had been waiting for that birthday for a very long time. And he’d lost no time when that day arrived. Andrew’s mind had distorted what his mother had said in a way only a severely traumatized mind could.
‘So you found them,’ Hunter said. ‘Women who looked just like your mother. Who were as talented as she was—’
‘No one could ever be as talented as my mother.’ Anger returned to Andrew’s voice.
‘I’m sorry,’ Hunter corrected himself. ‘You found candidates for your love . . . and took them from their homes . . . studios . . . cars . . . But you couldn’t fall in love with them, could you?’