The Hunter Inside

by David McGowan

  As she had driven onwards, without stopping, she had tried to compose herself. It was no good though; her heart pounded as loudly as her aching head, and she had felt bad about not stopping. She was normally a courteous driver. She had never once been in any kind of accident, but today she could not stop. She could not stop. Not for anything.

  As the other car had gotten smaller and smaller in her rear-view mirror, she had seen a man jump out and wave his fists at her. He had been barely visible due to the dust that mushroomed up behind the back wheels of the Toyota, and within less than five seconds he had disappeared from view as the car swept onwards and around the curve of the potholed road.

  Sandy had pushed on, struggling more with her own emotions than she was with the car, determined to make it in one piece and slowing down to a steady forty to improve her chances of doing so.

  How far will I have to go? Sandy had wondered. Before I get to the right place. Or will it be the wrong place? That was something she would have to chance.

  She had known her excess speed throughout the day would not help the car, and she managed to make it about seven miles before she first saw the smoke that came from under the hood of the vehicle.

  ‘Come on,’ she moaned aloud, ‘I need you.’

  The car seemed to hear her, for it struggled onwards for a further two-and-a-half miles, before finally spluttering to a halt at the side of the road. Its journey was over.

  Sandy wondered if hers had barely begun.

  Now what am I going to do? she wondered. She got out of the car and looked around. The only thing that made any impression on her (apart from the low sound of the Atlantic Ocean as it conducted its ongoing pact with the moon) was a row of huge trees about thirty yards down the road from where she stood. There were no houses, just the trees. They presented an ominous shadow in the distance that was unrivaled. Even the Jones Beach tower hadn’t made as much of an impression as the row of huge oaks. These menacing trees were something she would have to face. There could be anything behind those trees, she thought.

  She would have to start walking though; there was no doubt about it. There was no way she was going to wait here and be a sitting duck for her demented and seemingly supernatural stalker.

  It might take hours to reach Arnold, but she knew nothing about cars. Both Joe and she had always been more comfortable with a pen or pencil in their hand than a spanner. She would have to walk.

  Sandy made her way towards the line of trees. The late afternoon had taken on a dull appearance and Sandy looked at the sky, wondering if they were in for a storm later. She thought they probably were. The wind was whipping up and the sun was out of sight behind a myriad of huge rain-bearing clouds. The combination gave Sandy the feeling that it was already much later in the evening.

  She wished she had borrowed a jacket from Melissa. The wind made the short hairs on her arms stand on end as she walked briskly, trying now to reach the row of trees to gain shelter. They had taken on a new dimension as she walked under their amazing canopy, an offer of protection held out by their strong boughs. They cut a fatherly figure to the forlorn Sandy Myers, and she stood with her back pressed against the huge trunk of one as she surveyed her surroundings.

  This is it. This is where Arnold was walking in the dream. I’m here. I already made it.

  Sandy wondered as she looked around the lake, hoping to see that Arnold was still there. He wasn’t.

  Maybe the car breaking down is a sign. Maybe it wants me to be here, Sandy thought. But that didn’t matter for now. What did matter was finding the man she had seen in her dream but had never actually met in real life. At the very least, she would be able to talk to him about this thing, whatever it was. Maybe they could fight it together. Maybe he could help her overcome it. Worst case scenario was that she would have someone to die with when the time came. But even that seemed like a good thing to Sandy. Maybe she was being trapped, but she decided to try and find the motel she had seen earlier.

  She would find Arnold.

  If they did die together at the hands of this thing then at least they would not be alone at the end. Her mother and father had been together when they died, and that was the only tiny aspect of the whole horrible and terrifying event that gave her any peace. They had not been alone.

  She began to walk away from the lake, painfully aware of the contrast that its tranquility made with her own life. In an ideal world, she would be able to stay here, sheltered from the storm with her family around her, living out a tranquil existence of their own. Instead, she had to fight for the chance of even seeing Joe, Sean and David again. By finding someone else whose life and fate was in the clutches of this beast, maybe she would have a chance. Maybe their strength would double through the support they could give each other.

  Maybe Arnold knows more about what this thing is than I do, Sandy wondered to herself.

  The protection of the lake now behind her, Sandy followed her instinct. Earlier, she had not been able to make a cast iron impression of the journey she now had to make; it had all been too much of a blur, but with disorderly thoughts and clear vision she followed her feet and found the Sleep-Easy Motel within ten minutes of leaving the lake.

  The motel looked exactly as it had in the dream. A long row of nondescript, yet brightly colored, buildings. The dream was one she would never forget. She may not have long to remember. The feeling of standing in a place she knew but had never been to before made her uneasy.

  But I have been here before. I helped to deliver the letter.

  For the first time, Sandy considered the implications of the letter that had been delivered. She expected it held the same message as the one she herself had received, and wondered whether or not Arnold had yet received his letter.

  If he has he might have ran, she thought. She hoped not. If he had seen as much as her then maybe he would be ready to stand and fight this thing.

  Maybe it killed his parents, she thought, taking no comfort or relief from the possibility. She hoped that he was ready to fight.

  Sandy walked towards the end door. This time she was in full control of her own faculties, but her legs felt unsteady, her heart beat like a jackhammer, and her head felt like a ship’s foghorn was constantly sounding inside it. She felt a large injection of fear surging through her body as each of the other doors passed by her unnoticed, her gaze fixed upon the end, green door.

  Possibility number one: Arnold will be here and alive.

  Possibility number two: He ran.

  Possibility number three: I’m gonna find his battered and blood-soaked body.

  Possibility number four: I’m gonna find his blood-soaked body and a knife sinking into my back.

  She reached the door of the room. It wasn’t ajar, which pleased Sandy. It was always ajar in the movies. Maybe the killer isn’t here.

  She knocked on the door and waited, listening to nothing but birdsong, the increasing whipping of the wind, and her own garbled thoughts; and hoping that if the door opened, it would be Arnold she would see and not a figure that was over ten feet tall driving a knife towards her neck, as it had done to Wayans.

  Nothing. Only birdsong. And wind. No scraping, no footsteps. Not even any cars in the distance.

  Sandy was all alone.

  She peered through the window, trying to see if anything was out of place in the room. The thick net curtain made it difficult for her to see, and she looked towards the door, trying to see if the envelope was still there. Standing on tiptoes and squinting down through the glass, she saw that there was indeed an envelope lying behind the door of the room. If there was any writing on it she couldn’t see it, but she was ninety-nine percent sure that it would prove to be the same as the letter she had received.

  Arnold’s still around, she thought. The realization brought a smile to her lips. He must have gone somewhere else after his walk earlier. She would wait out of sight behind the large bush at the end of the block of motel rooms. She didn’t know why she felt the nee
d to hide; she was sure it knew her every move. But she hid nevertheless, and waited for Arnold to come back to the motel room.

  If he ever did.

  30

  The two men drove in silence, O’Neill wondering just how on earth they were ever going to find Sandy Myers. Mayhew was chewing over the same problem, and finding it very difficult to swallow. On top of this, he also wondered how Sandy Myers had survived and gotten away from the scene where Paul Wayans was murdered.

  Maybe she’s stronger than we think, he thought to himself. He didn’t say it out loud, but kept on repeating it to himself, trying to ignore the growing feeling of pressure that had begun to weigh on his bladder.

  O’Neill’s secondary thoughts were different. Everything that he could cross, he crossed. I hope we get there in time. I hope we get the chance to tell her how to beat this thing.

  Mayhew broke the silence, shifting nervously in his seat. ‘Listen, Sam. I really need to pee. Can we stop?’ He held an apologetic expression in an attempt to keep the cop from blowing up at him.

  ‘Aww…Come on Todd. We gotta make hay.’ O’Neill didn’t want to blow up, but he found it difficult to hide his discontent and restrict his temper to just the admonishment, he was getting a little pissed himself.

  ‘I know I have lousy timing. But we’ve gotta talk this through anyway. We can’t go in there all guns blazing. If we do we might let those two people down. And if we let them down…’ He trailed off, safe in the knowledge that he didn’t need to continue his sentence for O’Neill to grasp the implications of their failing.

  They were both living Shimasou by now. There was no turning back from here.

  Mayhew continued. ‘I mean, just look at all the information we got to work with. We got a note…’ He counted each on his fingers as he spoke, ‘…we got another target, Arnold. And we got no idea where we’re going. Is three enough?’

  ‘Okay, maybe you’re right. We’ll stop and talk it through. Try and see if we can work out where Sandy’s gone. I don’t see how it’s possible though.’ He had a bad feeling that the next time he saw Sandy Myers she would be a corpse. Things didn’t look good.

  They took the corner that had nearly cost them their lives earlier slower this time, and Mayhew pointed to a turnoff that led into a roadside diner. ‘That’ll do won’t it?’

  ‘It’ll have to. We don’t have the time to be fussy.’

  ‘Okay, okay. I know Sam. I wanna find them as much as you do, you know? So get off my fuckin’ back.’

  Mayhew’s sudden outburst made O’Neill take notice. He hadn’t been trying to upset the old-timer. He’d just used the first thing that came into his head to retort. He wasn’t used to people getting angry with him. It was usually the other way around. They came to a stop in the small lot. Mayhew got out and walked towards the diner. O’Neill watched him until he got to the door, before getting out and going into the diner, ordering two coffees, and seeking the least busy part of the diner, where he sat down. Within a minute the young waitress, who worked alone but was hardly rushed off her feet, came towards the table carrying a tray. She set down the items on it efficiently, two steaming black coffees, two spoons, three small cartons of cream, oh, and the bill. O’Neill thanked her before watching her walk back to the counter, her tight jeans showing where her red and white apron ended. Mmm, he thought, as Mayhew returned without casting a glance at the waitress.

  ‘I got you a coffee,’ O’Neill said. He gestured towards the coffee with his eyes, a steaming olive branch extended between them.

  Mayhew smiled and put one hand on the olive branch. ‘Thanks. Listen, I didn’t mean to shout just now.’

  ‘Forget it, Todd. It was my fault.’

  Both men were ready to forget any stupid squabbles, and with the most recent one behind them, they turned their attention towards taking forward steps.

  As Mayhew took a welcoming sip of his coffee, it was O’Neill that began the conversation, listing the events so far in chronological order. Mayhew studied his face as he spoke, trying to read between the lines or see any patterns that may suggest something to him. When O’Neill finished recounting their visit to the home of Melissa Dahlia, Mayhew took over the conversation with a burning tongue.

  ‘This note, Sam. Maybe it tells us more than just the existence of another target.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Come on Sam, you’re a Special Agent.’ O’Neill smiled ruefully. ‘It said Arnold Carson Tick Tock. Now, Carson is Sandy’s maiden name, right?’

  ‘Yes.’ The penny hung precariously balanced on the edge of Special Agent O’Neill’s forehead, ready to drop at any moment.

  ‘Well, what if it put the names in that order for a reason? Maybe it means it’s gonna take them in that order. Arnold, then Carson, I mean, Myers. What do you think?’

  Todd Mayhew’s voice had become raised; such was his animation when explaining his theory. O’Neill looked towards the waitress to see that she was looking over at their table. The few people seated together at the other end of the diner were oblivious to their conversation. They were more concerned with attracting the waitress’ attention, probably to take advantage of the free coffee refill that the diner offered, and she rushed towards them to attend to their needs. O’Neill watched her as she returned to the counter and picked up the coffee pot. Maybe he wasn’t losing his intuition after all. He retrained his gaze on Todd Mayhew once again.

  ‘Good theory, Todd. But it still doesn’t take us any nearer to actually finding Arnold.’

  ‘I know. But when I saw Paul on the night of his death, I felt as if there was something he wasn’t telling me. He was certain that Shimasou was close, but I couldn’t see how. In hindsight I realized it must have been watching him. All the time we were in Chee-Uz talking, that thing was watching. But he knew it was close. Sam, I think he knew more than he was supposed to. As much as Shimasou has psychic links to their minds, I think a little gets back.’

  Special Agent O’Neill was interested in Todd Mayhew’s theory.

  ‘I think Paul somehow had an insight into its mind. Maybe not even so as he knew it, but I still think it was there. If that was true then maybe, just maybe, the others have some kind of insight into how it works too. It taunts them with the letters Sam. Do you see?’ Mayhew didn’t wait for an answer before continuing,

  ‘It wants them to be afraid. If it didn’t want them to be afraid then it would just walk up to them and kill them. But it doesn’t. It toys with them. I’m learning all the time and I might be wrong, but it really wouldn’t surprise me. Just suppose this Sam…’

  O’Neill stared at the old man intently.

  ‘If they can make a link back to Shimasou, then maybe they can make a link to one another. I could be wrong, but I think that if we find Sandy Myers, we might just find Arnold as well.’

  Jeez, he might just be right. It might just be crazy enough to be right.

  Mayhew looked at O’Neill, trying to gauge his feelings through the studious look upon his face.

  ‘You really think so?’ O’Neill asked. ‘But where do we start?’

  ‘Let’s start driving first. We can talk about it on the way.’

  ‘On the way where?’

  ‘Well, on the way out of here for a start. This coffee’s gonna kill me if I drink any more.’ Mayhew grimaced as he swallowed a mouthful of the treacle-like coffee. O’Neill did likewise, thinking the same, and wondering how anyone could ever want a refill of this coffee, free or not.

  Both men rose and O’Neill settled the bill before they exited the diner and got back into the car. O’Neill started the engine and mumbled, ‘Next stop, Atlantic Beach.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Didn’t I tell you we were near Atlantic Beach?’

  ‘No Sam. You didn’t.’ Mayhew considered the news for a second. ‘That’s where she is Sam. That’s where both of them are. They’re somewhere in Atlantic Beach. It wasn’t just toying with them with the letters. It was luring them
to it. It was luring them to Atlantic Beach. Holy shit! I bet you a million dollars.’

  ‘You don’t have a million dollars,’ O’Neill replied, grinning in spite of himself.

  ‘Well, I’ll tell you what…I will have when we find them and help them beat this thing. I’m gonna write a fuckin’ book.’

  Both men laughed as O’Neill pulled away from the parking lot and back onto the road. ‘Let’s just find them though first, hey?’

  ‘How far away are we from Atlantic Beach?’

  ‘About fifteen kilometers I think,’ O’Neill replied.

  ‘Shit, I’m starting to get nervous. It’s not gonna last much longer, Sam. I can feel it in my bones. There’s gonna be a showdown and we’ve gotta make sure we’re there when it happens. Or it won’t be a showdown, it’ll be show over.’

  ‘We’ve still got to find them, if you’re right.’

  ‘I’m sure I am Sam. Sure.’

  O’Neill looked across at Mayhew momentarily. When Mayhew looked back, he saw the determination in his eyes and trained his own eyes back on the road. He was glad Mayhew was with him. He was proving as good a Special Agent as Sam was himself, despite his inexperience, and he was grateful that Mayhew would be on his side if there was to be a showdown with this thing, even despite his age.

  Silence ensued as the kilometers passed, with both men thinking about what it would be like to face Shimasou in a showdown. Clouds had begun to roll in, and O’Neill recognized that tonight was not the night to be doing what he thought they probably would be doing. A change in the weather would surely only hamper their efforts.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘What?’ O’Neill was a little startled by Mayhew’s sudden question. Then he saw the car pulled off to the side of the road in the distance. He couldn’t make out if it was the same car; Sandy Myers’ car, that was abandoned at the side of the road, as the clouds overhead meant that the light was beginning to fade, despite it being only 4PM. But he put his foot down anyway, desperate for it to be the little brown Toyota that they had seen earlier.