Banshee Hunt

by Curtis, Greg

  All convicts in all prisons did the same. Everything was drama on the inside. It was like a soap opera that they all lived. None would ever admit that they had been sent to jail by a reasonable cop doing his job in a professional manner. So a bit of roughness during an arrest became brutality on the inside. A ruse used by the police to catch them became bribery and corruption in the prison yard. And a weapon drawn during an arrest became an all-out gun battle in the dining hall. All cops were bastards and the prisons were filled with innocent people. It was simply the nature of the beast. It was because of that that James suspected he would be able to convince his brother of his intent.

  Seeing Francis again for the first time in five years James realised that his brother had changed. Of course when he had seen him last his brother had been lying on the floor of his home in a pool of his own blood, breathing his last.

  Today that blood was of course gone, and there was no sign of bruising anywhere. James missed those things. He could also see that his brother had filled out some too. He was no longer the skin and bones twenty year old he had been. But he was still the same monster inside. James could see that in his eyes. He might walk with a limp, courtesy of having had his hip crushed by James, and one arm might hang at an awkward angle for much the same reason. His face might even be a little lopsided. But he was still the same monster inside.

  The monster had however, been chained. He had been put in restraints for the interview and James could see that they constrained both his hands and his feet. It was exactly as James had requested. It seemed he had also learned a little fear in the subsequent years. Because when he saw James he stopped dead in his tracks and refused to come any closer. In fact he tried to run. The guards had to force him to the table and then lock him down to keep him there. That was why the cast iron ring was there in the centre of the table. It could be used to anchor a prisoner's wrist chains.

  James waited quietly while the guards did their work, studying his little brother carefully. Looking for any sign in him that Francis had gotten his powers back. James couldn't see any trace of the eighteen year old that had stolen his wife and done his best to ruin his life. That had laughed at him as he'd had the judge destroy him in court for the next two years. But he couldn't tell. Francis looked frightened, but that could all be show.

  “You're looking good little brother.” James smiled cruelly at him, quickly adopting the persona he needed. It came easily to him. The German would no doubt say that it came too easily. “Ready for your next beating in fact.”

  “Don't you dare!” Francis shrilled at him. “I have rights!”

  For an answer James reached across the table, grabbed the back of his little brother's head and smashed it down on the table. “There's your rights!”

  It was a bold move. In a real prison it would have been illegal and he could have been charged with assault. But this prison was in fact itself illegal. They had no right to lock anyone up. And though they tried to appear as if they were reasonable, the Illuminati really weren't. This prison existed to hold people who threatened them. And a rogue fascinator represented a serious threat. It was that simple. So the warden and her guards had been given their orders and as much as they might hate them, they had to obey.

  Francis raised his head, blood already starting to pour from his nose, and screamed at him. He started yelling at him about his rights, threatening to sue him and have him charged. It appeared he still hadn't learned his lesson in power and control. So when he was good and ready, James did it again. The second time Francis was quieter. Shocked perhaps. But maybe he was learning.

  “So, do you see any guards rushing to help you? Anyone coming to try and stop me?” James gave him time to look around and stare at the guards. None of them looked alarmed. None of them were hurrying their way. They had been told what to expect and ordered not to interfere. Undoubtedly they didn't like their orders. The warden hated them. But they would do their duty.

  “Here's your rights little brother. In fact you only have one right. You have the right to grow old and die like a worm in this place. You will never know freedom again, nor will you be allowed to cause trouble.”

  “Now here’s the thing: It seems that you have caused trouble. And well, that nullifies your right to grow old in here. Instead, your life is about to dramatically shorten. Understand?”

  “Prick!” But though he hated him Francis didn't hurl the word at him, but muttered it instead. He said nothing more. Apparently he was learning who held the reins of power. And that it wasn’t him. By the looks of things he was also remembering what it was to feel fear.

  That was important. If Francis had been responsible for the attack on him, James would have thought it could only be because he had his power back. As a fascinator he could have persuaded someone to try and kill him. Maybe even to blow himself up. He also would have had guards or prisoners running to protect him by now. The fact that he didn't, that he was even being cowed strongly suggested that he didn't have his gift back. Certainly not as he once had.

  But could he be bluffing? Could he have used friends? Did he have friends? James hadn't seen him in five years. He didn't know if the supremely arrogant kid who could have anything he wanted with just a word, had grown up any. Certainly he knew Francis wouldn't have grown a conscience. There was nothing in him of that nature. But he might have learned some cunning. He might have found a little spine. Enough to take a beating and hide the truth.

  “Good. So now that we've established your status as completely screwed, let’s talk about what matters. Who have you been talking to?”

  “Talking to?”

  He could have been lying. Pretending that he didn't know what James was talking about. But James didn't see that in him. He saw confusion. And he was usually a good judge of truth. Still, he pushed.

  “Don't play dumb with me! You've broken the cardinal rule. You've interfered with life outside the prison. That means that in a short while I'm going to kill you. I'm going to drag you out back and end your worthless life. It's been a long time coming. The only choice you have now is how you die. I can simply put a bullet through your brain. Quick and easy. Or I can cover you with gasoline and have a nice little bonfire.”

  “But –!”

  “Don't bother. Your assassin died horribly. His ashes are probably circling the globe by now. I'm surprised you used such a poor choice of killer. A little insulted too. But what the heck, it's over now. And so are you. Your only choice is whether it is a bullet in the brain or a witch burning. To get the quick death you need to tell me the truth. Who did you use? Is anyone else coming after me?”

  “I didn't do anything!” This time his brother screamed in fear rather than anger, his eyes widening in horror. But he could still be lying.

  “Choice made then. Bonfire it is.” James stood up and went around to Francis' side of the table, watching him instinctively flinch in fear. “Remember, I offered. This is your mistake.”

  “No!” Francis shrieked in terror, suddenly realising he might be in even worse trouble than just a beating. “Stop! You can’t do this! I told you I didn’t do anything!”

  “And you expect anyone to believe you?” James laughed at him. “How stupid are you?” Expertly James started freeing his brother's chain from the ring in the centre of the table, so that he could bring him out to the rear of the camp.

  “No! Please! I didn't do it!” Francis was shaking as he said it, his fear growing in leaps and bounds. “You can't!”

  “Too late!” James laughed at him some more. Then he pulled him from his seat and started dragging him out across the camp ground.

  It wasn't easy. Francis was now a fully grown man and he really didn't want to go. But James had spent a lot of hours in the gym over the previous five years, and a struggling little brother wasn't going to stop him. Besides, there was a world full of anger flowing through him, lending him all the strength he needed. So he dragged him along, kicking him when he resisted too hard, and there was nothi
ng Francis could do to stop him.

  All the way his little brother was screaming in fear. Begging for him to stop. Begging for the guards to help him. But no one came coming running to help him. And no matter how hard he tried, Francis couldn't stop himself from being dragged to his expected death.

  Meanwhile the guards and the other prisoners looked on impassively. The guards had their orders and the prisoners here weren't the sort to care about others. Certainly not to the point where they would get involved in something that could come back to bite them. In fact many of them were looking away, trying not to catch James’ eyes. They were afraid of him.

  James dragged the desperately struggling Francis between the nearby cabins – though really they were little more than wooden prison cells James thought – and then out the back to the exercise yard. It was empty of course. He'd asked for that. If his brother had his magic back James wanted it to be obvious as people came running from far away. But he also didn't want the guards interfering, and he knew they might when they saw his plan unfolding. Not because they were controlled, but simply because they had some measure of sympathy for their prisoners.

  In the distance across the long grass James spotted what he'd come for. The tree with the cold iron chains around it that had been left there for him. And the bright orange, plastic petrol can beside it.

  “Ahh look, everything's ready and waiting for your barbecue, just as I asked.”

  “No! You can't!” Francis screamed when he saw the petrol can. A few seconds later James noticed a pungent smell of urine. Francis had wet himself. It added weight to his claims of innocence. But James had seen other perps do the same. Pissing yourself was a good way to convince an officer or guard of your fear.

  It looked as though his brother was genuinely terrified. That he really didn't have his power back. But that wasn’t enough to convince James that he was innocent. Francis would lie if he thought it would help him. Hell, he would lie if he thought it would amuse him. He might not even know what the truth was.

  “Weren't you listening little brother? You had your chance! You could have had an easy death. Now it's too late.” He dragged the still screaming Francis across the grass and when they reached the waiting tree he fastened the chains to his wrists. Francis never stopped screaming the whole time. But a lot of that screaming was actually begging. Pleading for his life. James ignored it. Then he went for the petrol can.

  “Please! No!” Francis started crying. Begging. “I haven't done anything!”

  “It doesn't matter anymore little brother. You had your chance. You wasted it. You could have told the truth and had a nice quick death. Now you burn.” With that James uncapped the petrol can and poured the fuel over Francis. That started his little brother screaming hysterically again. He could smell the fuel. But most importantly to James, no one was running their way. Could his little brother still be bluffing? Or was he genuinely powerless?

  It wasn't long before the can was empty and James stood in front of his brother with a box of matches. And though it might be wrong – the German would undoubtedly have something to say to him about it later – he felt good as he saw his brother's terror.

  “Any last words? Apologies? Regrets? Wishing you hadn't been so stupid as to try and kill me?” He struck the first match and let it burn in front of Francis.

  “I didn't!” Francis practically ripped his lungs out screaming it at him. There was pure terror in his eyes. Panic in his face. “I swear!”

  “Fair enough. Take your secrets to hell with you.” James tossed the lit match at him, and almost had to cover his ears as the resultant terrified shriek split the air.

  Naturally the fuel didn't take. But that just gave James a chance to ramp up the tension. After all his brother was still covered in petrol and now he knew that James would throw the match.

  “Oh? … Didn't take. This one will.” He struck the next match and let it burn bright.

  Francis shrieked again and started desperately begging for his life. He had no doubt he was going to burn. After all, he'd already seen James flick one match at him and thought the only reason he wasn't burning was blind luck. But the important thing as far as James was concerned was that no one was running their way and he wasn't confessing anything. If Francis had had any of his gift people would have been running to save him by now. Hundreds of them. And if he didn't but he had ordered the hit, then he would have been confessing as fast as he knew how. Francis was no hero. He would do anything he could to keep from burning to death. He wouldn't risk his life in some sort of bluff.

  James threw the second match anyway. He liked the sound of his brother screaming in terror. Naturally it didn't catch.

  “Oh thank you, thank you!” Francis was practically crying with relief as he blurted it out.

  Who Francis was thanking James didn't know. God maybe? But that seemed unlikely. Francis had mostly seemed to think he was God. Meanwhile there was a very bad smell in the air, and a dark stain running down Francis' pants.

  “This is getting annoying. Let's do this properly shall we.” James pulled out an entire bunch of matches from the box and struck them against the side, producing a nice big flame. Francis meanwhile shrieked. He shrieked some more when James flicked them at him. Then when he didn't catch fire Francis started hyperventilating with shock as he tried to understand what was happening and failed.

  It was a long time before Francis could finally say something, and then it was only a hysterical question as to why he wasn't catching fire. His voice by then was a raspy squeak, his face was bone white and his eyes were bulging. He looked crazed and one step short of complete insanity. James didn't care about that though. He only cared that no one had come to save him. And there was no way that his little brother would risk being burnt to death as a bluff. His powers were still bound.

  “Because it's water you idiot! Spelled to look and smell like petrol.”

  Francis' response to that was an impenetrable silence as he stared at him. He had the look of someone who had been hit in the head too often and too hard. Not the look of a master criminal. Or of a man in control of anything. James was satisfied. Francis knew nothing. He wasn’t behind the attack on James.

  “Well that was it Francis. Congratulations, you passed. You don't know anything. You haven't got your power back. So you get to live for a little longer. But if you ever get out of here rest assured that I will hunt you down and kill you. No second chances.”

  His brother didn't answer him. He just stood there or rather hung there as he seemed to have lost all strength in his legs and continued to hyperventilate. Eventually the beginnings of hysterical laughter started bubbling up from his throat.

  James left him at that point, satisfied that at least his little brother was innocent of this one crime. He knew nothing. He might be a little broken though, judging from the crazed laughter slowly bubbling out of him. He might be a lot broken – James didn't know or care. It seemed that he had moved beyond caring where his brother was concerned. At least for today. Tomorrow maybe he'd return to hating him. Today the only thing he cared about was what Francis knew. And Francis didn't know anything.

  But was it a good thing that he knew nothing? James didn't have an answer for that. He had come for answers. But the answers he'd got hadn't been the ones he'd expected. And his prime suspect had now been struck off his list.

  Which meant he realised as he walked back to the car, he had a whole new enemy to worry about. And maybe a brother whose mind had completely broken.

  Francis' hysterical laughter had grown in volume by the time he reached the car, echoing around the camp like that of some crazed hyena. It was having an effect. The prisoners were all turning away from him. Some were all but cowering. They might not know what he'd done, but they knew it was bad. And the warden was staring at him with a look of unmitigated horror in her eyes. Her guards had obviously told her what they'd found. She'd known that what he had planned was bad. But he had deliberately not told her that he wo
uld actually pour the fake petrol over Francis and then throw matches at him. She no doubt had thought he would just threaten him a little.

  There was going to be a complaint launched. Maybe several. And then he would have to explain what he'd done to the elders.

  James sighed. Will was going to be upset. The whole office was probably going to be upset. The German was going to have words to say to him about it as well. Probably the elders were going to call him to account. But still they had their main suspect crossed off their list in only a matter of hours. That had to count for something. And no doubt the tales of his cold cruelty would once more be spread far and wide.

  The Iceman had struck again.

  Chapter Seven

  James sat at his desk reading and rereading reports and growing ever more frustrated. They had nothing. Every report they'd illegally pirated from the police and the other agencies dealing with the explosion told him that. But that was because those agencies had nothing either. They were baffled. Nor did the Illuminati seem to have any special skills or powers that could change it. The computer on his desk like the laptop in his car was the latest in IT, but no matter how good the equipment was, it couldn't show him any better reports than what they already had. The ergonomic white plastic desk and office chair could provide comfort to his back and hold his papers off the floor, but they couldn't give him a single useful answer. The brilliant ceiling lights showed up everything except the truth. And the latest generation phones brought him nothing he wanted to hear.