by Danae Ayusso
****
“What we are dealing with,” Damian said, trying to keep his head on straight, but he was on the verge of losing it, “is what is called a Changeling. This type of killer takes the identities of those that look similar to him, typically have no families or relationships thus no one will miss them, someone that’s absence would be easily undetected and not questioned. Officer Leclair,” he said, pointing to the picture that Ulrik was able to retrieve from the compromised personnel files of a smiling man at the police academy, “was the same build, height, race, and had the same hair and eye color as the Changeling. Leclair had no family that he was in touch with, no kids, no personal life, and had requested to go to the Island for personal reasons.
“It is speculation, but I believe that the Changeling crossed paths with the real Officer Leclair at that traffic stop of the first victim months prior to the first kill. His co-workers and superiors said that he was a personable Officer, one that was charismatic and empathetic, wrote more warnings then citations, and possibly the unfounded complaints filed against him was what caused his request of a change in scenery. The Changeling is very skilled at getting people to talk, to open up, and most importantly, to tell him all about themselves. He is very charismatic and that causes people to let their guard down around him. Once he decided that he had his next identity, he and the truck driver parted ways, and he became Officer Clarence Leclair of the Haven Police Department.”
Pierre raised his hand; he was stunned and honestly at a loss for words. He was pissed, they all were because they were played, in essence, by the killer who was right in front of them the entire time. But at the same time he was terrified for the well-being of the innocent woman, another badge carrying member of the team, so he was trying to revert back to his Detective mindset that he hadn’t had for years. “Why did he allow the truck driver to leave? Why didn’t he kill him then?” he asked.
“There was no reason to,” Damian explained. “With these types of killers, they rely heavily on the relationships they make along the way. That is what allows them to maintain appearances and seamlessly blend into their surroundings. The truck driver crossed paths with him months later at a truck stop, according to the driver log, and most likely when he saw that Simone Matisse was wearing a badge and nametag stating he was Clarence Leclair, that threatened his new identity and life, resulting in the first kill on the Island. From there, it snowballed. The true identity of the Changeling is unknown, most likely he doesn’t even know what it is anymore because he’s taken so many lives at this point; his body count could be in the hundreds.
“What we do know is his face, his current identity, so that is what we will be working with at the moment. All roads leading from the Island have been blocked, vehicle by vehicle searches are being done to all those attempting to leave. The harbor is on lock down. Trained tracking dogs are assisting and have Lieutenant de Wolfe’s scent. They will also be searching the woods and along the highway. Those that worked with him know this persona of the Changeling. You know him better than he knows himself at this point since he’s in flight mode. Where would he go? Does he have a hunting retreat he goes to? Favorite fishing spot? A boat that he goes out on from time to time? A place he goes to clear his head?”
Damian waited, fighting the urge to crack his knuckles or yell, but he had to keep a level head because Akia’s life depended on it. The Stray he wasn’t concerned with, he knew that she could take him without question, but she was no match for Moriarty. The demonic Puppet Master has the ability to pull out the wolf in a werewolf, and since Akia has no control over her wolf, it wouldn’t end well. He would see her as a prize possession to mold into his evil counterpart, or as a threat that needed removed from the equation before she tried to rip his throat out.
Neither option would end well for Akia.
Paquette cleared his throat, raising his hand. “A few weeks ago,” he said, sounding unsure, “when I was driving down the highway heading north I saw Leclair…or whoever he is, coming out of the woods not far from those old road markers that they stopped using twenty years ago.”
“What’s in that area?” Damian asked.
“There’s an old saw mill,” Connell said, familiar with the area. “The area surrounding it is heavily barb wired,” he said, explaining that the pack simply couldn’t just run in there. “There were some injuries from booby traps over the years; the old guy that bought it from the town thirty years ago was a real whack job that has a thing about teenagers trying to steal his precious rotten lumber.”
Pierre gave him a look. “Isn’t that before your time?” he asked.
“I went through all of the previous cases that I could get a hold of before taking the job,” Connell said as if it were obvious. “We’ll have to wait for the ETF since they are the closest with bomb experience.”
Damian nodded, fighting the urge to growl. He would be breeching the mill before the ETF reached the Island. “You have your orders, Inspector Pierre will be your point of contact. That is all,” he said, heading for the door with Ulrik, Varg and Connell behind him.
Once speeding down the road, Ulrik started stripping his clothing off.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Connell demanded, following his lead.
“I’m from the Ukraine,” Ulrik reminded him. “I know better than you could imagine the smells of explosives and other materials used by crazy bastards trying to get a body count. This little wolf has seen more square bombings than you could imagine,” he informed him before shaking violently and fine black and blue hairs exploded from his skin as he effortlessly transformed into a wolf.
Connell shook his head. “One day, Kid, you’ll have to tell me how in the hell you do that so seamlessly.”
The wolf sitting in the backseat next to Varg simply smiled. There was much his pack didn’t know about him and where he came from, but he wasn’t willing to risk losing the only family and security he’s ever known by telling them anytime soon.
“Six miles ahead,” Varg said, pulling his shirt off. “Fifty yards past the ground marker is the overgrown trail leading to the mill. It snakes around, encircling the parcel before doubling back. Drive past it three miles then stay right when the highway splits. It’ll turn to gravel after a hundred yards. Take the service road until you can’t go any further. Along the river might be our best way in. You can’t see it from three sides and with night approaching. It’ll be the only way we can get in undetected, utilizing the river to guise our approach.”
Damian nodded. “Let the others know. Give Kid that bagged shirt. If you smell that scent, run. Don’t worry about us or Akia and just get the hell out. Do you understand?”
Ulrik didn’t need to sniff the shirt, from the moment the Ziploc bag was opened, the scent was like a punch in the gut, and a deep growl rolled from his chest. That scent he was no stranger to, and when he once again was faced with the embodiment of evil, he’d run and not stop until there once again was an ocean between them.
Akia struggled to open her eyes, but when she did everything was blurry. The area smelled different; rust, rotted wood, fresh water, steel, blood, almonds, and the faint traces of something she could only describe as evil. She was propped up against a hard, cold steel beam, her hands secured behind her around the beam with handcuffs. Her sidearm and cell phone were both missing. It felt as if she was hit with a sledgehammer in the head, and the blood staining half of her was the result of said sledgehammer.
“Master, I have brought you a gift,” Leclair beamed from across the mill, his voice carrying and echoing throughout the open area.
There was a humming in the background, which broke up, and if Akia didn’t know any better she’d swear that it was coming from a phone.
“She is the one that has ended our fun here,” he continued. “Yes, she is rather plain looking, and I’m not entirely sure what they see in her, but the wolves of Haven have taken her in as one of their own.”
He knows about my pack, but
not that I’m a werewolf; that might help in this situation.
“Yes, Master. I know that you told me specifically to have patience and that they would come,” he stammered, “but the other you did not get the pleasure of killing. I thought this would make you happy, a replacement since that young bitch died-”
That doesn’t make me feel special in the least. I’m a replacement for Miss Winterfeld. I’m not entirely sure if I should feel as rejected about that as I do.
“But, Master,” he argued, pacing back and forth, “sacrificing one that is revered by a pack of reputation, regardless of them being tiny in the eyes of others, would make a statement!”
Politics, I fucking hate politics.
Akia struggled to focus on the ground in front of her. If she could focus on that much, she might be able to get the rest of the place to come into focus in a timely manner.
There was no denying that Leclair was agitated; he was pacing and tugging on his hair as the hum of reprimanding echoed from the phone in his hand. She couldn’t clearly make out what the other line was saying, but the few words she did hear were regret, disappointment, and pretentious. It made her curious as to how she was played as she apparently had been, especially by someone that was taking orders and doing things that he wasn’t ordered to do. She’ll admit, Leclair knew exactly what to say, when to say it, when not to open his mouth, and played the role exceptionally well. He never lied to her, he simply didn’t answer yes or no and redirected when possible. Gut instinct told her that Leclair had done this before, in the killing sense, but the crimes being werewolf apparent was new. He was skilled at killing, just not skilled at being a werewolf, that was obvious.
“Master, please,” Leclair shouted, “hear me out!”
A wolf without a pack is not a wolf, but a lost soul in the sea of man, Beowulf once explained to Akia when she was younger and asked why it was so important to sacrifice so much for the pack. Without understanding the meaning of family, a werewolf will never understand what it means to be a wolf. Wolves are not lone creatures, and you are no different. Your gender doesn’t make you a singularity. It makes you special, and that is why the pack, your family, will sacrifice everything for you.
Akia knew that the others would come looking for her, and most likely Damian had already figured out who was behind the murders; he was an exceptional detective. And since Leclair was one of the worst wolves she’s ever had the displeasure of meeting, it shouldn’t have been that difficult to slip the cuffs and snap his neck.
The sound of a cell phone smashing against the far wall pulled her attention, and it was followed by the blurry figure stalking towards her.
“This is your fault,” Leclair snarled, pouncing on her, getting in Akia’s face. “And you will pay for it,” he hissed.
“Like the others?” she asked, her voice coming out drowsily and heavily slurred.
He knotted a hand in the back of Akia’s hair and jerked her head back when it fell forward. “You have disgraced me in my master’s eyes,” he snarled in her face. “Now the only way to get in his graces again, to earn his respect once more, is to kill you: slowly, painfully, and properly. You will be my prize kill,” he purred, his eyes moving over her face many times.
Akia started crying, playing the role she hated playing, but it was necessary at that moment as she worked on the handcuffs cutting into her wrists. “Please don’t,” she whimpered with a choked sob.
Leclair growled in perverse pleasure, apparently buying her routine. “You will be my masterpiece, and since I’m feeling overly generous, I’ll leave bits and pieces of you strung across the beach so your precious family can find you. Once the Rohypnol is completely out of your system, the fun will begin because I want you fully awake when I have my fun. Who knows, I might even escalate to sexual sadist before cutting you open.”
Again, she whimpered; he was playing with fire, and if he wasn’t careful Eve was going to answer his call.
“Would you like that, Bitch?” he asked before pulling his tongue up her face. “Yes, I think you would. I’ve never had a problem with getting laid, but there is something slightly appealing about the idea of fucking a bossy little bitch that thinks she’s someone that a man, this wolf, should be respecting and taking orders from. You’re a creature of inferiority,” he snarled, his lips so close to hers that she could almost feel them with each word that left them. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll know that I’m the Alpha.”
The clicking that echoed throughout the open space was accompanied by her eyes snapping up to meet his, the burning gold and amber causing his to widen, and she smirked.
“You really should have used zip-ties,” Eve said before slamming her forehead into his face, shattering his nose.
Leclair howled in pain and fell backward off of her, and she was suddenly on top of him slamming her fist repeatedly into his face, holding the ratchet end of the opened handcuff between her fingers, the crude weapon tearing chunks of skin and muscle tissue with each pull.
“An inferior creature?” she sneered with a perverse smirk filling her face. “I strongly suggest you reevaluate that statement and your position. In case you neglected to notice,” she stabbed the pointed ratchet into his eye, and he howled in pain, “I am the Alpha and the Omega, the lone wolf. It’s you who’ll be bowing before me,” she snarled and twisted before pulling the metal free, pulling his eye from the socket in the process.
He thrashed and punched, trying to free himself from under her, but the woman was as relentless as she was vicious.
“And for my next trick,” Eve purred, “I’ll show you what your Master didn’t.” She pulled her hand back and her nails elongated, tearing through the soft issue, thickening into razor sharp claws. She looked from her hand to the beam stretching the length of the area above them and smirked at the security camera mounted to the beam. “You’re next,” she said before slamming her clawed hand through the side of Leclair’s ribcage, easily slicing through the bone, muscle and tissue.
Leclair howled in pain, his punches slowing as he quickly started to bleed out, the concrete under him turning to a rapidly spreading pool of blood.
Eve curled her claws around the ribs then ripped them upward, snapping them off, freeing them and a lung from his body, exposing his heart. “Your Master,” she said, looking from the camera to the man under her, “showed you the forbidden arts, and yet he neglected to instruct you on how to use them.”
He tried to change, to embrace his wolf, but misuse of the Iron Claw had hindered him, and the blood loss was too much.
“Funny, he didn’t warn you of what might happen if you use the forbidden arts incorrectly,” she mused. “You know what’s amusing? My Master taught me well, very, very well. In fact, I used them on him when I ripped his heart from his chest, just as I’m going to do to you.” She held her hand up and the claws retracted and the soft tissue mended as her fingernails smoothed out and rounded to match each fingertip. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked, but he was in too much pain to answer. “I wish we could have played longer, since you were so very eager to make this bitch beg, but our time is up. You’ll bleed out soon, healing from wounds inflicted by another wolf take so very long, much, much longer than you have, and I truly want you to be alive for my next trick. Goodbye, Stray,” she said with a smile, the canine teeth in her white smile elongating as she wrapped her hand around his sluggishly beating heart then ripped it free from his chest.
Eve continued to sit on him as she devoured his heart, taking her time to savor the flavor of stupidity and false superiority that his blood was seasoned with. Eve was enjoying the control she had at the moment, and as she tried to figure out how she could retain that control she speculated as to who was on the other end of the cameras littered throughout the space. Yes, it was dangerous to make her presence known, but she was tired of living in the shadows of wolf kind, and it was about damn time that she had her time in the sun.
Once the last of the heart wa
s gone, she sucked on her fingers, licking the remaining blood from them as she headed across the open space of what she realized was the old mill on the outskirts of Haven. She slid the rolling door open on the backside of the building and turned to the camera above the exit. “Next time introductions will be in order, but until we meet again,” she said before smooching her lips in a single sided kiss then headed outside.
Eve smirked, freedom was only a few yards away, the rushing river along the back of the mill would hide her scent so she could make her escape, when a clicking sound accompanied her next step. She looked down at her feet and the strategically placed piece of plywood that she had unwittingly stepped on. “Fuck,” she huffed then jumped, trying to clear the explosion that followed.
The force of the explosion hit her body, sending her flying through the air, the flames and debris washing over her back before she landed in the river. Her head smashed into a rock, rendering her unconscious, and her body floated face down along the rushing river. The mill exploded, the single detonation causing a chain reaction that showered the area with burning wood, metal and debris; the night illuminated as bright as day when a ball of fire shot high into the sky.
The strong current smashed Akia into rocks and trees, pulling her body under the surface more than once before it eventually resurfaced. She looked like a pale, bleeding, lifeless doll. The burning mill was soon far behind her, only the angry orange glow illuminating the darkness in the distance marked the start of her journey, and the end would conclude with violent rapids and sharp drops that even the best rafters failed to navigate in the daylight.
Flanking the river on both sides, darkened figures ran along the banks, shadowing the lifeless doll being thrown and smashed into everything as the swells started to pick up causing their target to slip farther away from them.
When an earthen bridge appeared in the distance, one of the wolves shadowing ran even faster, trying to make it to the bridge before the swells pulled Akia under again, and he was halfway across before pivoting then jumped. She disappeared under the water when the large, black wolf landed on top of her, and as quickly as his thick hind legs wrapped around her, they were replaced by smooth olive toned thighs and strong arms that pulled her into him and protectively held her tight, struggling to keep her head above water.