Jamal Brooks was an athlete, as well. Not because he played on a team, but because of what he did in his spare time. Running. When he was killed, he was jogging along a trail not far from the kill-zone established by the wolf. His body was found more than two miles away from his predicted route. Sure, he did long distance running, but anyone serious about their training wouldn’t want to run at night in the middle of the woods. There’s too many hazards when running in the wilderness like that and Jamal didn’t seem to be the careless type. It was categorized as a bear attack…which doesn’t make sense for obvious reasons.
What kind of bear do you know walks with a human in its mouth for a couple of miles?
I highly doubt Jamal went wandering in the woods on his own. He was either lured there or knocked unconscious first. Both methods are entirely possible when considering what werewolves are capable of. It’d be nothing for the werewolf in question to run up on him. Hell, there’s a chance he was being stalked before the kill.
There’re stories floating around about how they’d sometimes come up on strangers acting like someone is injured or they need help or some sort due to an emergency. It’s just enough to make you drop your guard and catch you in the moment.
“He…he was training for a marathon. We asked him to be careful,” Mrs. Brooks says. Her husband shifts his body weight and adjusts himself, noticeably under duress. “Marshal?”
“It’s fine.” He continues on for a bit, rocking as if battling whether to voice his frustrations or not, until finally, he caves. “They said it was a bear that attacked him, but bears don’t do what we saw, son. It was a closed casket for a reason,” Marshal Brooks says in a sober demeanor. “It had to be a small-ass bear. A cub or something to have claws like that, but the strength doesn’t add up. What kind of bear do you know that goes after humans? My son was smart. He wouldn’t go sticking his neck out where it doesn’t belong. No way he was harassing it or anything. My son was attacked by something else. A wolf or a coyote. A rabid dog. Something fast and vicious… Something faster than him and strong enough to be at where they found him. In the end, they went with an animal attack, but it could have been some kind of gang initiation thing and the wild life did what they did after the fact. He had blunt force trauma to the back of the head, but nothing in the immediate area could have caused it. Jamal knew how to run, and he knew how to fight. He wouldn’t have gotten that backing into a tree or falling on the ground. He got hit. I’m telling you.”
“Marshal…” His wife tries to calm him down, but he glances at her—not in a rude way, but in a way that lets her know that he’s hurting, too. I feel for them both.
“Jamal had a lot of things going for him. He’d just finished college and was going to continue his education, he had an internship lined up, and he found someone that really cared about him. Do you know how awful it feels to have a part of your life ripped away from you in the blink of an eye?”
Honestly, I do…but right now, it isn’t about me in the slightest, so I let Jamal’s dad carry on.
“We raised him to stay away from the crazy in the world, but then one day your son goes missing, so you start to worry…you call and you text, and you ask around but no one knows where to find him. And then…and then, one day you get that one phone call you were expecting, only to find out that he’s dead. It isn’t natural. This isn’t the way that life should work. There’s too much pain.” Marshal pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head, holding back the tears that I can tell are on the verge of breaking through. “The police are saying it’s one thing, but I feel it in the depths of my soul that people were involved, too. My son was a victim of a random act of violence by some lowlifes who wanted to prove something to someone who doesn’t matter.” Mrs. Brooks begins to rub her hand along her husband’s back as he lowers his head towards the ground. “I want my son back, but he’s not coming back,” he says while hunched over. “He’s gone and the police aren’t doing anything at all. Not a damn thing.”
The Brooks. Marshal Brooks is an engineer and his wife, Cecelia Brooks, is a nurse. Both of them hard-working and modest-living. Their only child, Jamal, being the center of their lives. They’d made a lot of sacrifices, I’m sure. Anything to ensure that their son makes it in this cruel world with as little opposition as possible. Anything to prove the stereotypes wrong. And they did…but Jamal got the short end of the stick, anyway. It’s heartbreaking.
“…Did he have any enemies?” Watching Jamal’s father on the edge of breaking down in front me almost made me not ask, but I have a job to do. A job that will ensure that something like this doesn’t happen again by the same terror that’s out there ruining lives.
“What do you think?” he snarls and leans forward. “…I’m…sorry. You didn’t deserve that. No, he didn’t have any, but I’m sure people were jealous.”
“Jealous enough to do what you think happened? On campus, I didn’t get those kinds of vibes. If it was gang-related. I doubt they knew who Jamal was, like you said…at least on a personal level.”
“I know you mean good, son, so I’m going to be honest with you. I don’t like where this conversation is heading. We’re mourning, right now. Playing P.I isn’t going to do anything but make things worse for us. I loved my son. Still do. We both do, but picking around with nothing to go off of is just a fool’s game, you follow? Who wants something like that keeping you up at night?” He pauses. “You know what would make us feel better about what happened? If our county had more cops on the streets so gangbangers can’t do whatever they please. Do you know how depraved you have to be to kill someone to get into a gang? Rape someone? Beat them till the bones show? That’s not human. And it ain’t a race thing, because, look at us. It’s a self-respect thing. It’s an education thing. It’s an opportunity thing. Ain’t no way in Hell my son got dragged from one place to another by an animal. Monsters did that to him,” he booms. “Because normal people don’t hurt people just because.”
His words, unfortunately, are truer than he may ever know.
“Have you spoke to Ashley?” Mrs. Brooks asks, steering the conversation away from her late son. “How has she been?” Her hand continues to stroke across her husband’s back as she looks at me with genuine concern.
“She’s handling it… Taking it one day at a time,” I lie. “I reached out to her and gave my condolences, but I wasn’t nearly as close to her as I was to Jamal. From what I saw online, her friends seem to be helping her through everything.”
Ashley Burness, Jamal’s girlfriend, wasn’t around at the time of Jamal’s death. In fact, she wasn’t even in the state. She was away. An out-of-state student at the university they attended, which meant that during breaks, she went back to where she lived. The distance did make things tough. On occasion, she’d vaguely post things in that direction, online. From what I gathered, she did manage to get a ticket to catch Jamal’s funeral. She took it as well as you’d expect for someone to deal with an untimely loss. Truly tragic. She had one semester to go with her major before she caught up with Jamal. Microbiology’s what she’s studying. They seemed to get along just fine. I know on social media everything has the tendency to be fabricated, but from what I saw, the two of them looked like they actually cared for each other and weren’t just in a relationship to be in one like most folks our age. They were a team.
“Well, just keep an eye out on her, okay? We’d appreciate it.”
“Okay. Will do.”
After I said that, the conversation flat-lined. Mr. Brooks was shaken up and Mrs. Brooks was more interested in the emotional wellbeing of her husband than a stranger diving head first into their personal affairs, so I gave them my condolences and parted ways.
I considered trying to contact Ashley, but quickly determined that there wasn’t any point. She wasn’t around to see anything.
I wish there was a way to connect Hailey to Jamal, but it didn’t seem likely. They’re on opposite sides of the track with nothing in common outside o
f them both dying by a werewolf.
Was it truly random, or was I missing something?
That question haunted me until I got back to my car and then some.
“Hey, Roc?”
“Yeah? What’s up?”
“Just got done speaking with the latest victim’s parents… Just giving you a call to let you know what’s up.”
“Any closer to solving the puzzle?”
“No. Not at all. I’m trying to find a pattern.”
“For the murders? Doubt it. A wolf’s gotta eat, just like we do. If it has some form of intent, a few bodies out of necessity to feed can mess up the trail.”
“Yeah. I get that…but I don’t know…it still seems weird. It’s not especially wise to pick off people from the same area close together.”
“True. Usually they have a variety of ways to get fed. The more connected ones, at least. If that wolf’s flying solo, that obviously doesn’t apply. If he’s in bad standing, the other wolves may not take to him too nicely, either.”
“Sure…valid point, but it still means nothing if I can’t identify who the wolf is.”
“…Yeah. Did you check the parents?”
“No. I don’t think they’re a factor. Their son was killed while going out on a jog. I tried to do some digging on them but the dad lost it. Not in a way that would make him seem guilty, but more like he just lost his only son kind of deal. I didn’t want to make things worse, so I left. Trying to run a test on them would have made things difficult. It wouldn’t even make sense for his parents to murder their son like that. It wasn’t an attempt to turn.” I pause. “It was a slaughter, Roc. No motive. They only wanted the best for him.”
“And still nothing on Hailey’s brother, right?”
“Correct.”
“So, what now?”
“More digging. Maybe I can catch a crazy comment online from someone who saw something. A face. A description. Its stomping grounds are pretty much mapped out. Jamal ended up there but his parents implied he was taken there. He was training for a marathon, but he was a smart cookie. Smart enough to not go near a spot where people have been picked off for the past couple of months.”
“Word.”
“Maybe I’ll shuffle through the information Joel pulled on the missing livestock cases. It’d be a lot easier with some more manpower.”
“I’d love to help, but I’m a bit tied up at the moment in Arkansas. Pre-gaming for a hunt.”
“Oh, really? Whatcha got?”
“A spirit that eats memories.”
“Yikes. Good luck with that, man. Hate research. It’s awesome, but after a while…yeah.” I pause and exhale. “Hey, uh, anything new on Sailor or her dad? Just checking.”
“No, but I’ll keep my ears open for anything, buddy. Remember. Play it safe.”
“Yeah, you too. That thing sounds like it can do some real damage.”
“Heh. Between you and me, there’re some things I’d rather forget.”
“I think that’s true for everyone…bye, Roc.”
“Peace.” I hang up on Roc and continue my drive back to my motel, Sailor and the mystery wolf on the forefront of my mind.
When I make it back, Sailor takes a backseat and I go in on the research once more, perusing any obscure potential lead I can find. It makes more sense to worry about something I can control as opposed to being lovesick and waiting on her to reach out. I set some alerts, scrounge up a few articles, browse over a few comments—light stuff, but everything helps when trying to create a picture of what’s really going on. People talk. A lot. More than you’d imagine.
If you think about it, a vast majority of people overshare online. We live in an age where people know next to everything about you before even shaking your hand. Hell, stalking on social media is even socially acceptable to an extent.
Doesn’t bother me, though. It makes my life easier. I couldn’t imagine doing this without modern technology. I don’t know how hunters did it prior to the invention of the internet…but then again, people were more closely knit. If Johnny sprouted fangs, Johnny was going to get an axe to the head. On the flipside, look at Salem—a case of street justice gone wild. Closely knit communities can be a deathtrap if there’s mass paranoia and not enough information to make an educated choice, hence why modern society would go insane if they knew half of what actually exists out here.
I continue my search throughout the night, burning the midnight oil, case after case, body after body. I even check out a few of the paranormal forums and cross reference the dates within their servers.
The forty-eight-hour mark passed somewhere around one. Roc said forty-eight hours would be enough time for them to sort things out in a worst-case scenario, but things can happen out there.
I debated contacting them but realized Sailor and Joel are smart enough to keep their phones on silent when in the field, but accidents happen and I didn’t want to be the cause for things to go astray. Whatever it is that they’re doing.
Before hitting the hay, I scan through my messages just in case I’ve missed something, but there’s an unsurprising emptiness to my inbox.
It’s four-eleven and it’s getting hard to focus. Staring at the screen trips me out. I don’t even realize that I’m micro-napping until something weird crosses my mind like, conversations from a few days back in a different setting.
I stick my phone on the charger and take a late-night slash early-morning shower, because why not? Being clean isn’t going to mystically reinvigorate me, but it’ll for sure help me get a good night’s sleep. I’m grimy, stressed out, and my eyes are starting to feel like they’re bleeding.
After my shower, I change into my sleepwear for the night and immerse myself underneath the covers, desperate to recharge.
Chapter 7: Highs and Lows
Without looking at my clock, I can tell I slept in well past the morning hours. I glance at my open laptop, vaguely remembering the events of last night. Next was my phone.
Crap. One new alert and a missed call from Roc. It was at an awkward time, too. A little past six in the morning.
I highlight my alert notification and click the link. Animal attack. One dead. Victim’s name, not given. I quickly skim through the article and note the submission time—eight forty-five. So, this is what I get for playing it slow. Another body.
I quickly shift out from my bed and place my phone on the coffee table as I begin to change. Somewhere in between putting on my pants, I manage to navigate to my voicemail and put it on speaker once I click Roc’s message.
“Hey, Blaze. It’s Roc. I’ve got some news. Call me when you get this. ASAP.”
I slide my other leg through the right hole of my pants, grab my combat boots and socks, and move them over towards the foot of my chair before taking a seat. After that, I reach over and select Roc from my contacts and switch it to speaker while it rings.
“Blaze?” He picks up after the second ring.
“Hey, Roc. I’m already on it,” I answer as I slip on my left sock. “I saw what happened. Heading out the door now to see what I can find. It’s a mess.”
“Blaze? No…no. I’m not calling about that. Sailor and Joel—I got word that things didn’t go too well. All the hunters, they’re dead.”
My heart sinks to the floor and suddenly it feels like my body exists outside of time…like this one moment is lasting far longer than it should, an anomaly alongside my already shattered life.
“Wait, what?”
“I made a few calls after you told me about what happened, and someone managed to know a bit about what was going on. Highly secretive raid. Demons. Mass gathering. It fit the bill. Everyone that was over there got caught up in a crossfire. A real bloodbath. No one is even sure if they stopped what they were trying to stop. A hunter sent out a message but then went dark. Same goes for his camp and everyone else. Put together a few last-ditch calls and it’s clear what happened. A massacre. Every hunter out there lost their lives to put an end to
whatever was going on. From what I gathered, it was a group of crazies trying to summon some kind of hell-beast. Tons of prep work. I’m talking years.”
“A-Are you sure, I mean—bodies? Are there any bodies?” I force out, fighting against my better judgement. I knew the answer, I just wanted to be wrong.
“The area’s not in our control. They had it from the get-go. We were the ones coming in on their turf,” he says soberly. “It’s safe to say they were disposed of, along with anything else they brought along. I’m sorry, Blaze.”
I throw my body back in my chair and raise my fingertips over my eyes, my tears on the brink of falling, I try to say something to Roc, but my mouth suddenly ruptures open and my tears begin to involuntarily fall from my face while I sob.
I lean to the side and my weight carries me to the floor, my emotions locking my muscles.
“No, no, no, no.” I pound my fist into the carpet repeatedly, fully aware that my plea wouldn’t bring her back. I press my forehead into the carpet and scream, but it does nothing to release the torrent of emotions swirling in my head. I’d lost my family twice now—a feeling that I never wanted to feel ever again.
Amidst my sobbing, I have a moment of clarity and realize that Rocco is still on the line, silent, giving me time. I crawl towards my chair and use it as a wedge to hoist me to my knees. “Roc, you there?”
Blaze Monroe and the Broken Heart Page 4