Erin Dameron-Hill (12 page)

My eyes were still closed as the rancid smell of death, rosemary, and sage played at the back of my throat. Charlie’s body hadn’t decayed yet, so he smelled like a fillet mignon roasted in rosemary served with a baked potato. My stomach growled and my beast howled along with it. I opened my eyes to maybe focus on something other than that delicious and tempting scent.

I looked at the torn, rose-printed couch and saw the same bright red gobs splattered all over the room that were in Clyde’s living room. It was the same scene except different location.

The Hunter was standing off to the side of what I guess was a corpse. He stood with his Indiana Jones hat tucked under his right arm and held a notebook in his left. His desiccated shoes were covered in red goop that looked like so much hamburger. He had his back hunched down and over the ‘body’, if it could be called a body, and scribbled a few words down onto the white paper. He actually looked like a detective; he was doing his job--detecting. For a moment, I was glad that someone would be able to solve this and then that moment slipped through my fingers like water. He was a Hunter and nothing good could come from him.

“Ah, good, Shirley, you’re here. Anything new?” he said completely and totally avoiding me. His eyes managed to stare right past me to the girl who stood behind me. What was I, a sofa?

“You know, the killer was outside,” she said nonchalantly as if she was discussing the weather.

“Did you see him?” he asked, now standing to face her from across the room.

“No, I heard him. He could hear us. He ran off when I said I would go after him.”

“What did he sound like?”

“Like n
othing I’ve ever heard before.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s powerful,” she paused, “No, I’m not going to say that. Would you shut up already?”

“What are you keeping from me, Shirley?”

“Nothing.”

He somewhat leaped over the strewn corpse and brought Shirley to the corner of the room and kept asking her questions. If I had been anywhere else, I would have eavesdropped because I did wonder who or what presence she had felt. But my attention was somewhere else. Charlie’s corpse looked exactly like Clyde’s only Charlie had Arian coloring and Clyde had ebony. But the bodies were the same. The strewn muscle, the fragmented bones, the intestines lopped all over the room; they were the same.

As I looked over the red meat and bright white bone that stuck out at so many different angles, I couldn’t help but to breath in just a bit deeper. A part of me wanted to, the other part needed fresh air. I could smell the sewage-filled intestines and taste it in the air. I saw speckles of waste ooze from the cream-colored intestines and I had to turn away. I felt the twinge of nausea race through me pushing that volcano taco to the back of my throat.

I swallowed deeply hoping that I could swallow the sick that wanted desperately to come up.

But I couldn’t. I bent over and heaved. I threw up. My stomach muscles contracted violently and I cried. I sat on the floor, on his bloody remains, and I cried. Clyde had been taken from me, Charlie too, and Billy was out there somewhere soaking in his addled depression and most likely, dead.

And I was here alone. I had to face the torn corpses, had to dream about their souls, and had to lust after the Hunter. It’s not right, and its not fair.

So I cried. I cried like a little girl who lost her favorite pony, weeping into the wee hours of the night.

I covered my face in my hands and felt the hot liquid of blood racing down my cheeks. When I had plopped to the floor I must have touched all that blood, vomit, and meat because I was wearing it like a mask.

I felt hands on my shoulders and I literally choked on my own tears, coughing and sputtering over the dead. My head dug into the chest of a man and I could smell that gun powder-sandalwood scent wash over the death that surrounded me. I grasped onto his white t-shirt and held him tightly. I didn’t want to let go, I didn’t want to be alone.

Chapter Seven

The Hunter wrapped his arms around me like a flannel blanket in the wintertime. He was so soft and yet firm. His biceps curled over my shoulders delicately slowing down my hiccupping spasms. Just his touch was enough for me to snuggle closer, to actually trust him while he held me.

His breath pushed my hair out of my face as I placed my chin more firmly on his chest and felt it lift and fall as he continued to breath. With every inhale, I relaxed more and more into those strong arms and secure chest. I felt so safe, so protected, so warm that I didn’t even care I was in the arms of a Hunter. All that mattered was his warm touch, his gentle embrace, his thumping heart.

For a few moments, I didn’t think about Clyde nor Charlie nor Billy. All I thought about was the peace that was flowing all around me, circling me like fireflies on a warm night. The tranquility tickled my skin and erased the nightmares that were still haunting me.

And just as I thought about the nightmares, they returned. So, I held the Hunter tighter and wrapped my hands around his collar in a death grip in an attempt to pull the serenity back to me.

I felt his hands move down my shoulders and across my back soothing my tense and sore muscles with every stroke. His rough palms lightly massaged their way down my spine and back up again to pet my neck and shoulders. The constant and rhythmic caressing returned that feeling of peace and chased away the vivid and horrendous images that were plaguing me. He was hypnotizing me with his hands and I was letting him. If he wanted to lull me into a trap, then I didn’t mind. I would willingly go to him if he continued to pet me, to soothe me, to obliterate my nightmares.

“Shirley,” the Hunter said, his voice rumbling through his chest and vibrating my cheek, “bring Mr. Davis in here.”

I heard the smooth, liquid chocolate voice and wanted to drown in it and when I thought of the image, I realized that wouldn’t be a terrible way to go. In the words of Shakespeare, I would die in his arms. Although, the word ‘die’ in the playwright’s mind meant orgasm. But that wouldn’t be too bad either. Shakespeare definitely knew what he was talking about.

The Hunter’s heart continued to beat so steadily that my own heart became in-tuned with his, thumping when his did, and silent when his heart was silent. If I didn’t carry the burden of bias within me, I would have said that this was a perfect moment, one of complete and utter bliss. But at some point, a person has to wake up and smell the gun powder.

He was a Hunter and a killer. I was his prey. And now he knew my weakness.

I managed to open my eyes and as soon as I did, I saw the strewn remains of Charlie lopped all over the dirty, white walls. My bottom lip began to quiver and I thrust my face back into the Hunter’s chest. I didn’t want to face any more loss today, nor ever. I had my fill and I couldn’t handle it. There was too much emotional loss and too much physical slaughter for anyone close to the victims. Perhaps I should refer to my deceased family as victims instead of family and friends. Perhaps if I could be cold, then I wouldn’t feel so miserable and depressed.

The only downside to that option was I had seen their smiling faces. I knew the wolf they had turned into which meant that I had known their darkest secret. In knowing something that special, you can never keep your distance because you’re too close.

I was too close with Clyde, Charlie, and Billy and honestly, I’m glad I knew them. Although this pain that they’re causing wasn’t necessarily endearing them to me right now.

I heard the panicked shuffles of Matt’s loafers and instantly I regretted the sound. I was slightly enjoying the soft peace and reflection that the Hunter was giving me and I didn’t relish the idea of relinquishing my inner thoughts. After all, I hadn’t cried since his strong arms had wound their way around me and the only time I did want to cry, was when I opened my eyes. So, I wanted to keep my eyes closed and shut out the pain that was tearing through the air. I wanted to be blind to everything around me except for the Hunter. I wanted to see him.

I opened my eyes gently, allowing the harsh white light to glide through my sight. Matt was now coming into the room with a look of pure horror on his face.

“Oh no, how is she? What happened?” he asked bending down beside us and splashing some of the cooling blood as he lowered himself onto his knees. His palm touched the back of my head and I felt his warm, streaming power cascade all around me. In a rush of heat it danced over my skin and tried to chase away the fear and loathing that had taken hold of me.

The Hunter shifted slightly, pushing his chest into my face in attempt to move me. But I didn’t budge. I didn’t want to move. I never wanted to leave his tender hold. I wanted to absorb it, become locked to it somehow. I never wanted to be without that calming touch, without the protection of that physical shelter.

“This has all been too much for her,” the Hunter responded still trying to move me away from him.

“What do you mean?” asked Matt playing the role of idiot for the evening.

“She shouldn’t be seeing this, Mr. Davis. No civilian should. It’s difficult enough for Shirley and myself and we didn’t know the victims personally.”

“I know it’s rough, but we need some kind of information about these deaths and if Sophie can divine…”

“Stop right there, Mr. Davis. Why did you hire me if Ms. Morgan could ‘divine’ the culprit? Why bother? Is it because on the off chance Ms. Morgan doesn’t pick up any clues then perhaps I’ll be able to? Is that it? Because if you really cared for Ms. Morgan, then she wouldn’t be here at all. Instead, she would be mourning normally, not creating nightmares and vivid images to look at for the rest of her life. These scenes will forever haunt her and for some odd reason, you didn’t think of that.”

“But…”

“Mr. Davis, I’m taking Ms. Morgan home. And don’t worry, I’ll stay with her all night because you’re right about one thing, no one should be left alone right now especially after what Shirley told me.”

I still had my eyes closed but I could feel the tension that was building in the room. Matt didn’t have a choice when it came to bringing me to the crime scene. He just wanted answers. We all want answers. It’s not his fault that I can’t handle the deaths of my friends nor the way in which they died. If I was stronger then perhaps I could help but all I could do was hold on to the Hunter. I wasn’t about to let go of him. He was the first person in a long time who made me feel safe so I wasn’t about to throw that away. Security was a luxury that I couldn’t afford before and now that the Hunter was willingly giving me safety, then how could I turn that down?

“Yeah,” Matt finally replied with a sigh, “You’re right. I shouldn’t have brought her here or to the first scene. I just didn’t want anything happening to the rest of my pa…” he almost said ‘pack’ and then quickly tried for a save, “rest of my family.”

But the Hunter was too quick and I knew he had spotted the change of words because his breathing picked up speed and his body released just a little bit of that strong hold, “Your pack? Is Ms. Morgan a member of your pack?”

“She’s family,” Matt replied delicately, “and I didn’t want any harm to come to anyone who knows us so I thought perhaps Sophie could tell us something. It was selfish of me, I know.”

“No, it wasn’t selfish,” the Hunter replied still holding me albeit standoffishly, “but your plan wasn’t thought out either. Now, if you don’t have any objections, I’ll be taking Ms. Morgan home.”

I should have intervened, but I didn’t. They were talking right over me and I didn’t care. I just wanted to remain in the Hunter’s arms. I’m reminded of the metaphor that I said earlier; I was like a mouse caught in the trance of a cobra, caught in the warmth and strength of the Hunter’s embrace. It was a dangerous place to be but even my beast enjoyed the caressing and the calm nurturing. I didn’t know that anyone who smelled like gun powder could be so sensitive. I guess you learn something new every day.

I snuggled up closer to the Hunter’s chest and felt the soft vibrations of his thumping heart once more. Logic was screaming at me to run away, but instinct was telling me to cuddle. Cuddle? Yes, cuddle. So, I did.

His right hand reached around my waist while his left arm grasped my legs and he lifted both himself and me into a standing position. I still held onto his collar like my very existence depended on it even as he easily carried me down the hallway and out of sight of the strewn corpse.

“Shirley,” he whispered, leaning into his assistant and bumping my knees against her very firm arm, “See if you can‘t find some way to clean this mess up. We don‘t want cops clogging up the place and cordoning off the area.”

“Should I shovel up the body?” she asked.

“Yeah, then put him in a few coolers and burn him in an isolated area. Bring his ashes to Mr. Davis,” he paused and I felt one of his hands accidentally brush along my naked skin where my shirt had lifted, “do whatever you can to make sure Charlie Groves has moved. Somewhere north, maybe.”

“How about Maine?”

“Sure.”

If my brains were working properly, I would’ve tried to ponder the partial conversation and tried to make heads or tails out of it, but instead, I remained motionless in the Hunter’s arms. I had so many questions I wanted to ask and so many things that I wanted to say, but I was so tired. I was tired of the fear, the angst, the pain, and most importantly, the sadness.

Couldn’t I be selfish for just a moment and enjoy the blank state my mind had taken instead of being hammered with the loss of so many friends?

The Hunter was right, I didn’t belong here. I shouldn’t have seen this because I don’t think any loved one would have left those rooms sane. You can’t look into the abyss and not have it stare right back at you. And you can’t see the discarded remains of your friends and not worry that one day, you too would be discarded.

My hands slightly released his collar and wrapped themselves around his neck. I needed to feel something living, something solid instead of the intangible groping of death. I breathed in the musky scent of sweat and strength and rolled it around my tongue as the crickets began their symphony for the evening. My beast uncurled for the slightest of seconds and allowed the peace and beauty surrounding us in. The beast was actually enjoying the moment, remaining pacified as I was.

If it had been any other time and with any other person, I would have treasured this moment for the rest of my life. Instead, I just accepted the moment and smiled.

I heard the door to his black Hummer open and I was placed gently onto the torn, gray seat. Beige stuffing was exuding from slashed areas reminding me that at one point, there had been a werewolf in here. I don’t know why it was in the front seat and I didn’t care, but it had been in here and with the Hunter still alive, I knew the beast had been killed.

My heart sped up for a time while the adrenaline began to pump its way through my system, erasing the memories of my friends and inspiring fear to force me to run. I listened to my heart pounding in my chest as it threatened to beat out of my chest, to tear its way out.

What had I been thinking? Well, obviously, I hadn’t been and now I placed myself with a Hunter. A deadly Hunter.

My eyes glanced sideways as the Adonis entered the driver’s seat and the keys turned the ignition on. I remained very still, hoping that maybe he had forgotten about me, forgotten about the ‘pack’ remark that Matt had made earlier. I was now the trapped fawn, frozen in fear, and trying desperately to hide in the underbrush, only it wasn’t working. I was sitting right out in the open, a tanned skinned woman against a gray background, not blending in at all.

I looked at the steel bars that ran through the inside of the vehicle and wondered what the hell their purpose was for. I was trying to camouflage myself in the Hunter’s carriage, so I was taking in everything. As my eyes centered themselves on the bars, my nostrils flared for just a second as the smell of other beasts and blood entered. The steel bars ran across an opening in the back where more seats should have been but was instead just cargo room. I suppose he tied the beasts to the bars before he killed them. Maybe watching them squirm as he skinned them was delightful. He was probably psychotic enough to do that.

My heart beat faster as I wondered if he was going to tie me to those steel bars. What if he was pretending to play the good guy as he brought me to a secluded area, away from the people who could help me…

I jumped as his hand gently patted my own.

The Hunter put the vehicle in gear and began to drive towards my home.

I wanted to scream as my imagination told me he would do horrible things to me in my own home.

If only that calm had lasted just a little while longer instead of being torn away leaving me only with my nightmares and a Hunter.