Love Lies Bleeding (7 page)

“You know that’s strictly a short-range, minimum-performance weapon.” Shep tossed his whetstone over his shoulder and readjusted his hold on the hunting knife. He was left-handed. Either that or he preferred to grab with his right and knife with his left. According to his agency file, which Karli had memorized back to front, he’d had a lot of practice. Supposedly, it takes ten thousand hours to become an expert at something. Shep had probably banked that by his mid-twenties.

Without pause, Karli shot at him again.
 

She winged Shep’s right shoulder.

He stopped to peer down at the wound and its slight amount of seeping blood. He laughed in his typical hyena bark, then kept coming.

“Karli!?”
 

Karli turned to see that Pamela was struggling to free her dress from the car. Pamela’s eyes widened and she frantically gestured over Karli’s shoulder as she cried out again.

Shep had closed the gap in a couple of fast, extra-wide strides. He grabbed for the gun, yanking it above Karli’s head. Karli twisted out from underneath his arm, and, with her own arm twisted behind her, leaned forward over and against the car hood. She then whipped a backward kick to Shep’s groin.

He grunted, letting go of Karli to cup his groin with his right hand. He didn’t fall, though.

In one continuously fluid move, Karli flipped the leg she’d kicked over the hood of the car and rolled across it. Landing smoothly, she tugged her skirt down from where it had ridden up to her waist and reached for Pamela. Karli grabbed two massive handfuls of Pamela’s dress and yanked. Enough inner fabric ripped that Pamela, freed, tumbled backwards to the ground.

Karli grabbed Pamela’s hand and half-dragged, half-helped her up onto her feet. Then, pulling Pamela with her, she dashed toward the nearby forest.

“Yes, run,” Shep called after them. He didn’t bother raising his voice much. He was still recovering from the groin kick. “I missed my morning jog. Not that this will be much of a challenge.” He actually seemed rather mournful.

“I will shoot you, asshole!” Karli screamed back. “Get within three to five yards and you’re put down!”

Pamela and Karli disappeared into the woods.

Shep straightened, and, walking gingerly, popped the car trunk.

“Get them back, Shep,” Mr. Doyle ordered the second the truck opened. “Maim, no kill.” Shep wasn’t happy about the last part of the order, but Mr. Doyle knew best, as he always did. “You can have your blood later, after I get my answers.”

THE HUNT

CHAPTER EIGHT

Capilano Regional Park Forest

Shep had been with Mr. Doyle since he was sixteen, at which time his mother had finally given up on him and took off for parts unknown. Sometimes, when he bothered to think about such things, he wondered if Mr. Doyle was actually his father.

His mother had always used to shriek and shriek at him about all the little bloody things he did, but Mr. Doyle hadn’t ever cared about the animals that died whenever Shep was around a place for too long. Indeed, Mr. Doyle soon provided much larger canvases with which to work, and oversaw his development in this area. Guiding him, much like a father would have guided a son into the family business.

Though he preferred the bodywork, Shep didn’t mind his other duties. He knew what and when Mr. Doyle wanted to eat everyday, and where the best bagels and lox were to be bought from. He perfected his espresso shots even though he had to use that cat-shit coffee. He didn’t even remotely care it was actually civet feces, nor did anyone dare correct him about it.

•••••••••

The Capilano Regional Park Forest encompassed most of the upstream areas of the Capilano River below the Cleveland Dam, which was a popular tourist destination. The fish hatchery, located about five hundred meters downhill from the dam, offered educational displays. During spawning season, salmon could be seen using the fish ladder. None of this, of course, was remotely relevant to Karli or Pamela as they fled through the massive cedar and fir trees. Pamela actually had no idea where they were, though she could hazard a guess that they were somewhere on the North Shore. Karli just hoped that the piles of brown needles underfoot would muffle the atrocious amount of noise Pamela was making as she crashed through the forest.

“I’m not really supposed to shoot him. I am kind of on probation over this Grady thing,” Karli confessed, and then promptly turned her ankle for the third time on her four-inch heels. She slowed to rip off the offending shoes.

“I thought you were a kindergarten teacher?” Pamela couldn’t seem to catch her breath.

“Well, that’s just really code for stripper.” Karli tossed one shoe and then the other in the opposite direction to where they were headed.

“You’re a stripper?”

“Nah, that’s just my real cover.” Karli now tamed her hair back into a bun as she spoke. “I mean, the money is good and the agency lets me keep anything stuck in my panties, kind of like a retirement fund. But it’s not a longterm lifestyle I aspire to.”

“Oh.” Pamela didn’t really get it … any of it.

“That true, what Shep said about you earlier today?”

“Not wanting to live without Grady, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t get that.”

“Not many people do.”

Karli looked at Pamela as if finally truly seeing her. “Not all of us are so lucky.”

“I know, and I can’t go back.”

“Now that you know what love is supposed to be like.”

“I’m just looking to match this empty shell to my departed soul.”

Karli looked as if she might speak again, but then had nothing to say. She grabbed Pamela’s wrist and pulled her farther into the forest.

•••••••••

They ran and ran and ran.

Finally, Pamela was forced to twist her wrist from Karli’s grasp and stop stumbling along behind her best friend. She leaned against a tree, very winded. “I’m going to pass out.”

“Bad idea. Got to keep moving.”

 
“No one is who they seem to be,” Pamela moaned. “Including Grady.”

“That’s not my secret to tell,” Karli said cautiously. “I’ll get you to a safe place and we’ll sort this all out.”

Shep’s voice boomed out from the forest behind them. “I spy with my little eye something that is white,” he taunted from far too nearby.

Karli yanked Pamela behind a tree, then looked around trying to catch sight of Shep.

“Whoops. Where she go?” Shep, still hidden somewhere in the forest, laughed.

“Shit! Okay, this is what we need to do … where’s the laptop?” Karli asked.

“In the car?”

“Shit!”

“Fe, fi, fo, fum. I smell the blood of a dumb, dumb blonde!” Shep taunted. He was obviously close enough to hear the girls’ conversation, but still hidden from their sight.

“I’ve got to go back.” Karli checked the bullets in her gun.

“Are you crazy? You know he won’t be satisfied with a tooth. Or, in your case, a notch on his bed post.”

“It doesn’t count, you know, as a number on your personal total, if you have your fingers crossed.”

“Or if they don’t know the true you?”

“Exactly. Go. I’ll circle around. Find a path and follow, it’ll eventually take you to one of the parking lots or out of the park. Stay near people. Then go to our coffee shop, I’ll find you. Go!” Karli ducked around a tree and ran in the opposite direction.

“Karli!”

“Pamela! We aren’t done, darling!” Shep’s voice receded deeper into the trees as he chose Karli as his first target.

If Shep had an iPod he might have chosen to play Rich Hope’s song,
My Love is a Bullet
to underscore his hunt. Its pounding, punishing guitar rift would have pleased him, but perhaps such a choice was beyond his ability to understand his personal motivations. So it was instead Pamela, who’d seen Rich play the Piccadilly Pub many years before, to whom the lyrics rose unbidden. Perhaps the words were recalled by her pounding heartbeat as she ran and ran and ran farther into woods.

•••••••••

Pamela dashed into a clearing and stumbled. Unable to catch her balance, she pitched face forward
,
though her dress softened her landing as it wrapped around her legs. She released the breath she’d been holding in a puff of frustration and with an edge of despair. She looked around.
 

She was surrounded by forest in every direction. A rusted chainsaw was partially hidden in the brown fir and cedar needles that coated the ground. She scrambled forward in a crawl to pick up the saw, but it was so heavy she could barely lift it, let alone run and wield it.

A surprised scream and then a gunshot echoed from the direction Karli had previously headed.

Pamela dropped the saw, frozen in place, and listened.

More gun shots sounded.

“That’s five rounds,” Shep, his voice muted by distance and trees, crowed.

Another scream reverberated through the trees from Karli, this one filled with frustration. The voice was silenced by a harsh thump.

Then … nothing.

Pamela began to hyperventilate.

She scrambled to right herself, but was impeded by the tangled dress. When she finally gained her feet, it was only to throw herself forward again on all fours as she dry retched in fear.

Shep rounded a tree in a light jog. Seeing Pamela, he stopped a few feet away to grin down at her. He spun his knife into the air, deftly catching it by the handle. “That’s all you got? At least Grady died doing something he believed in,” he taunted.

Pamela wiped the spittle off her face, and, eyes locked to Shep, slowly rose to her feet. The dress in no way impeded her, as if it knew that now was not the time. Shep’s grin widened in anticipation. Pamela clenched and unclenched her fists. He flipped the knife again.

Pamela spun and ran.

Shep caught the knife without looking. His disappointment in Pamela’s cowardice was soon assuaged by his anticipation of the hunt renewed.

Pamela fled for her life, her wedding dress streaming after her, even though if she’d been asked, she would have said she had no life left to live. Perhaps it was pure, adrenaline-fueled survival instinct that propelled her through the forest. Perhaps she was just fleeing the pain, no matter what package it was delivered in.

Shep followed in a casual jog. He was in no rush to end anyone’s pain.

•••••••••

Farther through the forest, and ironically just off a path, a couple of hikers were using a fallen tree for a bench while they ate a snack.

Pamela burst through the trees and stumbled into them. The Gore-Tex-clad hikers were momentarily stunned to see a disheveled bride burst out of the woods. The male hiker lost hold of his peanut butter sandwich.

“Please … Please …” Pamela tried to beg, but couldn’t catch her breath.

“Are you okay?” the female hiker asked, and then nudged her male counterpart.

“Yeah, bloody hell.” He stood and crossed to Pamela. “You scared the shit out of me, out of us.”

The woman rummaged around in her backpack and found a bottle of water, which she opened and handed to her companion. He offered the water to the gasping Pamela, who gulped it down between broken sentences. “I need help. Or at least directions. I’m being chased by a psycho … killer, though given the day I’ve been having, I could be wrong about his intentions.”

“Oh, you’re not wrong, baby,”
 
Shep said from behind Pamela. She dropped the bottle of water as she whirled to see him casually wander into the impromptu picnic area. The ground eagerly absorbed the spilled liquid. Rainforest or not, the canopy of trees kept the land dry.

“Listen, buddy,” the male hiker said, as he stepped up to shield Pamela. “You’ve really scared this lady here.”

Shep slowly closed the gap between himself and the others.

“Wait, no!” Pamela cried.

Shep suddenly embedded his knife in the gut of the hiker, then swiftly ripped the blade upward. Pamela stumbled back.

“No!!” the female hiker screamed as she lunged forward. Pamela, in an attempt to stop further carnage, sprung sideways to wrap herself around the woman. The hiker easily fended Pamela off, though, knocking her once again to the ground. Unfortunately for Pamela, blood loss and malnourishment didn’t at all stand up to strength and agility.

Shep, after watching nose to nose as the blood-gurgling man died, allowed the body of the hiker to drop at his feet. He once again held his knife at the ready. The hunting blade dripped blood. The woman flung herself forward across the man’s body, and, though she was obviously terrified and shocked, she did so silently.

Shep held his bloody knife up like a prize for Pamela to see. It was the same gesture he’d used with Mr. Doyle, the bloody pliers, and Pamela’s tooth. It seemed Shep liked an audience just as much as Mr. Doyle liked to watch.

Pamela couldn’t find her voice to scream.

Shep flipped the knife up into the air. It spun up and up and then down and down to land in his open palm. Only now the blade was pointing downward. As his hand closed over the hilt, Shep plunged the knife between the female hiker’s grieving shoulders.

Pamela choked on the scream caught in her throat. And momentarily, as if trapped in a nightmare, she couldn’t move. The scream strangled her from within. She was going to die from asphyxiation, with the deaths of the hikers on her balance sheet, nowhere near Grady.

“She should have run, shouldn’t she?” Shep said, as he pulled the knife from the woman’s back to point it at Pamela. “You ran. Does that mean you loved Grady less or more?”

Pamela was turning purple from lack of air.

Shep lunged over the hikers toward her.
 

She instinctively rolled away, which forced the trapped air out of her throat. Then, with the motivation of automatically inhaling, she somehow mobilized into a run.

Playtime was over, and, perhaps high on the scent of blood fumes, Shep was eager to catch his ultimate target. He was insanely hot for Pamela’s haphazard trail.

•••••••••

As they ran even farther into the forest, Shep was almost mesmerized by Pamela. Her ivory dress was a sharp contrast to, and offered no camouflage among, the trees.