Creature of Habit (Creature of Habit #1) (6 page)

Chapter 11

Amelia

"Please. Let me do that."

I froze. His voice was so soft and smooth, almost mesmerizing.  No, it
was
mesmerizing. With only the slightest hesitation, I stopped what I was doing and stepped aside. When I finally found my own voice, it sounded high pitched and squeaky next to his. “No, Mr. Palmer, I can—“

“Ms. Chase,” he said, grinding his teeth.

An argument formed on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed it back. "Thank you. Um, let me get the broom."

He nodded curtly, and as I walked in the direction of the storage closet in the kitchen his phone chimed again. This time he answered. I waited in the hallway, giving him privacy, but I heard every word.

"No. It's fine,” he said, without a greeting. "It's under control.”

He waited, listening to the voice on the other side, feet crunching glass.

“I know,” he said, voice strained, followed by the chime, signaling the end of the call.

I waited a moment before entering the hallway with the broom and dust pan. "I really should do this," I said, thinking, somehow, this would come back to haunt me.

"Ms. Chase, please hand me the broom. I really don't want you to cut yourself. And, it was my fault. I'm the one that startled you."

I relinquished the broom and he swept up the mess scattered across the hallway. I tried to keep the gaping at a minimum, but it was hard. As with everything else, Mr. Palmer continued to surprise me. Each movement he made was quick and precise. His long fingers wrapped around the handle of the broom and I couldn’t help but notice how smooth they were. His skin was flawless, like he’d never experienced a moment of manual labor in his life, yet he seemed comfortable with this task.

He wore khaki-colored pants and a white linen button-down, dressed up but not in a suit. His hair was dark brown, but lighter streaks glinted from the sunlight streaming in the open front door. It was styled messy, intentionally so, like a model. In fact, everything about him looked intentional. And perfect. From his disheveled bedhead to his expensive, worn leather shoes. I couldn't see his eyes, as he was looking down, looking for glass. I wanted to know what color they were. Blue? Green? Whatever they were, I assumed they were also amazingly perfect.

He looked so young but his movements and gestures were that of a much older man. He was tall but he wasn't very big. No. It was more like he was long and lanky without the awkwardness of a young man. I glanced away, forcing myself to stop all the analyzing.

He searched the floor for any remaining pieces of stray glass. He spotted one hidden in the corner, invisible to my eye, and quickly swept it into the pile. He turned and asked, "May I have the dustpan please?"

Our eyes locked briefly and I saw them. Violet.

Not blue.

Not green.

Violet.

"Um…huh?" I asked, unable to speak coherently, transfixed by his rich amethyst eyes.

Amusement twitched at the edges of his mouth. "The dustpan, may I have it?

"Yes, sorry. I think I'm just a little flustered still," I explained. He gave me a quick nod of understanding.

He quickly swept up the pile of debris and stood. "Ms. Chase, I apologize for startling you. I have a horrible habit of sneaking up on people. It’s unacceptable.”

“It’s fine,” I said. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“I would also like to apologize to you for the other night. My behavior was out of line." He lifted his hands in the air, one occupied by the broom and one with the full dustpan and said, "I'd introduce myself properly with a handshake but unfortunately…"

His voice was still soft, yet there was something missing. He sounded so formal and stiff—slightly robotic. His apology rang with sincerity yet came across as somewhat forced, like words from a script. Nothing about this man made any sense.

"Here, let me take those.” I reached out for the broom and dustpan. "And please call me Amelia. It's nice to meet you, Mr. Palmer.”

He handed them over to me and I put them away. I returned to find him standing in the same place, unmoved, with an intense look of concentration on his face.

"Was there something you needed?" I asked which caused him to look at me with a confused expression. I pressed. "When you came down here? Did you need something from me?"

Recognition flittered across his face, as if he’d only just remembered why he came down in the first place.  "Yes, I heard the delivery man come in and I thought I’d take the box upstairs and ask you to unpack it for me."

“I’d be happy to.” I followed him to the parlor. He picked up the large box with ease. It must not have been as heavy as I suspected.

Halfway up the stairs, I heard my name being called from behind.  I turned to find Thomas in the hallway. Mr. Palmer was already at the top of the stairs so I quickly ran back down to see what he needed.

"Do you need something?” I asked.

Thomas glanced up the stairs. In a low voice he said, "I wanted to ask you if I could have your number? Maybe I could call you sometime?"

This guy had balls. Asking me on a date in the middle of work hours. I hoped Genevieve was wrong and this was the kind of thing Mr. Palmer wouldn’t catch on to. I was already walking on eggshells.

“Here.” I fished a business card out of my pocket. In a quiet voice I added, “Call me after work, okay?”

From the top of the stairs I heard a loud noise and I waved Thomas off.  I ran up the stairs, two at a time, to find Mr. Palmer. He was on the landing waiting for me with a look of irritation on his face.

Great. Back on the shit list.

Flushed and out of breath, I explained, "I stopped to help Thomas with something, sorry."

Abruptly, he turned away and went into his dressing room. I hesitated for a moment but followed him, unsure of my next step. I wasn't sure why he was irritated with me, it had only taken a second to speak with Thomas and it wasn’t like he knew we were talking about non-work-related activities.

I entered the dressing room and he pointed to the box on the floor. I could tell from his stiffness that the slight progress we had made downstairs was gone. Evaporated like water on a hot day.

"This package is filled with clothing and accessories. Please place them in the appropriate areas of the closet. Then take the camera, the one in the bottom drawer over there," I followed the direction of his finger as he pointed to of a row of drawers against the wall. "Photograph each outfit. In the box you will find an envelope with an itemized list that will provide information about what article of clothing goes in which section of the closet and binder." When he finished he turned without another word and walked through a side door I’d been instructed not to enter.

Wow. Okay, maybe he wasn’t so much a recluse but just a total weirdo.

Admittedly, he hadn't been overly friendly downstairs but he did, at least, appear sincere. Now he treated me like a child who had been caught with their hand in the cookie jar by a mother with eyes in the back of her head.  What had I done? I ran through the possible offenses. Other than speaking to Thomas, and leaving him waiting for a moment, I hadn’t done anything wrong.

Whatever
, I thought. Genevieve hadn’t told me about this side of Mr. Palmer. Quirky? Yes. A little strange? Sure. Standoffish? Definitely. But hostile and jerkish? No. Not at all. Actually, I felt like Genevieve really liked Mr. Palmer. She seemed genuinely fond of him. That meant whatever was going on between us was, well, between us.

I found a pair of scissors and opened the package. Inside were tightly packed stacks of dress and causal shirts, four or five pairs of nice pants and two pairs of jeans. There were also shoes, belts, and other accessories. I took a quick peek at the labels and rolled my eyes at the designer names. Ralph Lauren, Dior, Prada. I was sure the shirt I was holding cost more than my entire summer wardrobe. The items in this box alone would be enough to dress a normal man for a year, not just one summer. Honestly, he was going to run out of room soon to store it all.

It took me several hours to coordinate and photograph all the new items. As the minutes ticked by, I found myself glancing toward his door, wondering if he would ever come back.  I’d created an intense fantasy about standing up to him, asking him what his problem was and why he thought he could treat me so badly.

I daydreamed of walking up to him and poking his chest with my finger, which of course would be difficult since he was so tall. I’d probably hit him in the belly, which would be way less effective. Either way, then I would force him to look me in the eye and admit he was being a jerk and that his first apology meant nothing. I wanted to tell him that he was a spoiled little boy who needed to treat people with respect.

That was what I wanted to do.

But he never emerged, so it didn't matter.

I sighed, because I’d never do it. I was too much of a chicken. I gathered a handful of leather belts and hooked them one at a time on a rack hanging from the wall. If I’d known I would spend my summer hanging up clothes, I would've gotten a job at the GAP.

I completed my work in the dressing room and went downstairs. I ate my lunch at my desk, finishing the data entry I'd started that morning. Thomas and Mark left while I was upstairs, and when the guy fixing the security system arrived late that afternoon I simply showed him what needed repairing. Mr. Palmer never reappeared from his rooms.

At six o’ clock I packed my bags and left my daily report on the desk. At the front door, I paused for a moment at the bottom of the steps, positive that I could hear the faint strains of music from above. It must be nice to hide away while everyone else fixed your problems.

Chapter 12

Grant

The buck fell easily and I drained his blood with efficiency. As I wiped a drop from the corner of my mouth I heard the snap of a branch and froze. The other forest animals fled the instant I took down the deer. I should be the only one out here. Too late at night for hunters and too far off the beaten path for hikers.

Just me and my prey, or so I thought.

The air stirred, pushing a gust past me. I inhaled. Musky and cool. The smell would appeal to a human, but for another creature of the night it kicked my instincts in gear.

“Who’s there?” I asked. It was, after all, my territory. Silence was the only reply but now I saw the edge of a heavy wool jacket and a flash of short red hair. “Show yourself, friend.”

He stepped from his spot, hands up. “Just traveling through,” he said. His voice carried a Midwestern drawl. “Heard you on the hunt.”

I didn’t acknowledge the buck I’d just consumed, but I knew what he was thinking. Feeding on animals wasn’t popular among my kind. “Ah, so you’re new to this area. I’m Grant Palmer.”

“Palmer?” The instant the word left his mouth I caught an additional odor. He wasn’t alone.

“Traveling companion?” I asked.

“Nah. More like a snack I’m saving it for later. These mountains are pretty dense, not a lot of civilization.” Again, his eyes flicked to the animal carcass. “But I guess you already knew that.”

“Pickings get a little slim out here. You wouldn’t mind giving me a taste would you?”

A muffled squeak came from behind the man’s back. In the shadows I made out a small shape—a girl from the looks of it. Her hands were tied with a thick rope. Was this man part of the Predator’s group?

He hesitated as expected. Sharing wasn’t a priority of our kind. Finders keepers was more like it. I took a step closer and made eye contact with the girl. “You okay?”

She froze but I didn’t look away and I heard her weak plea, “Help me.”

I nodded and said, “I think she’d rather come with me.”

The vampire frowned. “Doesn’t work that way, friend. This one is mine and I have plans for her. You’ll need to get your own—unless you like eating filthy animals, and something tells me you do.”

I clutched the handle of the knife in my hand and moved fast, slicing away at the binds. The girl stumbled back while the vampire sprang into action, rushing at me with full, unbridled force. I swiped at his legs, tripping him. He landed with a thud, sliding across the forest floor—leaves and dirt scattering on impact. With the upper hand I pounced landing hard on his chest.  We tussled on the ground, rolling down an embankment, until we got to the bottom. Wrapping my hands around his throat I declared, “You made a mistake coming into my territory. The Palmers run these mountains and kidnapping girls is against our standards.”

He kicked and sputtered beneath me. I leaned over and pressed the tip of the knife to his throat. His eyes narrowed and he said, “You’re a freak.”

“And you’re dead. For real this time.”

With the blade I slit his throat before tearing it off in one quick move. I wiped the dirty knife blade on ground before looking up at the girl. She stood frozen, eyes wide in terror. I gave her a fast nod and said, “Let’s get you home.”

~*~

I left the girl, Maggie, with Olivia, after compelling her to forget most of what she’d experienced. With my face and actions wiped from her memory, I set off toward the coordinates I’d entered in my watch before I left the office. Reaching the location documented in the police report didn’t take long. Warring odors assaulted my senses and it only took a moment before I found a smudge on the sidewalk. I wiped my finger over the dark stain and sniffed the coppery blood.

The police hadn’t found a body, but a girl was reported missing. Searching the surrounding areas thoroughly, I came up empty, too.

Examining the area, I stopped near a wooden fence separating yards. Scratch marks were gouged into the top of the fence. I spread my fingers over the lines, matching them to my own razor-sharp nails and leapt easily over the six-foot high obstacle. My feet landed in the soft grass next to a handful of other footprints. At the very least, this guy was of similar height and size. I sniffed the markings and caught a whiff of his scent. So the Predator had been here.
What did he do with her body?
I wondered. After finding nothing else useful, I decided to head east, following the pattern I had formulated.

As I traveled I opened my mind to the noises of the night. Passing homes, I heard the sounds of families having dinner and children playing outside enjoying the warm weather. I overheard an argument by two lovers, one bitter over the betrayal of the other. Most of it was mundane, people worried about bills or work or relationships. After all this time I'd become numb to the day-to-day worries of humans. I attempted to respect their privacy when possible, but tonight I was listening for something else.

The Predator.

I'd heard him before. Several times in fact, but I was always too late. He seemed to have a sense of when to move on, of when I was coming. I'm not sure if he knew I was on to him yet or if it was a coincidence.  I felt like he knew. He was elusive, always one step ahead.

There were others with him, at least that was my theory. Their voices changed and often combined with the victims, making them hard to identify. Everything about this predator and his accomplices was one step ahead of me. I was fast. He was faster and unfortunately, deadlier.

So, tonight as I walked, I listened for his voice, for the clues I needed to find him before another unsuspecting victim stumbled onto his path. If all went according to plan, I would catch up to him. The pattern fit and my research was flawless.

Oh shoot, I burned the bread….mommy, Jane hit me on purpose…I'm sorry, I really am….Oh. My. God. You will not believe what I just heard…

Humans. Nothing they said was ever of much importance. My thoughts turned to Ms. Chase and I wondered where she was at this moment. Had the worker called her for a date? Had she made plans to see him? Again, I was irritated by my fascination with her and determined I had to move past my obsession.

Did you watch Fallon today…I'm going to the store, do you need anything…please, please, whatever you want…

My mind perked up at the last one and I narrowed my focus. The voice sounded distressed. Low growls echoed in the night.

Do you want my money? Or my car? Here, take my keys…..please…

I zeroed in. They weren’t far. Less than five miles away, if my calculations were correct. I inhaled, catching his scent, mingled with hers. She smelled salty—like sweat and her heart beat erratically. Not only from fear but exhaustion. Tiny, but important clues. I couldn’t be positive but I took off in the direction of the nearest park. It fit his pattern. An educated guess was better than nothing at all.

“Don’t do this...please…oh my god.”
Her voice rang through the night, clear as a bell.

His reply was gravelly, snide. “
Don’t be afraid…you’re part of a bigger plan. Remember that.”

I came to the entrance of the park and read the wooden sign.

Lullwater Park

Jogging Trails

Hours 6:00 AM-Dark

The sweat and racing heart signaled the woman was probably a jogger. I tore through the darkness in the direction of the trails. This was the closest I had come to him, the closest I had been to stopping him from continuing his terrorization of this community. I heard her begging for her life, no longer speaking to him, simply rambling during her final moments.

I ran, cutting across green space and rocky paths. I leapt over a small stream, feet sinking in thick, dark mud. Her voice bounced off the trees, leading me to her. They couldn't be more than a mile or two away.

“It will all be over soon, once my friends and I are satisfied.”

That was when I heard the others. They too spoke in low voices, punctuated with the occasional growl. These weren’t civilized beings. Not like myself and my family. Not even like the Predator.

I focused on him, noting that his voice was deep and rough. His accent was indistinct but the tone of his voice spoke with authority. I broke through the tree line as two of the killers pulled the jogger from her kneeling position to her feet.  They held her before the Predator, her arms stretched wide, like a sacrifice. She shivered, eyes wide and terrified, visibly shuddering as he touched her face gently. She never felt the snap of her neck or the cuts as the others tore at the flesh on her exposed arms and wrists.

I was fast but incredibly, they were faster—feeding and discarding her body before I could stop them. The woman was dead. The killers gone, slipped away in a half-dozen possible directions, trailing not only in their scent but that of the dead.

“I’ll catch you,” I said, in a raised voice, while standing over the body. I pulled out my cell and dialed 911 before retreating back to the safety of the woods, but not before I heard the faintest of words deep in the back of my mind.

“Game on.”