The Hunter Inside (15 page)

Day after day the sun did
not seem to want to shine though, and this had the same effect on Special Agent
Sam O’Neill as it did on Sandy Myers. His bed was the only place he wanted to
be, and he always wore the wrong clothes for the climate that he was by now
starting to get used to. Things would be different if he had somebody to keep
him warm at night and to give him advice on the clothes he chose each day, but
the demands of murderers had put paid to his relationship with Louise after
just six months of dating. Every day was now a bit of a challenge.

The being that was affected
most by the cold snap of weather was the huge figure that stood in the shadows
forty feet from the front door of Paul Wayans’ house, hidden by the darkness
and crouching beside a tree that stretched about twenty feet into the air. The
tree was something that he needed, as he was over eight feet tall, and his
reason for visiting was not a friendly one. And he
was
a he – as he
developed he felt more and more male. Testosterone flowed through him, especially
on nights like this one, and despite being only half complete, his body told
him he was male

The cold had slowed
him down and made his actions difficult to accomplish, sapping vital strength
from his body and diminishing his strength; threatening his objectives with
every minute that passed, and making him hungry to succeed and achieve his
goals while he still could.

Everything had to be right.
No mistakes could be made if he was to achieve his destiny.

This was something that the
shadow constantly considered as the day passed and preparations were made, and
while anybody else would have thought that Paul Wayans had decided to stay away
from home, he knew differently. He had known exactly where Paul Wayans was, and
had not been surprised when he saw him for the first time, walking up the road
to the drive of the house and pausing, before finding the paper that was nailed
to the door. Neither was the shadow surprised to see Wayans enter the house
after removing and inspecting the message that he had prepared earlier in the
day at some distance from his current location.

His dreams were not really
dreams. Whether awake or resting, he saw these people going about their
everyday lives. His head was a constant whirl of activity as he moved towards
his goals.

He knew their names,
addresses, even their thoughts.

He knew what their next
move would be, but they didn’t know his.

They only knew what he
wanted them to know. He was in control and determined; more determined every
day, that the cold was not going to beat him.

Nobody
would stop him.

Not now.

Paul Wayans was afraid. The
shadow hiding behind the tree knew this and this was what he wanted. Wayans
heart beat at twice the normal rate and this was a thing that brought strength
to the figure, who remained in the same position, crouched at the base of the
tree, waiting for Wayans to leave the house.

He fed off the fear of his
intended victims, waiting for the time when it was at a peak, before taking
them and taking their strength, their knowledge, their lives.

So far it had been easy.
The people he needed to give up their lives had done so without too much of a
fight. Now the time had come again, and now the urge was stronger. He was
nearly complete, but fear was not enough to keep him strong for long. Tonight
was definitely the night for him to feed again. He could not wait.

Watching as Wayans left the
house, the figure determined that he would follow him, feed off his fear and,
when he was ready, take him unawares. He did not want him to hear his footsteps
so he would not follow immediately; he didn’t need to. He would bide his time
and toy with his victim. Then he would prevail and his wholeness would be
nearer. He would be more himself.

Wayans was out of view
around the corner before the shadow put down the small bag that he held at his
feet. He could get it later, when he needed it. For now, surveillance would be
his method of watching his victim. Wayans was now a far enough distance away,
and the figure stepped out from behind the base of the tree, making his way
towards where Wayans had disappeared from view.

Tonight must be the night,
and nothing must interfere with his plans.

Paul Wayans did not have
far to travel, but as he walked his mind was tortured with fear and thoughts
that he was being followed. He paid close attention to the things around him,
but did not see anything suspicious or, in fact, anybody at all. The roads were
empty and he traveled with only his thoughts and fears. The apparently empty
street did little to make him feel any easier, and the further he walked, the
more panicked he became.

For the figure that
followed Wayans this was energy. His strength soared as Wayans’ fear grew and
he knew that nothing would stop him tonight. Wayans was already gone, already
his.

Paul Wayans carried a file
of papers and was making his way to meet a friend in a bar. The journey was one
of about ten or fifteen minutes on foot. Wayans was thinking about getting away
from Stamford. He was thinking about running. This amused the figure in the
shadows.

They thought they could run
and escape him. What Arnold and Carson didn’t know was that they were running
to
him. His plans were going well.

Although Carson was not yet
in Atlantic Beach he was quite certain that she would be there when he wanted
her to be.

Arnold was already there.
He had watched his progress from the cemetery with interest, and had taken a
small amount of strength from Arnold’s horror when he had discovered the note
that he had planted there two days earlier.

The irony of the meeting
between the two condemned men, Wayans and Arnold, had amused him. The fact that
they would not meet again seemed almost comical to him. Not in this life
anyway. The next was something that he did not care about.

Paul could not wait to get
to Chee-Uz bar. With each step the tension became more and more unbearable, and
he wondered if he was doing the right thing. While he would be relieved to see
Todd Mayhew and unburden himself of the story of Shimasou, he feared not
reaching Todd. Even if he did manage to reach him and tell of his fears he may
only be putting himself at further risk. He may never see Todd Mayhew again
after tonight.

The conflict in his mind
was a fierce one and the outcome of it was determined by the decency and fear
of Paul Wayans who, while knowing that distance may be his only possible means
of escape, also knew that distance did not matter if his stalker
was
the
embodiment of Shimasou. He was prepared to put his life on the line if it made
him the savior of the rest of the world. He was too afraid of a world in which
Shimasou called the shots, whether he was a part of it or not. It was this
rationale that allowed his feet to move, one in front of the other, towards a
place that seemed a million miles away on the chilly streets of Stamford; the
cold breeze making his teeth chatter as he went.

From Chee-Uz he would run.
There was nothing in the world that would keep him in Stamford one second
longer than necessary. Whoever his stalker, he was there in Stamford; the
mailman did not tend to nail the mail to the door, and this was enough to tell
Paul Wayans that he had to leave tonight. The best thing to do would be to
leave the country. Getting away from Stamford did not seem enough, getting away
from America seemed his one chance. He would do anything to be safe.

But if it is Shimasou,
he thought.

In the shadows the large
figure pursued Paul Wayans, soaking up his thoughts and fear in perfect
knowledge of the fact that his quarry would not be going anywhere tonight. He
would not be going anywhere, ever. He would make sure of this. While he would
allow Wayans one last drink before he died, he would not allow him to run. This
was the night and the time was never more right.

Wayans would die tonight.

He needed to feed; he
needed the strength of Wayans to propel him back to Atlantic Beach where the
others would be waiting patiently for their turn. Then it would be plain
sailing for him. He could even pick them off together if the time was right. He
looked forward to the day when he would take them, and be only one step away
from his completion. It had taken him a long time – ten years – but now it was
almost time for him to show himself to the world.

It was almost time for the
world to cower in fear.

Paul Wayans could see the
bar as he made his way the final one hundred and fifty yards of his journey.
Watching from the shadows the tall figure paused, listening to his thoughts as
he went. He was feeling relieved that he had reached the bar. He had achieved
his first objective, and was grateful to have lived long enough to reach a
bottle of whiskey and a chair.

He was exhausted.

From thirty feet away the
shadow watched as Wayans approached the brightly lit area around the neon
Chee-Uz sign and entered the bar, after casting a glance over the surroundings
that concealed his stalker so well.

Now, he was inside the bar
and the figure in the shadows waited patiently for him to finish his last
drink. He would be there for an hour and ten minutes waiting for Wayans and the
cold would affect him somewhat. But that didn’t matter, because the strength
that he had taken from Wayans’ fear amounted to enough to see him through to
what would eventually be a feast before the end of the night, when he took his
life, strength and knowledge.

The clock ticked on and up
for the shadow while for Wayans it ticked on and down, but only one person knew
this for sure, and only one person held the aces that would win the highest
possible stake tonight.

He would need to get back
to his hideaway quickly after killing Wayans; he would need to absorb what he
had taken from him and prepare for the next time.

Wayans would be returning
home when he left Chee-Uz and that was where he would carry out the most
important part of his task. He would do it where it was quiet and there was not
much chance of being discovered before he wanted to be. Then he would go back
to his hideaway in Atlantic Beach.

Paul Wayans would not be
running. As he sat with Todd Mayhew in Chee-Uz he thought he had a chance of
escaping.

He was wrong.

For Paul Wayans it was too
late; his time was up.

He was only lucky that he
could give the file he had taken to Todd. Then it might not be too late for the
others. Todd was at the bar asking Gloria for drinks. When he came back, Paul
would tell him everything he knew and give him the file.

Outside it was cold. The
temperature was beginning to really drop. That did not bother the figure who
waited for Paul Wayans to leave Chee-Uz, as he knew that pretty soon his
strength would be soaring. He was only half-concealed by the thick tangle
around him but he was sure that he would not be seen by anyone until it was
what
he
wanted.

He was right.

Inside the bar it was warm. The color
returned to Paul Wayans’ chilled hands as he waited for Todd to return with
drinks, and he was more thankful than ever before to be in the dilapidated old
bar. Todd Mayhew stood at the bar and talked in hushed tones to Gloria. It was
obvious from Gloria’s glance, which kept returning to Paul’s face, that his
cuts and bruises were the topic of conversation. This annoyed him somewhat, and
although he realized that coming into the bar with his face messed up was going
to cause speculation, his anxiousness to tell his story and his desire to get
away from Stamford made him fidget in his seat, uncomfortable in the extreme.

He was sure that Gloria
would be unable to offer any accurate opinion on what had happened. He had
never thought of her as particularly bright. When he looked into her eyes what
he saw made him certain that her head was in fact empty; they were always
glassy, and her air was always detached. The only word that he thought came
close to describing her was ‘dizzy’. This seemed pretty accurate.

Todd turned and carried a
small tray from the bar towards the table where Paul sat. On the tray were two
beers and two large whiskeys. He reached the table in seven steps, and put the
tray down upon wood that looked nearly as old as Todd himself. As he did the
table wobbled back and forth, one leg shorter than the others.

A moment passed. Paul looked
at Todd and Todd looked at Paul.

Without breaking the
silence, Wayans reached out and took one of the glasses of whiskey from the
tray, glancing around at the four or five people that were in the bar before
knocking it back in one sharp movement, wishing he had not just a dram, but the
whole bottle to help him through the night.

Looking at Paul, Todd could
see his day had been a stressful one and he remained silent, allowing his
friend to look around, relax and take a drink before beginning to question him
on what kind of trouble he was obviously in.

‘So, what happened to your
face Paul?’ Todd asked after a moment had passed. He struggled to keep a
nonchalant tone, despite being worried as hell.