The Hunter Inside (16 page)

He watched as Paul sat for
a moment without answering; he looked as though he was thinking about the
question.

Paul had drunk the whiskey,
and now he took a beer and poured quarter of it down his throat before putting
the glass down, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, and allowing a
small quantity of gas to escape through his clenched teeth.

But where to start his
crazy tale? How was Todd going to take it? The beginning was the only option.
He decided that Todd Mayhew was quite probably going to think he was mad.

‘Believe me, Todd. The
state of my face is the least of my worries at this moment in time,’ he
eventually replied as his hand went up to his face. He felt congealed blood
that had once circulated through his broken nose.

‘So what’s up then Paul?
What’s going on? Normally the beer comes before the chaser, and I don’t think
I’ve ever seen you drink like that in almost five years of knowing you.’ Todd
was concerned. It was true that he had not seen Paul drink heavily since they
had known one another and his quip made Paul give a laugh that was a little
forced. Both of Todd Mayhew’s drinks remained on the tray, untouched.

‘It’s a long and very
strange story Todd, and what I’m going to tell you is something that you must
take seriously because it may not only be me that’s in danger.’

As he spoke he gathered
speed, and the mask of calmness and control slipped to reveal a man with very
frayed nerves and a story to tell.

‘What do you mean Paul?’
Todd asked. ‘Why are you in danger?’

The swiftness with which
Paul had gone from laughter to a look of wild fear made Todd Mayhew very
uneasy. While he considered Paul to be a friend, he was also an old man. He
could do without getting himself into any danger or trouble. He could tell by
the look on Paul’s face that there was a storm brewing, and while he was
intrigued to know what was going on, he didn’t want to be dragged into a
dangerous situation.

The eyes of Paul Wayans
took on a glassy look not dissimilar to Gloria’s, who now stood behind the bar,
rigorously polishing glasses and straining to hear the conversation of the two
men who sat just out of ear’s reach from her.

‘It started when I was a
child, Todd. Before my grandmother died.’

‘How? What are we talking
about here?’

Todd wondered if Paul had
already drunk some large quantity of alcohol before getting to Chee-Uz. He did
not imagine that the school bully had hunted him down and given him a beating
and he looked at Paul expectantly, sure that he would drop the penny at any
moment.

‘Okay, here goes,’ Paul
muttered, before beginning what he knew seemed like a very tall story.

‘My grandmother was
Chinese. She came to America a long time ago with no money and not many
possessions. When I was a child of about five years old I would stay at my
grandmother’s house. Every weekend I would stay and every weekend she would
tell me the same story. I was terrified of what she told me. I had nightmares
about it for a long time.’ He trailed off and Todd was left to wonder if he was
talking to the same Paul Wayans that he had spoken to one week previously. He
hadn’t yet told him anything that would indicate why he was in such a state,
and Todd eased him out of his daze by saying, ‘What was it Paul? What was the
story?’

‘It was an old legend.
Shimasou she called it. She told me things about it that seemed like a horror
story.’ Paul saw himself sitting as a child on his grandmother’s lap, shaking
with fear and too scared to move. The urge to get down and run away was always
outweighed by the terror that gripped his senses, and he would always sit
motionless with his eyes closed, waiting for his grandmother to finish her
horror stories.

‘But what has that got to
do with you, or now, Paul?’ Todd asked. He was having trouble making a
connection between past and present. Whatever Paul was trying to tell him may
have seemed like a horror story to him as a small boy, but it was obviously
very real to him now as he sat clutching an empty beer glass.

‘My grandmother did not
know about the legend before she came to America from China. When she
emigrated, she did it to escape to the land of hopes and dreams. She had no
money, she didn’t have anything much. Times were hard for her and she had to
sell off her possessions in order to raise money for food. My grandmother had a
statue. It was a small figure that held a jewel between its hands, and it was
the last thing my grandmother sold. It was given to her by her grandmother and
had been passed through many generations; the legend being that it made you a
stronger person.’

‘How?’ Todd was conscious
of the fact that he only asked questions but, despite Paul’s story, he still
couldn’t make a connection.

‘Well, the legend went that
it was a charm. The jewel channeled strength from the surroundings to its
owner; Shimasou, which in turn channeled the strength to
its
owner; my
grandmother.’

‘But how could you be in
danger from a statue that’s supposed to give you strength? Come to think of it,
how can you be in danger from a statue that your grandmother sold when you were
a child?’

‘The legend my grandmother
had been told was wrong. It didn’t channel strength to its owner. It channeled
strength
from
its owner, and it got more powerful as a result. After my
grandmother sold the statue she realized this. She felt haunted by it. It
ravaged her mind and turned her inside out. In the end she was so tormented
that she took her own life, and in the note that she left she blamed it all on
Shimasou. She said it had spoken to her inside her mind and told her that it
would make itself a complete being. It would take the strength from those
around it and one day rise up complete; to rule the world.’

Todd Mayhew sat, his jaw
wide open, looking at Paul Wayans. He had stopped talking and continued to look
straight through him, in a place of terror that was a long way away from
Chee-Uz bar.

Could he really think
something like this could be real? It sounded so far out, and Todd’s first
thought was that Paul’s grandmother had been driven mad by the life of poverty
in which she was trapped and struggling to survive.

Maybe Marcie’s death had
finally become too much for Paul. He hadn’t been himself for a long time, and
Todd regretted not doing anything to help him sooner.

Over the past six months,
he had retreated back into the shell that he had been in when he had arrived in
Stamford, and his repressed grief seemed to be suddenly and spectacularly
revealing itself in its manifested form to Todd.

If it was a mental problem
he was seeing here, Todd didn’t want to make it any worse. He decided he would
listen to what he had to say and take things from there. It was not too late to
help him through this.

‘How does this affect you
now, Paul?’ Todd spoke in a hushed tone, mindful of the other people in the
bar.

‘For the past six months or
so I’ve been receiving letters threatening my life. Letters that told me I was
about to die and that my time here was running out. I tried to ignore it and
hoped it would go away. Well, I figured it was a prank; someone winding me up,
so I carried on as normal. I guess I figured that if someone wanted to kill me
then they would come and kill me, not just send letters
saying
they were
going to kill me.

‘The reason my face looks
this way is because of a letter I received this morning.’

Todd sensed Paul was near
to the end of his story and couldn’t wait to get away from the bar; it was beginning
to freak him out.

Paul continued, ‘It told me
I was about to die. The kind of stuff I was getting used to seeing, until I
noticed the photograph of a corpse that had been deposited inside the envelope.
I called the police and they flew me to Atlantic Beach.’ He drained the last
few drops of beer from the glass and put it down on the table with such a crash
that the other people in the bar turned to look at the two men.

Todd assumed a smile and
waited for a moment before continuing.

‘Atlantic Beach? But that’s
miles away.’

‘I know. They came and took
me in a helicopter.’

As far-fetched as the whole
story seemed there was a look in Paul’s eyes that unnerved Todd. He found
himself engrossed in the story, and began to wonder if just maybe what he was
telling him was actually real. He seemed perfectly lucid, and Todd had seen
plenty of mad people in the movies that did not look the way Paul did now.

He looked sane; scared out
of his mind, but sane.

‘The police thought I had
killed the man in the photograph.’

‘But that’s bizarre. You’re
not a killer Paul.’ Todd believed that what Paul Wayans was telling him about
the letter and the photograph was true. This was certainly no joke.

‘I know I’m not a killer,
and you know it too, but they don’t. They were investigating the crime scene
when I received the photograph. Hell, I had a photograph of that crime scene
before the police and I didn’t have an alibi because I haven’t seen anyone
since I saw you last week. Remember?’ This was the first time Todd could remember
Paul asking
him
a question; it had been the other way around since he
had arrived.

‘Yeah, I remember. Shit
Paul, what are you gonna do? Didn’t the police offer you any help?’

‘No. There’s one cop who’s
sure I did it. Says he’s going to be watching me. He won’t be able to though
because I’m gonna run Todd. Tonight, before it’s too late.’

‘Wait a minute Paul. What
do you mean you’re gonna run? If you run the police will definitely think you
did it.’

‘Yeah, but if I stay then
I’ll be next Todd. I’ve got to take that chance. I’d rather be alive and
thought a murderer than innocent and dead. You didn’t see what it did to this
man. Here, I want you to take this.’

He held out the file he had
brought from his home.

‘What is it?’ Todd asked as
he reached out and took the file.

‘When I was old enough I
researched Shimasou. I didn’t find much, but what I did find is in that file.
Take a look through it and I’ll call you once I’ve put some distance between
myself and Stamford. I’ve got to get away.’ He rose to leave, looking flustered
as the alcohol made his head spin momentarily.

Todd put a hand on his
friend’s arm and said, ‘Whoa, you just sit down there and I’ll get you another
drink before you go. I think you’re gonna need it.’

‘Yes, I think I will. Make
it a double.’ He said this as Todd walked to the bar, carrying the tray in one
hand and the empty glasses in the other.

Todd looked back at him and
nodded before speaking to Gloria and asking for drinks. He remained silent
while Gloria poured them.

That’s probably because he
thinks it’s all bullshit though,
Paul thought.

Outside in the cold
evening, the lone figure continued to wait for Wayans. He was beginning to
weaken slightly as his body temperature dropped. The fear of Wayans had
lessened; probably because of the alcohol he had consumed, and standing in the
shadows, the figure wished he would hurry up and finish his drink and come to
be killed. He was tired of waiting.

Inside Chee-Uz Paul was
finishing his last drink. It was a double malt whiskey, and it went down so
easily that Paul began to wonder whether he should stay for another.

He was not relishing being
a fugitive.

Sometimes problems could be
forgotten through drink, but he knew that drink was not the answer. If he got
too drunk he would be slowed down on his journey, and that was the last thing
he wanted.

‘I’d better go Todd. I’ll
call you, okay?’

‘Jeez, okay Paul. But I
hate to let you go like this.’ Todd was reluctant to allow him to leave. Should
any mishap befall Paul Wayans tonight, it would haunt him for the rest of his
days.

‘It’s okay Todd. I
gotta
go.’ The look on his face made arguing with him a waste of time. Todd knew the
look of a determined man, and he saw one before him at that moment.

‘Okay Paul. But you take
care of yourself and call me as soon as you can. Any time you want.’ Todd
extended his hand to Paul, who took it in a firm grip and shook it before
turning and walking towards the exit.

As he watched him leave the
bar, Todd wondered if someone really was trying to kill him. He had certainly
been terrified, and he suddenly had a feeling that he might not see Paul Wayans
again. It was only a momentary thing; a shiver that went from head to foot, and
he dismissed it as his own paranoia.

He decided he would have
one more drink before going home, and then he would look at the things Paul had
given to him.

He ordered the drink;
another whisky, and stood pondering the situation for a moment as Gloria poured
it into the same glass that he had returned to the bar.

‘So, what’s up with Paul
then Todd?’ Gloria asked. Prying could be called an occupational hazard for a
bartender.

‘Oh, nothing. He cut
himself shaving with a machete.’ Todd managed a humorless laugh as he said
this, and Gloria joined in as she handed him the glass, before turning and
heading towards another customer who waited to be served.