Chris Carter - I Am Death

Hunter’s eyes scanned the place.

‘They’re here,’ Sanders said, grabbing the double-barreled shotgun he had left on the workshop table that was half hidden in the shadows.

Hunter looked at him with deep concern.

‘I knew that you wouldn’t turn up here by yourself, Robert. You’re not that dumb. Sure, you might turn up here first to check things out, but the cavalry would be right behind you, correct?’

Hunter breathed out.

Sanders smiled. ‘I know I’ve got no way out of here. But I don’t need a way out. I don’t want a way out. My life ended when I was eleven, and whatever hell I go to from here, it will feel like paradise compared to the last twenty-five years of my life.’

He cocked the hammer on both barrels.

‘One for you, one for me. Congratulations, Robert. You managed to stop the murders. And, believe me, I would’ve carried on until someone corrected the mistakes that were made twenty-five years ago. But you still failed me. You failed to identify the monster in me when you looked into my eyes.’

The beeping got louder and more frantic.

‘They are inside,’ Sanders announced with a smile, pointing the shotgun at Hunter.

Hunter looked straight into Sanders’ eyes. He would not give him the satisfaction of closing his eyes or looking away.

The door at the top of the staircase creaked.

Sanders squeezed the trigger.

As Garcia pushed open the basement door, he heard the second shotgun blast. Both had happened in very quick succession. The confined space made them sound louder than normal, almost like a double bomb going off.

Garcia dropped to his knees, his weapon in a firm double-hand grip. Instead of returning fire, as he had no fixed target he used the door as cover and waited.

Two seconds.

Five.

Ten.

Nothing. No other shots.

Garcia pushed the door open further and glanced inside. His weapon was still searching for a target, searching for Troy Sanders. All he saw was a staircase going down into a basement and some gun smoke floating around at the bottom.

‘Robert?’ he called.

No reply.

‘Robert? Are you down there?’

Not a sound.

‘Fuck!’ Garcia drew in a deep breath and slowly started down the stairs.

‘Robert?’ he called again after three steps.

Still nothing.

Garcia moved down another five steps. He now had a better look at the basement but gun smoke and the dark shadows still made everything unclear.

‘Robert? Are you down here?’

The place was still.

‘ROBERT?’

‘I’m here. I’m here.’ Garcia heard Hunter’s voice. ‘Everything is OK, it’s all clear.’

Garcia didn’t fight the smile that stretched his lips. He didn’t want to fight it.

He went down the last few steps in a hurry and paused at the bottom, his eyes widening in shock.

On the basement floor, just a few feet in front of a workshop table, lay an almost headless body. Fresh, steaming blood was still pouring out of the recent wound.

Hunter was also on the floor, his hands shackled by a metal chain speckled with blood, but there was no blood on the floor around him.

‘Are you OK?’ Garcia asked, quickly moving to him. ‘Are you shot?’

‘No, I’m OK,’ Hunter replied, pushing himself up into a sitting position.

Garcia helped him.

‘I heard two shots,’ he said.

‘He aimed the first one at the chain,’ Hunter explained, looking up at the metal pipes. A piece of chain still hung from one of them.

‘If you were alive, why the fuck didn’t you answer when I called your name?’ Garcia asked. ‘I thought you were dead.’

‘My ears were still ringing from the shots. They sounded loud as fuck down here.’

Garcia laughed for almost a full minute.

‘I think we better call this thing in. This is going to be one long report.’

Hunter nodded. What he never told Garcia was that, just before pulling the trigger, Squirm had looked deep into his eyes and mouthed the words ‘thank you’.

Two days later.

Police Administration Building

‘So he was copying everything, to be just like his captor all those years ago?’ Captain Blake asked. She was still completely stunned by Hunter’s report.

‘Pretty much,’ Hunter replied. His wrists were still bandaged. ‘Everything except taking a boy captive.’

‘And if nobody had stopped him, you think that he would’ve claimed thirty-three victims?’ Chief Bracco asked. He had been the one who had called for this particular meeting inside Captain Blake’s office.

‘Maybe more,’ Garcia replied. ‘What he wanted was for someone to stop him. To end his nightmare.’

Chief Bracco frowned at Garcia.

‘It never ended for him when he escaped all those years ago,’ Garcia explained. ‘All that happened was the second part of his nightmare began.’ He looked at Hunter, who agreed with a subtle nod. ‘If no one had stopped him, he would’ve just carried on going. Reaching thirty-three victims wouldn’t have brought it to an end.’

‘Forensics is still running tests inside that house of horrors,’ Captain Blake said. ‘They found all the video footage, together with a list of victims’ names. There were exactly thirty-three names on it but I think Carlos is right. If no one had stopped him, he would’ve carried on way past thirty-three.’

‘Nobody,’ Hunter added, ‘no matter how mentally stable they think they are, could go through six years of such torment and come out the other side unscathed, never mind a boy who was eleven at the beginning of it all. So the trauma was always there. Troy Sanders did manage to keep it under control for a hell of a long time. But finding out that the reason why he’d had to suffer so much for so long had been negligence, a series of mistakes made by the police and the FBI, tipped him over the edge. In a way, he had put his trust in those law enforcement agencies to keep him safe and to right him when he’d been wronged. Everybody does. And they —’ Hunter paused and corrected himself — ‘we failed him.’

No one said anything for a long while.

‘How did you find that godforsaken place?’ Captain Blake asked Hunter. ‘It’s not registered to anyone. It practically doesn’t exist.’

‘Sanders’ car,’ Hunter replied. ‘All LAPD vehicles are equipped with trackers. Once I found out that he was Squirm, I placed a call to Operations before calling Carlos and asked them to give me Sanders’ car location. I had to manually enter the coordinates into the navigation system.’

‘Well.’ Chief Bracco got to his feet. ‘All I can say is congratulations on a fantastic job.’ He shook Garcia’s hand, but Hunter just lifted both of his, showing the bandages.

‘Sorry, sir.’

‘No need,’ he said, approaching the door. ‘Now, back to work, or do you think Troy Sanders was the only psychopath in this town?’

Marlon Sloan was shaking a little as he began walking.

The detective that had come to his house that day had intrigued him. He had told him to disregard the advice of his therapist. He had told him that he could do this himself, all he needed to do was to walk about a block outside his comfort zone and take it from there. Marlon had decided to try it.

He carried on walking past the end of his road, his comfort zone. About a block and a half later, he reached a small park at the top of a hill. His breathing was labored, but not because he was tired.

The detective had told him that that would happen.

Marlon found a bench, which faced a small green area, and had a seat. He concentrated on his breathing and on how much he was shaking. He was scared, no doubt about that. He wanted to run back but he forced himself not to.