Chris Carter - The Executioner

Time was up.

Tyler took a step forward, aimed the gun at Garcia’s head and squeezed the trigger.

Mollie Woods closed her eyes and allowed the strong jet of hot water to massage her stiff muscles. A thin gauze of steam had filled the tiny bathroom and was now creeping under its door and into the small hallway. It’d been a few hours since she had the vision, and still she couldn’t stop shaking. She knew he was coming for her. She saw blood and panic and fear, and she had to run away.

She leaned against the white tiles and wondered if she’d done the right thing. She didn’t know many people in LA. In fact, the only real friend she’d made since she arrived three years ago had been Susan Zieliski. Susan had told Mollie once, who she knew as Monica, that if she ever needed anything she could always count on her.

Mollie was shivering and crying when she knocked on Susan’s door less than an hour ago. Her friend was instantly worried, and Mollie fed her a silly story about an argument and a breakup with her boyfriend.

‘I didn’t even know you had a boyfriend,’ Susan said, giving Mollie a comforting hug. ‘He didn’t hit you, did he? Because if he did we should call the cops on the jerk.’

They talked for a while over a pot of freshly brewed coffee. Mollie had to snowball her story into a much bigger lie.

‘You should stay here tonight, Monica,’ Susan said. ‘Actually, you can stay for as long as you like. I’d love the company.’

Mollie’s smile said a silent ‘thank you’.

‘You look cold. Why don’t you go and have a hot shower and I’ll fix us something to eat. Then I can tell you about some great news I had today.’

Mollie turned off the water and slid open the cubicle door. Her clothes lay coiled on the floor where she had stepped out of them. Susan had supplied her with clean towels, so she wrapped one around her body and used the other as a turban around her wet hair. With her right hand she cleared a circular patch on the misty mirror and stared at her face.

She had decided that she’d call Hunter, at least to let him know she was OK. She’d been unfair with him when all he’d tried to do was help her. And in her fear of what might happen, she’d broken her promise to him and turned off her cell phone.

Suddenly, a disturbing sensation ran the length of Mollie’s body. Frightened, she turned around and faced the bathroom door as if someone was there, staring at her. She was sure she’d heard something that sounded like a muffled scream. She stood perfectly still for a moment listening, but the only sound she could hear was the slow drip from the showerhead. With trembling hands, she reached for the handle and pulled the bathroom door open just enough for her to be able to peek outside. All the lights were off.

‘Susan?’ Mollie called in an uncertain voice.

Silence.

Cautiously, she stepped into the corridor and waited.

Nothing.

To the left the small living room and the kitchen, to the right the bedroom, but the apartment looked lifeless – it felt lifeless.

‘Susan? Is everything OK?’ Her voice had started quivering with tears. With frail steps, Mollie went left, leaving delicate, wet footprints on the hardwood floor. She wasn’t familiar with the apartment’s layout, which was now illuminated only by the light that escaped from the bathroom. She used her hands to warily feel her way forward and stopped as she reached the living room. An uncontrollable rush of fear made her convulse and she tried in vain to fight the tears that blurred her vision.

‘Susan, where are you?’

Mollie cleared her eyes and took one more step forward.

The bathroom light went off behind her.

Hunter had run out of time.

With deadly determination, Tyler raised his weapon, aiming it at Garcia’s head and pulled the trigger.

Click – nothing.

Tyler’s face burned with rage and confusion as he tried one more time, but again the gun didn’t fire.

In a flash, Hunter jumped to his feet, his hands magically freed from the handcuffs. Before Tyler could react, Hunter delivered a well-placed punch into his ribs, crushing the air out of his lungs. He tumbled to the floor but managed to swing his right leg around with tremendous force, hooking away Hunter’s legs. Hunter hit the ground hard with the small of his back, the impact sending a sickening shudder through the rest of him. Awkwardly, he immediately rolled left, anticipating and escaping Tyler’s follow-through head-crushing kick.

Tyler never let go of the gun. He finally realized what had happened. Before Hunter placed his weapon on the floor and kicked it over as he was ordered to do, he’d skillfully thumbed the safety into the lock position. Clever . It gave Hunter the precious seconds he needed to react. But Tyler wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice. He unlocked the weapon, swung his arm around and fired.

Hunter rolled right this time, but not fast enough. As the deafening gunshot noise echoed through the basement room, he felt a searing, nauseating pain envelop his left arm. He had to think quickly. He knew a second shot was coming fast. Before Tyler could aim the gun again, Hunter’s instincts took over and he kicked out. His left boot found the same patch of ribs as his fist moments earlier.

Winded, momentarily powerless and propelled by Hunter’s kick, Tyler’s defensive reaction was to roll away towards the metal table and underneath it to the other side, creating a temporary barrier between him and Hunter.

They both got to their feet at the same time. Blood was dripping down Hunter’s arm, but he knew he’d been lucky. He’d heard the bullet explode against the wall behind him, which meant that despite the excruciating pain the bullet had exited his arm cleanly. No bone or major arteries were hit. He saw the gun in Tyler’s right hand rising towards him again. This time Hunter was certain luck wouldn’t be so kind. In a desperate survival reaction, he jumped forward. His good arm stretched high above his head in a diving position. He knew he couldn’t get to Tyler from where he was, but he could get to the metal table. And that’s exactly what he did, pushing it and smashing its edge into Tyler’s upper thighs. Unbalanced, Tyler stumbled back, crashing hard against the brick wall. But he still held onto the gun. His eyes burned with murderous hate as he lifted his head, searching for Hunter, his finger tense against the trigger once again.

Left – nothing.

Right – nothing.

Where the hell was he?

Hunter’s sweeping floor kick came from under the table, taking Tyler’s legs from beneath him. Tyler flew up in the air and hit the floor awkwardly with a cracking noise. Shoulder first followed by his head. The impact strong enough to fill his vision with splashing balls of light for a couple of seconds. As they faded, his eyes focused on the barrel of a gun.

‘As I said before,’ Hunter said, holding Garcia’s gun that’d fallen to the floor when the metal table was pushed. ‘It’s over, Dan.’

Hunter cuffed Tyler’s hands behind his back using the same handcuffs he’d escaped from less than a minute ago.

‘Carlos, wake up.’ Hunter tapped his face.

A nervous twitch followed by incoherent mumble.

Another face tap. ‘Carlos, are you OK?’

Garcia coughed, spitting out blood. He blinked several times as his eyes adjusted to the poor light.

‘What the fuck happened?’ he asked, looking at the mess in the room, a captured Dan Tyler and a bleeding Hunter.

‘You don’t really wanna know,’ Hunter said, freeing Garcia from the chair.