Chris Carter - The Executioner

‘And die she will,’ John said, lifting his gun. ‘And so will you.’

Hunter saw the determination in John’s eyes as he tightened his finger around the trigger.

Game over.

The thunderous gunshot was muffled by the torrential rain that drummed the windows. The wall behind him was splashed with blood, bits of flesh and skin. The air was instantly filled with the smell of cordite.

Hunter’s body slumped forward, but in a last charge of strength he managed to hold onto the wall with his good arm. The combination of the loss of blood and the adrenalin of the moment gave him an incredible headrush and he lost his balance for an instant. As his eyes regained focus, he saw John Woods fall to his knees. Blood dripping from the gunshot wound in his right hand that’d obliterated three of his fingers. His mouth was half open, his eyes staring up in horror. Only then Hunter saw her. Mollie was holding Hunter’s gun John had kicked to the side. He saw her cock the hammer, ready for a second shot.

‘Mollie, don’t,’ Hunter called, dashing forward – both of his palms facing her in a wait gesture. ‘Don’t do it.’

She was shaking. Tears streaming down her face. ‘He killed Su… Susan. He was going to kill you.’

‘I understand, Mollie. But this time it’s really over. Let me deal with this.’

From the floor, John Woods let out an animalistic grunt before vomiting explosively. The pain of lost fingers, broken bones, torn ligaments and the loss of blood proving too much for him.

‘He raped me so many times.’ There was no anger in her voice, only pain. Mollie’s gaze flipped back to Hunter. ‘I’m so scared.’

‘I know, honey.’ Hunter’s voice was tender and concerned. ‘But there’s nothing for you to be scared of anymore. It’s really over, I promise you. He won’t ever hurt anyone else.’

There was a sudden rush of footsteps along the corridor.

‘Drop the gun. Drop it now,’ two LAPD officers shouted. Their aims fixed on Mollie.

‘Hold on.’ Hunter turned and faced them with his hands up in surrender, putting his body between their guns and Mollie. ‘I’m Homicide Special Detective Robert Hunter.’ He gestured towards the badge on his belt. ‘This situation is under control. Lower your weapons.’

The officers exchanged anxious looks. ‘It doesn’t look under control to me, sir,’ one of them replied.

‘This is how I control my situations.’

Both policemen frowned.

‘Keep him under watch.’ Hunter nodded in John’s direction. ‘He’s the Slasher killer you guys have been looking for.’

‘What?’

‘You’ll probably find a knife on him with blood traces from all the Slasher’s victims.’ Hunter tilted his head sadly. ‘Unfortunately, there’s another victim in the living room.’

After a quick hesitation their guns moved their aim onto John Woods.

As Hunter spun around and faced Mollie again, he heard one of the officers radioing in the surprising news and requesting an ambulance.

‘C’mon, Mollie,’ Hunter whispered, stepping closer, grabbing a towel from the floor and offering it to her.

The tense moment between them seemed to last a lifetime.

She uncocked the gun and placed it in his hand. ‘You’re the only one who’s ever believed me. You’re the only one I trust.’

With tears in her eyes she hugged him.

Christmas Day

Garcia opened the door wearing the tackiest sweater Hunter had ever seen – a purple, red, pink and lime-green furry monstrosity that looked at least two sizes too big. His nose was bandaged as if he’d been through a nose job. Dark bruises under both of his eyes.

‘Whoa.’ Hunter jumped back pointing at Garcia’s sweater. ‘Does that thing bite?’

‘I know, I know.’ Garcia put on a face. ‘My mother knitted it for me. She brought it over this morning. I have to wear it or else she’ll be upset.’

‘She’s punishing you, that’s what she’s doing.’

‘Yeah, probably. Come in,’ Garcia said, showing him into the apartment. The Christmas tree in the far corner of the room was alive with flickering lights and decorations. Soft, old-fashioned seasonal music and a rainbow of mouth-watering smells warmed the room.

‘How’s the arm?’ Garcia asked.

‘Still hurts, but nothing I can’t handle. I have to give the gym a miss for a few months, though.’

‘And that’s what worries you the most, isn’t it?’

Hunter shrugged. ‘How’s the nose?’

‘Broken. I’ll have to give up head-butting for a few months,’ he teased. ‘I heard you got a call from the mayor, and it wasn’t to talk about his wife.’

An indifferent shrug this time.

‘You’re flavor of the month, Robert. You’re in everyone’s good books, including Captain Blake and Chief Collins. Two serial killers in one night? That’s gotta be a new record. Did you hear they finally found James Reed?’

Hunter nodded.

‘We were right; he never left Los Angeles County. His lover lives in Ranchos Palos Verdes. We couldn’t find the car because it was in her garage. How’s Mollie?’

‘She’s OK, considering. She’s been sedated for the past two days.’

‘What’s gonna happen to her?’

A subtle shake of the head. ‘She will decide. She’s eighteen today, legally an adult. But I’ve already talked to a very good friend of mine who happens to be one of the best psychiatrists in Los Angeles. She agreed to see Mollie free of charge for as long as it takes. Mollie’s been through a hell of a lot and she’ll need a lot of help. I’ll do my best to be there for her.’

‘I know you will.’ Garcia smiled. ‘She can also count on me.’

‘I’m dropping by later this afternoon to wish her happy birthday and merry Christmas.’

‘Great. We’ll sort her out a huge plate with a bit of everything. Hospitals’ Christmas meal must suck. Besides, when Anna and my mom get together in the kitchen, they cook enough food to feed a platoon.’

‘I can see.’ Hunter nodded towards the table overcrowded with colorful dishes.

‘And there’s still more to come.’ Anna came out of the kitchen wearing a blue and white apron with the words ‘Kiss the chef’ across the front of it.

‘Don’t mind if I do,’ Hunter said with a smile and kissed her on both cheeks. He was introduced to Garcia’s mother, Janet, a tall and authoritative woman with perfectly styled short blond hair, dazzling blue eyes and the sweetest, most calming voice Hunter had ever heard.

During lunch, Hunter was amused by Janet’s stories of a young Garcia in Brazil.

‘So you used to be good at soccer?’ Hunter asked as he and Garcia did the dishes.

‘I still am,’ Garcia shot back proudly.

‘I’ll take your word for it.’

A few silent seconds went by.

‘There’s something I wanted to ask you, Robert.’

‘Shoot.’

‘I was handcuffed to the chair when I came to. It’s logical to assume Tyler cuffed you as well.’

‘He did.’ Hunter nodded.

‘How the hell did you get out of those handcuffs?’

Hunter smiled. ‘A trick I learned a long time ago.’

‘Care to share?’

‘I always keep two sets of cuff keys with me.’

‘Huh?’

‘I keep a set where everyone expects to find one – together with my handcuffs on my holster. That’s how I could throw Dan the keys when he asked for them. But here’s my magic trick.’ Hunter undid his belt.

‘Hey, hey. If Anna or my mom walks into the kitchen right now, this ain’t gonna look good.’

‘Relax.’ Hunter showed Garcia the secret pocket in the back of his belt. A set of handcuff keys safely tucked inside. ‘It happened to me once before a long time ago. So I decided it’d never happen again. If you ever get caught off guard and you end up handcuffed, nine out of ten times your hands will be cuffed behind your back.’