Robert Bidinotto - Hunter

“No,” he said, looking at the bare surface of his desk. “Wonk, what’s wrong?”

“It is all over the news! He tied up his sister and took her car…and they are all looking for him, now…but they believe he…is on the run!”

“Wonk, settle down. Take a breath. Okay, now tell me. Who are we talking about?”

“Wulfe! Adrian Wulfe! Dylan, they gave him a furlough, and-”

“What?” He shot to his feet.

“A Christmas furlough. From his prison. Apparently on Monday. He was to stay with his sister. She told the police that he had wanted to borrow her car. She refused, and then he beat her, tied her up, and then left in the stolen car. That was last night. A friend found her like that this afternoon.”

Those bastards.

“Imagine! His own sister! Dylan, he is so dangerous. There is no telling how many people he will harm before they find him.”

“I know, I know… Look, we need to think this through. Maybe we have some nugget of information that will lead me to him.”

“You?”

“I mean the police. Listen, you start going over his files again, and maybe we’ll talk in a few hours.”

“All right, I shall start right away… Oh-and Dylan?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for thinking of me and calling.” His voice quavering.

“Merry Christmas, Wonk,” he said gently.

“Merry Christmas, Dylan.”

*

He set down the phone on the desk. Checked his watch. Just after midnight, now.

Dammit.

He thought of that shrink, Frankfurt. That prick. This had to be his doing. He couldn’t care less about the victims of sadists like Wulfe. They didn’t count. How could he possibly sit there with Wulfe beside him, and look someone like Susanne Copeland in the face, while-

The cold sensation started on his skin, then crawled inside his body.

Susanne’s desperate call…

Annie.

No.

No, God no-

He snatched up the phone, punched in her cell phone number.

Held his breath, waiting for the connection.

Maybe she was still on the road… Maybe he could still reach her…stop her in time…

Heard the chirp of the first ring tone in his ears.

Pick up, Annie…

The cat, sitting at his feet. Staring at him…

Another chirp.

Pick it up!

Another chirp.

Closed his eyes.

Annie, please answer…

Tysons Corner, Virginia

Thursday, December 25, 12:03 a.m.

The quiet sobs brought her around. That, and the feeling of something jerking her arms.

It took several blinks for her eyes to fully open and focus. Her head was hanging down and she was seeing her lap. A narrow band of blue cloth crossed over her dress at the waist and disappeared somewhere behind her, at both sides. Her arms were drawn behind her, her hands felt squeezed together. Someone was tugging on her wrists.

She remembered…

She raised her head. She was in the den. She saw her fur coat in a heap on a nearby chair. Her purse was open, and its contents had been dumped on the floor.

She turned to the source of the sobs.

Susie. Beside her, about six feet away, in a wooden chair. Her legs tied to its legs, with colored strips of cloth…men’s ties. Her arms pulled behind the back of the chair, hands bound together. Her white blouse torn, exposing her bra. Her dark red hair unclasped, wild, disheveled. A red welt on her cheek, tears welling from eyes filled with despair.

“Annie…I am so sorry,” she whispered.

Movement behind her.

He stepped into view, moved in front of them, stopped and faced them both.

Adrian Wulfe smiled.

“Now Susanne, there’s no need to apologize. Annie, you should know that your loyal friend here truly tried to resist. She didn’t want to make that phone call. She really didn’t. But I made it so that she just couldn’t help herself. Isn’t that right, Susanne?”

“I’m sorry, Annie,” she repeated.

“It’s okay, Susie.”

“‘Susie,’” he repeated. “Not ‘Susanne.’ All right, Susie and Annie, we’ll dispense with the formalities, then. Call me ‘Addie.’ My bitch mother did.”

She looked up at him. “So, Addie, is this how you’re working out your issues with Mommy?”

He lost the smile. Reached her in one giant stride. Drew his huge left hand up to his waist, then back across his body, then whipped it forward, backhanding her across her face.

Seeing it coming, she jerked her head to the right and leaned as it struck, trying to diminish the impact. Still, it hit with the force of a jackhammer, a loud banging crack that rattled her teeth and sent a spear of pain through her skull. She felt her chair falling to the right, but his hand snatched her arm and pulled her back to vertical.

Her head throbbed and swayed. She just couldn’t quite keep it upright and centered. Somewhere, Susie was screaming.

Wulfe knelt before her, his face spinning and drifting crazily in front of her half-closed eyes. He grabbed her chin, steadying her head. His dead gray eyes bored into hers.

“Ever since that day, I’ve been waiting for this one,” his voice rumbled, barely above a whisper. “You two thought you were so high and mighty, so unreachable. Especially you. I remember every word you and your dear friend here said to me. Every word. I didn’t have much to do all day in prison. So, do you know how I filled my time? I wrote out those words of yours. Then I counted them. Then, I imagined a specific penalty for each word.”

He released her chin, then stood.

“None of the penalties will be fatal. But after a short time, Annie and Susie, you will wish they were. We’re going to be here for a long, long time, you and I.”

He turned away, went to an end table holding a large brown paper bag. He picked it up and there was the sound of metallic chinking. He set it on a coffee table, then dragged the table and positioned it before them.

Then he dumped the bag’s contents onto the table top.

Kitchen knives. Garden tools. Screwdrivers. Hammers. Nails…

“Susie, you and Arthur certainly kept your home well-supplied.”

She shrieked. It became a long, low keening wail.

Annie had to close her eyes. She felt herself start to shiver. She had expected to be raped. Then to be murdered. She had already begun to prepare herself, to try to detach herself from her body, to let whatever happened, happen, until it stopped forever.

But this…

The shivering became uncontrollable. She tried to think of something to say, something that would stop him-even delay this, if only for a moment. But her brain was paralyzed, overwhelmed with the horror and the pounding pain in her head.

“You don’t have to do this,” she could only manage to croak.

He picked up a box cutter. Twisted his head around to look at her. Bounced it in his palm. Smiled.

“Oh, but I do.”

Then he paused. “You know, there’s something missing.” He snapped his fingers. “I know! We need a witness to these proceedings.”

He turned and went to the bookcase. Found a framed photo of Arthur Copeland. Brought it back to the coffee table. Put it down on the table, facing Susie.

“No!” She was panting rapidly, gasping, her breathing out of control, hyperventilating. Her eyes, enormous in terror, moved back and forth wildly, from the box cutter in his hand to the photo.

He stood, looked at the photo. Rubbed his chin. Then reached down to reposition it.

“There, Susie. That’s better.”

He turned to face her.

Her lips parted, her eyes lost their focus, and her head slumped forward on her chest.

He went to her, felt her neck with his fingers.

“Why, the little minx has fainted dead away. Oh, well. She’ll keep.”

He turned to face her. “Let’s start with you, then. Just look at you, all dressed up. What a nice Christmas present for me. Let’s unwrap the package and see what’s inside.”