Jess Haines - Stalking the Others

I staggered back, reaching for the edge of the nearest building. I leaned over, and my chest heaved in an effort to take breaths to calm down, but they were coming so fast, too fast, I couldn’t stop seeing those eyes staring up—

“Hey! Hey, look—over here! You okay?”

I whirled at the sound of Jack’s voice. He was leaning out the driver’s side of his van and waving to get my attention, stopped at a light across the street. I gestured weakly for him to pull into the alleyway.

The headlights washed over the dirty concrete, the Dumpsters, piles of trash, the spill of blood, and the body. Jack didn’t move right away. I’m sure he must have realized what I’d done. The rest of the White Hats spilled out of the back of the van, looking around.

Bo came over to clap me on the shoulder. “You ran out of there like a speeding bullet! Watch out, or I’m gonna have to start calling you Wonder Woman. That wolf get away?”

I shook my head and pointed. Bo squinted at the shadows, then walked over to the body. Patrick and Jason soon joined him, giving low whistles.

“Did a number on that poor bastard,” Jason said. Though I was expecting disgust or horror, his tone was completely matter-of-fact. “Better get the water, bleach, and a tarp.”

“Got it.” Jack walked past me with some folded-up cloth and rope under one arm, and a couple jugs in the other hand.

I watched, mute and dull with shock, as Patrick and Jason rapidly rolled Vic’s body into the tarp and tied it shut, and then carried it to the back of the van. Bo leaned down to pick up the gun I’d dropped, handing it back to me. He didn’t say anything about the way my hand shook when I took it from him. He then proceeded to take one of the jugs from Jack, and the two of them tore the seals off and used the water to rinse away some of the blood and bits of bone and brain matter from the cement. They followed up with some bleach, I guess to keep anybody from finding any DNA evidence to connect us to the scene.

My stomach did a queasy flip at this, watching as they did a quick, practiced job of clearing away at a casual glance any signs of the murder I’d just committed. Jack finished off the job by pulling a Swiss army knife from his back pocket and using the pliers to pry the bullet out of the concrete. Bo urged me to follow him back into the van.

Nikki was in the passenger seat. Adam was slumped in the back. Both were looking the worse for wear, but neither surprised nor impressed with the body. Or me, for that matter. Everyone else was quiet as we sat down on the benches opposite Keith’s equipment, squished together, as Jack pulled out and headed for home. For my part, I could only sit and watch in a numb haze, occasionally picking at the flakes of dried blood on my hands.

I’d just killed a man. It hadn’t been out of self defense. It hadn’t even been because he was a real threat to me. The belt was controlling me more than I’d ever guessed. Even if it had forced me to move, I’d knowingly put it on and let it take me over. Known that it wanted to do more than hurt. That it was made to hunt and kill.

Who had Vic Thomasian really been? Did he have a wife I’d just widowed? Kids? Parents still alive? Someone waiting at home, someone who cared about him, wondering where he was?

That man was dead tonight, and it was all my fault.

With the plastic-covered lump at my feet, I could think of nothing else as we drove in silence back to City Island.

(Days left to full moon: 18)

Unlike the others in the van, I couldn’t find it in me to catnap on the way back. The belt, usually busy making cracks and bothering me all night with observations or requests, had gone silent. The only sound breaking the hiss of tires on asphalt and Jason’s snoring was the occasional wet cough from Jack. My elbows rested on my knees, and I bent over to stare down at the tarp-covered lump at my feet. There was a touch of dark, rusty red spattered on the outside of the treated blue fabric that kept drawing my eye again and again.

The time on the dash read 1:42 AM. I had eighteen days left until the full moon, and the only hope I’d had of finding Chaz had been dashed along with Vic’s brains in the shadows of that stinking alley back in Jersey.

And I’d just made myself even more of a monster than I might already be turning into.

If I didn’t need the belt so badly, the minute the sun rose, I would have burned the damned thing.

Bo had put his arm around me at some point. I hadn’t noticed until his fingers tightened on my shoulder, squeezing to get my attention. I pushed a few red curls out of my eyes and tilted my head to peer up at him, noting his somber expression.

“It’s your first time killing one, isn’t it?”

I frowned before resuming staring down at the body, avoiding the concern in his gaze.

“You don’t have to beat yourself up over it. The first time is always rough.”

That prompted a surprised, bitter laugh out of me. I kept my voice low, acutely aware of Jack’s sudden scrutiny through the rearview. “Are you kidding? Is that supposed to make me feel better? This guy is dead, Bo, and I did it. Me. What did he do to deserve it, other than be different from us?”

Bo’s brows knitted, and he hunkered down over his knees, answering me as quietly as I had him. “Do you really think he was innocent? He was a Sunstriker, Shia. He must have known what he was signing on for.”

I thought about Scott, the Were who had accidentally become infected in a bar fight and been taken in by the Sunstrikers because no one else would have him. Though I hadn’t met him, I’d heard his story when I went up to the Catskills with the rest of the pack—less than a month ago, back when I’d been scratched by the talons of a shifted werewolf. Like me, Scott hadn’t asked for the infection, and I was certain he hadn’t signed on with the Sunstrikers knowing what they were really up to. Would he be press-ganged into the fight against me? Was he one of the Weres working to kill me?

‘Being a victim doesn’t make him innocent.’

A low sound escaped my throat, helpless anger rising at the belt’s attitude and my own inability to decide upon a direction for my moral compass. And what if I didn’t turn into a monster? What if Arnold found a cure? He’d promised he would try. Maybe there was still some hope for me to remain human, even if I was damned for my actions.

‘The mage can’t help you. There is no such spell.’

That made me flinch.

‘You were consumed with thoughts of murder when you left the vampire’s building. You’re suppressing them, but they re still there, hiding in the darkest parts of your mind. You’re committed to this, aren’t you? Stopping the moon-chasers. They hurt you, and they killed that reported Or have you forgotten?’

I shook my head and looked at Bo, torn between rage and anguish. “What if Vic was like me? What if he’d been infected by accident, and was just trying to get by? I’ll never know for sure, and now I don’t even know what we’re going to do with his body. What if he has kids, or a family somewhere? They wouldn’t want to see him like this.”

“They won’t,” Jack said, jerking my attention to the front of the van. Bo sat back as I did, withdrawing his arm. Somehow the loss of his touch made Jack’s words colder, harder to bear. “We’ll be taking him out on the boat and dropping him somewhere offshore. Someone will report him missing, eventually. We took care of the security feeds and cleaned up signs of the fight from the parking lot at The Tease. They’ll find his car, and someone might remember he walked out with some blonde, but there’s very little chance it will ever be connected to the White Hats. Or to you, Shiarra. ”