Series of Death, Draft 02, CH 21 (Patreon)

Marlot looked at the map Tracker 2.0 had constructed of Shortfur’s movements. To that, he’d added information, like marking some locations she went to more often than others. Her hunting grounds, her workplace, the stores, friends, and family. The program couldn’t establish the why of the places she went to, so that fell to him.

He’d intended on marking the ambush areas along the routes, but there were too many of them. He couldn’t confirm it, but he suspected the city had been designed by predators, those alleys that looked perfect for prey to lose their hunter in, turned out to funnel into ambush points; or only have limited exits. Unless one could gain access to their homes from them, fleeing to the alleys played in the predator’s favor.

That was without even considering the safety features on buildings like fire escapes, which doubled as a perch for predators who liked to pounce on their meals.

Delmer Shortfur stepped out of her house and Marlot shadowed her, careful not to be noticed. She seemed nervous; today was the first day she’d called in sick and he hadn’t expected her to go out, since she had ample meat. She was safe from the hunter at this moment, as he’d been forcefully reminded with the moose. The hunter didn’t kill outside, but there were others to worry about.

Her nervousness and small stature could lead someone hungry enough to consider her prey. To ensure he could catch the hunter, he’d have to protect her if some predator tried it. He’d only slow them, give her time to run. He’d learned his lesson with the moose. He’d be controlled and focused.

The store was one she frequented often; it sold a variety of food items and drinks. The kind of things someone might need to tide them over until their next hunt, or to spice up their food also, he realized as Delmer bought packages of spices, dried herbs, and some greens from the wide selection of vegetable the store offered for the prey population in the neighborhood.

Delmer was a baker; Tracker 2.0 hadn’t noted that. Not that it could, Marlot hadn’t known either until he saw her purchases. Was that important? Something he needed to better track someone? He’d have to enable the program to get into the store’s computer to find what a specific person bought.

Too complicated for too little returns.

Once she was back inside her house, Marlot returned to his car to warm up. He called up the information he had on the other bodies. Tracker 2.0 didn’t have as much luck with them. Information decayed over time as it got stored in private servers or simply erased as not important. Had any of them called in sick? If the hunter hacked their pad, it would tell them when his prey was ripe. Radima had, but he hadn’t thought to look at the others.

He tried to remember from when he’d handed the IDs back. Most had been nervous and at home, but he didn’t know if they’d called their workplace.

A call came in—unknown number—and he ignored it.

A look through the information he’d compiled on Arlant Shines confirmed he’d called in sick. He hadn’t made a note about it on Brakan Goldeneyes, but he had called her work. He called again, claiming to be from the Revenue Bureau and that he was looking to fill in some void in the jaguar’s information. Companies were accommodating to the Bureau so long as he didn’t pry too deeply into their productivity, he’d discovered.

Brakan had also called in sick.

Before her had been a badger, Oldric Digger. He couldn’t get information from his workplace, but by the time he was done, he remembered him. He’d returned his ID just before being forced to return to Low Valley.

Just before his life fell apart. Before Trembor walked out on him.

A call—the same number. They’d realized they had to wrong person soon enough.

He brought up pictures of the lion. His shirt and jacket opened to reveal his golden fur; his dark mane flowing over his chest. Marlot closed his eyes and breathed in, trying to recall the scent; the feel of Trembor’s arms around him, his body pressing against his.

His pad buzzed again—the same number—and this time he stared at it because the alternative was wallowing in self-pity. In missing Trembor. Three times felt like this was no longer a wrong number.

“Registered Investigator Blackclaw speaking,” he said, wiping at his eyes.

“Hello Mister Blackclaw,” the person greeted him. He couldn’t tell the gender. The voice was in that range where males and females, and the young could all be in. “Or do you prefer Marlot?”

“Can I help you with something?” he said, trying to identify the voice. It had no distinctive feature, no accents, barely any inflection. Could someone sound like that unless they made an effort?

“I’ll stick to Mister Blackclaw, then.”

Marlot looked around reflexively. “That’s fine. But I’d like to know why you called. If you’re reporting a body, there’s a call-in line for that.”

The person chuckled. “I’m calling to say that I’m happy you’re feeling better.”

“What?”

“Watching you mope around was getting a little discouraging. So I’m pleased you are finally getting over the break-up.”

Marlot let out a bitter bark of a laugh. “What makes you think I’m over anything?” he frowned. Watching him? He studied the people on the street. He’d picked this spot because it had a good line of sight to Delmer’s small house, but he was in view of anyone looking.

“I see.” Had that been disappointment? The voice was so well controlled Marlot couldn’t be sure. “I’d thought the energy you displayed in handling the moose meant you were back to your old self.” A chuckle. “That was quite the display.”

Marlot searched harder. Watching him, aware of what had happened in the precinct.

“Can ask you a question?” the person asked, then continued. “Why did you pay for the wolverine? You didn’t kill her. So she wasn’t your responsibility.”

“I was hungry,” he answered before he thought to stop himself. He shouldn’t be providing any information to that person, not if they were who he thought they were. How could he find out? How closely did they watch him?

“As for being over anything,” Marlot said, “I will never be over losing my cougar.”

“Perfect!” the laughter was more like that or female, this couldn’t be a child. But when they continued, they sounded almost like a male. “You are well enough to try to trick me.” The way their voice was in that indistinct range was maddening. “But I need to know, do you really need the lion in your life to be better, or did you just say that as part of trying to trick me?”

“Why do you care?” Marlot replied, angrier than he’d intended.

“I—” the hesitation felt genuine. “I’m not—” the sigh had a hint of annoyance in it. “It’s important. I can’t tell you why.”

Why was his relationship with Trembor important to this person? The confusion made him hesitate. He shouldn’t be telling them anything. “I need him,” He admitted. “I need to hear his voice, catch his scent.”

“Then why did you storm off when you met him? Didn’t I give you both the perfect opportunity to talk?”

“You’re the hunter.” At least he didn’t need to come up with a way to get them to admit it now.

“I am.” There might have been smugness in the tone.

“I tried to talk with him,” Marlot said, then sighed. “He won’t tell me anything. He acted like I’d…. I don’t know. Like I’d told him he couldn’t see his nieces and nephews ever again.”

“That seems extreme of a reaction.”

“You don’t know how attached he is to his family.”

“Are relationships always this difficult?”

Marlot frowned. “Don’t you know?”

“I—” another hesitation. “Not really. None of the people I’ve asked have been very forthcoming.”

“Asked? Haven’t you been in a relationship?”

The silence stretched. “Not in something like what you and Trembor had. Or those I asked.”

He shouldn’t be talking with the hunter. Shouldn’t be engaging with them. It wasn’t like he’d gain anything from this. Except maybe clues as to who they were.

“I guess it can be. I didn’t see the break-up coming. Before that, we were both so happy, or at least I thought we were.”

“So you were always happy? Until he walked away from you?”

“Of course not,” Marlot chuckled. “Life isn’t simple. We had arguments and disagreement, but we talked, we resolved it. Even when we argued, when I was with him, I felt more alive than any times before, or after.”

Wait, how did they know Trembor had walked away?

“I need to know one last thing,” the hunter said. “And this is extremely important.”

Marlot rolled his eyes. “Go ahead.” This game was starting to be tedious. It felt like Marlot was the only one giving information.

“If you had the chance for an honest conversation with the lion. To understand his reasons, for him to understand why you did what you did. Would you take it?”

“Of course,” Marlot answered. “Why do you think I keep trying to call him? Trying to find ways to get him to talk to me? I need him.”

“Good, I—”

“Good? Are you fucking kidding me? Look, I’m done playing. Why are you doing this? Why are you sending me those IDs? You are the one doing that, right? I’m not doing with two people who are off the trails, right?”

“I called to say thank you for keeping our game private. When you went into the office with the bear, I was worrying you’d tell her what was going on. Having to deal with more people would have been bothersome.”

“Game? This isn’t a game, you’re leaving bodies to rot!”

“They got what they deserved.” The words were cold, the voice deeper. Definitely male, Marlot decided. “I gave them a chance, they didn’t take it.”

“What chance?”

“That’s not important. Now you need to—”

“No. The IDs, why? You had to know I’d work things out with them. Is that why you sent them to me?” Hunters were insane, Marlot reminded himself.

“I knew, and yes, that’s why I sent them to you. To be honest, I was hoping we’d be done with this by now, but your relationship issue did get in the way, that was out of either of our control, I think.”

“You want me to catch you?” That ran contrary to what he’d read, to what he’d experienced with Ruxol. Hunters were supposed to get off on the feelings of killing, to never want it to stop. It was why they did it, in the end. Ruxol had fought hard to prevent being stopped.

“I have to be stopped.”

Marlot didn’t know what to say at the sadness in the voice. Or was that his imagination? Marlot wanting the hunter to feel remorse for what he did?

“If you know you have to be stopped, turn yourself over to the enforcers.” It hurt to say it. It would cost him the chance to show Trembor he could catch the hunter the right way, but this was the right thing to do too. Maybe he could get the hunter to tell the lion he’d turned himself over because of this conversation.

“No.”

Marlot fought against the relief he felt. “Do you, or don’t you want to be stopped? Or was all of this just meaningless words to get me to open up to you?”

“A soldier does not surrender to the enemy!” Definitely a male voice. The soldier mention would make him someone from the protectors, or who imagined himself as one of them.

“The enforcers aren’t the enemy. They’re there to keep everyone safe,” as a thought to test the male he added. “Just like the protectors do.”

The snort was loud, but the hunter didn’t add anything.

When he didn’t add anything, Marlot asked. “If you aren’t going to turn yourself over, why not just stopped?” The research said they couldn’t, but the why was never addressed.

“I tried,” the hunter said after a silence. “At first, I thought just fighting you would be enough to keep the urge in check.”

They’d fought?

“But it didn’t work, I met—”

Marlot tried to remember everyone he fought while waiting for the hunter to continue. He’d fought others at the gym; while waiting for Trembor to arrive, or on days where the lion couldn’t make it, but he’d never kept track. He realized the silence had gone long. Whatever the hunter had started to say he couldn’t complete.

“Then end it,” Marlot said. “Turn yourself into meat.”

The hunter sighed. “Could you give up? Could you abandon your mission before it’s complete?”

“Leaving bodies to rot isn’t a mission. I’m not breaking one of our core laws.”

“But you are breaking laws,” the hunter replied. “Why aren’t you stopping?”

“Because I do what I have to to get things done,” Marlot snapped.

“Same as me,” the hunter replied, and Marlot was certain he heard a smile in the voice. “And the rotting bodies isn’t my mission, they’re a side effect.”

Hunters are utterly insane, Marlot decided. “Fine, why me?”

“At first, it was because I needed you to stop me.” He sighed, “Now, I’m not sure if I can afford to have you stop me, at least not until I’ve fixed things. I do wish I could stop myself, but it’s already too late this time, isn’t it?”

“What are you?”

The chuckle made him stop and stare at the house. Before he could ask the hunter what he’d done, the call ended.

Marlot ran to the house and banged on the door. When no answers came he considered hacking the lock, but that would be evidence he’d been here and since he had her ID, he’d be considered the killer and be forced to pay her tax.

Maybe she wasn’t dead; maybe she was a heavy sleeper, even if it was early for a nap. He ran around to the back of the house, checking every window he passed.

He found her body in the kitchen. The back door was unlocked, but he didn’t go in, didn’t touch it in case some of his fur stick to the handle. This wasn’t his territory. He just looked at her through the glass.

He brought up the number the hunter had called from and called it back. Music came from tall grasses by the fence separating the backyard from the alley. It was vaguely familiar; music from some action movie, he thought. He had to call it again before he located the pad.

With it in hand, he looked in the alley. No one stood in it, waiting for Marlot to see them before running off. But he had the hunter’s pad now. Hopefully, he’d be able to get information from it. Using the alley to walk to his car, he called the reporting line using the hunter’s pad. This ensured the body would be in a freezer before it rotted. Once the hunter was caught, it would be released and it would feed someone.

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