Talking to Strangers

Chapter 1

A tired Captain Howdy lit a cigarette, taking a much deserved break after packing the last of his belongings into the van. Sitting on the rear bumper, the broad-shouldered man scrutinized the mud on his boots. He had a long drive ahead of him. It would take him an hour to get out of Helverton, then another six into Nebraska. As long as he steered clear of the main roads, he should avoid any interception by police officials—who he suspected were already hunting him down by now.

He'd left Roth and Sunny to be discovered on their own—more or less alive. Their newly transformed bodies were an improvement, to say the least.

Such worthless human beings.. He could've easily punctured their throats with a surgical needle and left them to bleed to death, just as they'd left him dangling from that tree. That would've been the fair thing to do. But death would have been merciful, and the very last thing they deserved was mercy.

Carl Hendricks was no more. For three grueling years he'd complied to rehabilitation in that God awful institute, suppressing his malice with therapy and drugs. The doctors had assured everyone that he'd been "cured", but all it took was a few idiots to open Pandora's Box. The reawakened Captain Howdy was twice as fierce, ready to seek vengeance on those who'd done him wrong.

Regrettably he could not stick around to escalate his comeback on Detective Gage, despite how much he wished to take that shiny badge he wore so proudly and crush it beneath his foot. So instead he'd taken his sweet time vicariously torturing Genevieve, sliding each and every needle into her flesh with most careful precision, relishing in her moans of pain. He imagined the priceless look on the Detective's face once he realized he'd failed his own daughter—not once, but twice—to the same twisted man.

Captain Howdy had left Genevieve suspended in a brilliant web of nylon wire anchored from every edge of her naked silhouette, an image surely to be engrained in the Detective's psyche for the rest of his life.

And she would be his last human masterpiece in this loathsome town. He wasn't running away, per se. It was simply time to disappear. His reign of terror had exhausted this place, and this place had exhausted him. Nearly every resident of Helverton knew his name and face. He had no choice but to migrate elsewhere if he hoped to proceed with his rituals on the weak-minded.

'Every city in America is ripe with foolish teenagers,' he brooded. 'All of them eager for a good time. It's time to take this party on the road.'

He heard the faint sounds of sirens in the distance. He climbed into the driver's seat of the van. With a turn of the ignition the vehicle growled to life, with Pantera blasting through the radio. Boxes of piercing equipment rattled in the back as he maneuvered through traffic, which was rather nonexistent at this time of night. Still, he kept his speed at a minimal. The journey ahead was going to be a long one, but he had plenty of time to spare.