Disclaimer: See first chapter.
A Time to Kill
"In films murders are always very clean. I show how difficult it is and what a messy thing it is to kill a man." - Alfred Hitchcock (1899 - 1980)
There was that sound again. Carter stopped and listened, it was fainter now. Squinting his eyes, Carter inched closer to the noise which he was sure was coming from the brush ahead of him. Eyes adjusting to the darkness of the forest floor, he softly called, "Dr. Reid? Aiken?" Listening, ears straining to filter out the chatter of the night animals, he could just make out a dulcet whimper which differed from the rest of the whispers in the night.
"Dr. Reid? Aiken? Have you been hurt?" He tentatively called, reasoning that if they had been hurt or if the person who had killed Billy were with them, they might not be able to answer him. Still, calling out gave him something to do and it might just give those he called out to a measure of hope if they could hear him.
A soft crunch on the forest floor drew his attention to the right and made the fine hairs at the back of his neck stand up. Training his eyes where he thought the disturbance had come from; he fumbled with the flashlight still fastened to his utility belt. He hadn't needed it when their search party had been more of a unit, but now, with each of them branching off into different areas expanding the search, he pulled it out and aimed it in the direction he was looking.
The flickering light bounced off leaves wet from the recent storm before petering out completely without revealing the source of the noise which had drawn his attention. Damn, he banged the flashlight on the ground hoping to restore the beam, forgot to recharge the batteries. Returning the dead flashlight to his utility belt, he peered into the trees, trying unsuccessfully to pick out the source of the disturbance.
The beam of her flashlight bounced off the leaves of the trees and the weathered roots which snaked dangerously around her ankles, casting the forest in an eerie half-light. Stumbling over yet another root, the flashlight fell from her hand as a jarring pain shot through her.
"Crap," she muttered, bending to retrieve the flashlight and rub at her rapidly swelling ankle. Carter was a hundred yards off to her left, Peters a hundred yards ahead of her, and Rossi a hundred to the left of Carter. The search party had broken up to search in quadrants and, though each of them were within calling distance of one another, she didn't want to draw anyone's attention from the primary task of locating Reid and Aiken to attend her.
Assuring herself that the ankle wasn't broken, she picked up the flashlight and resumed her sweep of the area around her, careful to keep off her injured foot. Nothing but trees, leaves, roots, and dirt, and darkness beyond met her examination.
"Dr. Reid?" She listened to the night sounds, hoping that her colleague would return her call. If the unsub who had killed the clerk was holding the doctor and missing boy, she knew that the FBI agent would most likely be unable to call out to her, but she still had to try.
"Aiken?" She called and waited. Nothing but the sounds of the wind crashing through the trees, the warbled hoot of a lone owl, and the rustling of small night creatures met her strained ears. Were they even out there? What if they were on nothing more than a fool's errand? What if Reid and the missing boy had already been killed or what if they had already made it out of the woods and had gained access to the road beyond? They could be miles away and searching for them here could be a waste of time as well as resources.
Rossi stood still, allowing the beam of his flashlight to march slowly to the left and then to the right as he searched the darkness for a sign that his young colleague and Aiken were somewhere in the vicinity. Closing his eyes, he focused solely on the art of listening. Hearing the familiar sigh of the wind through the trees and dismissing it to the background, hearing the rustling of mice and other nocturnal beings in the underbrush and pushing those too to the back of his mind, he distinguished the nuances of each sound one after another until he had ushered every one of them into its rightful place and was able to truly listen for any sound that was out of the ordinary.
It was something that he had practiced when he had played, 'blind man's bluff,' and 'hide-and-go-seek,' as a child. His uncanny ability to recognize and then reduce each sound he heard to a low buzz at the back of his mind had enabled him to pick up on his friends' breathing patterns or the shuffling of their feet as he searched for them in mock blindness. He had been crowned, 'champion,' of both games numerous times and had never revealed the true secret to his success. Never letting on that honing his superb listening skills was the key.
The nearby snapping of a twig forced his eyes open and he played the ray of the flashlight to his left. A masked raccoon froze momentarily in the glare of the light and then quickly scampered away. Chuckling, Rossi took a cautious step forward.
Peters circled around, taking his time to cover every inch of his quadrant, not wanting to miss anything. He knew that time was of the essence, but also that rushing through a search would be of little help to Dr. Reid and Aiken. A proper search took time and patience. He wished they had had time to bring in some bloodhounds to aid in the search and knew that if their current search was unsuccessful, that would be the next step. He hoped it wouldn't come to that as their quarry would more than likely be dead at that point.
Sensing that he was not alone, Peters clicked his flashlight off and crouched. Using some low branches as camouflage, he peered out into the night, allowing his eyes to grow accustomed to the darkness. He willed his body to relax and stilled his breathing, making it even and regular, trying to make it barely discernable so that it could not be heard above the wind.
Resting his hand on the butt of his weapon, he searched the darkness with his eyes, keeping his movements to a bare minimum. Not wanting to give himself away if he were being watched by the same man who had killed Billy or simply a wild animal whose territory he had encroached upon, he consciously made each move and took each breath deliberately.
Instinctually, he hunkered down, making himself an even smaller target should an attack be launched. He had no idea where the man who had killed Billy was, but was not going to be taking any chances. He knew in his gut that someone or something was nearby and was determined to figure out who or what it was. He had been a police officer for the past twenty years and had come to rely on his instincts; they had saved his life and the lives of others on numerous occasions. He knew they wouldn't fail him now.
Hardy watched the officer closest to him, closest to finding Dr. Reid and Aiken. He looked to be about Dr. Reid's age, but was shorter and more muscular than the doctor. He also had darker hair and a complexion marred by the tell-tale pockmarks of youthful acne. The burning in his groin had not lessened and he was more than a little outraged that a search party, small as it was, had interrupted his playtime with his conquest.
True, he would be able to have more uninterrupted time with the doctor when they were far away from here and in the safety of his cabin, but still, it was simply appalling that his time had been cut short and when they were nearly at the apex.
Putting his gun away, he stalked the young officer with his eyes, running the blade of his knife along his thumb, pricking it. Bringing his thumb up to his mouth, he savored the tang of the saltiness on his tongue, missing the headier taste of the doctor's blood.
Hand-to-hand combat would do more than help assuage his burning groin; it would whet his appetite for the young doctor who was the antithesis of the man who now captured his attention. Killing this young officer would be a pleasure and a blessing. Giddy with excitement, Hardy grinned in anticipation of the struggle, hoping that the officer would be a worthy opponent.
Carter shivered in the cool night air as he inched toward the brush in front of him. Ignoring the prickling sensation that he was being watched and stalked, he shook it off in favor of his gut belief that Dr. Reid and Aiken were just a stone's throw away from him. If he could just get to them and determine whether they were safe and alone or not, he would be able to call out to the other searchers for help if necessary.
His legs felt like they were on fire as he prepared to stand and shake out the pins and needles which had taken up residence in them due to his self-imposed crouch. He felt silly as he once again brushed off the feeling that eyes were boring into him, plotting his death. Get a grip, this is ridiculous, you're not some hunter's prey. If the same man who killed Billy is here, he is holding Dr. Reid and Aiken hostage, not stalking me.
Prentiss bit back a cry of pain as she stumbled forward, using branches to help support her as she continued to look for Reid and the missing boy. Her ankle was throbbing and was swollen to nearly twice its original size.
"Dr. Reid, can you hear me?" Her voice sounded weak to her own ears and the final words hitched up at the end as a wave of pain rolled over her. Stopping, she rested her forehead against the trunk of a tree and lifted up the foot of her injured ankle. The movement stole her breath and sent her heart hammering its way forcefully up into her throat. Was she sweating?
Knowing that it would be of little use for her to continue the search physically, she lowered herself to the base of the tree she had used for support and sat down. Propping the swollen ankle on a particularly large root, she waited until the pain subsided before once again probing the injury for telltale signs of a break. Maybe she had missed something earlier.
Hissing at the pain, she leaned back as stars exploded in her vision and her head swam. Damn, it was a break.
Floundering with the flashlight she panned it to the left of her, searching for Carter as he was more than likely the closest to her. Peters was probably much further ahead as her ankle had slowed her down considerably more than she had expected it would.
Gathering her breath, she called out into the darkness, impenetrable beyond the arc of the beam of her flashlight, "Carter!"
Stopping to listen once again, Rossi's eyes followed the beam of his flashlight before sighing in defeat when it revealed nothing more than forest foliage. He closed his eyes and listened, blocking out the sounds of the forest around him.
"Dr. Reid!" He waited three heartbeats.
"Aiken!" He waited three more. An owl hooted in response.
Dr. Reid and Aiken were not here. The unsub who had killed the clerk at the gas station was not here. Turning away, Rossi began making his way toward Carter, guided by his flashlight. Maybe Carter and the others are having better luck than I am. If not, it was time to call off the search until daylight.
Peters could hear breathing nearby. His palms grew sweaty, his mouth dry. It sounded like there were two people; one's breathing was uneven and hitched, the other's shallow and labored. Like the two were involved in a wrestling match.
"Dr. Reid?" He risked calling out, "Aiken? Are you there? It's okay, my name is Officer Peters, I'm here to help you. Officer Carter, Agent Prentiss, Agent Rossi, and I have been looking for you. If you're able to, please let me know where you are." Nothing, no response, just the twinned strained breathing greeted his ears. He pulled his gun out of its holster. It was clear to him that maybe Billy's killer was the reason why Dr. Reid and Aiken had not answered him.
It had taken several painstaking minutes for him to work his way close enough to his target. Each movement he made was calculatedly matched to that of the officer. When the officer moved, Hardy moved. When his eyes searched the darkness, he stayed still. When the officer's eyes moved away, Hardy inched forward. It was like a game of cat-and-mouse. Hardy was childishly enjoying every minute of it. It would almost be a pity to bring the game to an end.
Hardy's smile grew wider as he quietly snuck up behind the officer and tapped him once on the shoulder. He had to bite back a laugh when the officer brushed at the tap as though it had merely been the tug of a branch on his uniform. The officer was aware of the presence of a predator, much like the deer Hardy had hunted in his youth, but, unlike the deer, he doubted his own instincts. Not that it would make much of a difference. In the end, Hardy always made his kill.
Carter brushed at a branch that had poked his shoulder. At the moment, he felt like one of those deer that his father, and reluctantly, he had hunted when he was younger. Sometimes, more often than not, they had known they were being hunted. He remembered, with crystal-sharp clarity, the first and only deer he had ever shot.
He had sighted the young single-point buck and would have been content to simply watch it through the sight on his rifle as it dined on the sweet patch of grass that it had found and let it go. It was his father, after all, who enjoyed the act of killing, not he. Unfortunately, his father had also spied the young buck and noticed that he had it in his sights. Grasping him by the shoulder, his father painfully squeezed it and leaned close to whisper into his ear.
"Now's your chance son, prove to me you're a man, take the shot," his father's breath, hot in his ear unnerved him and it took all of the self-control that he could muster not to jerk away from him. His father's hand rested heavily on his shoulder as he continued to watch the deer through the sight. He knew that he really didn't have a choice; he was an excellent shot and knew that his father would never believe that he could miss a shot at such a close range. Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, he silently prayed that the deer would spook and run away or move somewhere so that he would no longer have a clear shot at it.
Instead, the deer looked right at him, as though it had heard his frantic prayer. It did not spook or run away as Carter had hoped, but stared at him in curiosity, as though it knew what was about to happen and was helpless to do anything about it. Run you stupid deer, run! Don't you understand that you're about to die? He had silently pleaded with the animal. Still it continued to stare at him, absentmindedly flicking its ear as a fly landed on it, but making no other move to preserve its life.
"Take the shot son," his father's harsh whisper shattered his concentrated prayer, sending a shiver down his spine, causing his gut to clench in anxiety. His father's fingers dug painfully into his shoulder. The deer bowed its head and Carter squinted his eyes shut as he fired his weapon, the recoil punching him painfully in the shoulder. His father released the painful grip he had held his son with and clapped his hand on his back in pride.
"Well done son, nice clean shot," they both stood, Carter on shaky legs. His father led the way to the downed deer. The shot had hit it square in the chest and felled it, but it was not yet dead. It watched the men approach, a look of shock, pain, and, to Carter, accusation, in its wild eyes. Terror also glazed its eyes as its breathing grew increasingly labored.
"Go ahead son, end its suffering," his father had patted him on the back, his jovial voice in stark contrast to how Carter felt. Carter fought down the bile that stung his throat as he reloaded his weapon. He wouldn't have had to end the gentle creature's suffering if he hadn't shot it in the first place, he ruefully thought. Why hadn't he just missed the shot on purpose? The deer would have taken off, not giving his dad enough time to react and shoot. It would still be alive instead of lying at his feet panting, slowly bleeding to death.
It made a valiant, last ditch effort to rise, surprise and fear etching its features when its slender limbs failed to comply. The increased beating of its heart sent more blood gushing from its chest wound and onto the green grass, painting its deathbed a slick red.
A single shot echoed through the still morning, startling Carter who had just raised his rifle. His father, impatient, ended the creature's suffering with a shot between the eyes which continued to stare up at Carter. He watched as their light dimmed and faded away, leaving the eyes a dull black in color. He barely registering his father's grunted directions for hauling the deer home as he continued to stare at the lifeless eyes which mirrored his own sorrow-filled ones back at him.
"Carter!" A voice calling to him broke through his musings, he was nearly at the entrance of what appeared to be a small cave, which he was sure was the source of the strange mewling sounds he had heard earlier. Reluctantly, he turned his head in the direction of the call.
He could hear Peters calling out to Dr. Reid and Aiken. The other officer was nearby, but not near enough to help him. His heart momentarily stopped beating and his throat stopped working. He knew that his only chance, their only chance would be for him to call out a warning to Peters, but he couldn't seem to get his lungs working. Maybe that is why the deer hadn't run when it had had the chance, maybe it had wanted to, much like Carter wanted to shout or run or anything other than stare dumbstruck into the penetrating blue eyes of the man he instantly knew had killed Billy and quite possibly had been responsible for the recent string of deaths in the area, including the death of young Aiken's brother and mother. Maybe it hadn't run when it had the chance to because it had been paralyzed by the knowledge that it was staring, not merely at a hunter, but at death itself.
Prentiss called out to Carter again, wondering why he hadn't shouted in return, "Carter?" She attempted to stand, but the pain in her ankle toppled her. Panting, she closed her eyes, and gritting her teeth repositioned her injured leg to rest once again on the protruding root.
"Carter!" Had he found Reid and the missing boy? Is that why he wasn't answering her? Or had something happened to the young officer?
"Carter!" She tried once more and waited. Knowing that something wasn't right, she bit her lower lip and started heading in the direction Carter had been positioned to search in. Dragging her injured leg along, she half-crab-crawled backward, using her arms and good leg to propel her along the uneven ground.
"Carter!" Rossi called as he neared the area the officer had been searching. He was eager to reassess the parameters of their search. Perhaps the officer had found Dr. Reid and Aiken or had come across the gas station clerk's killer and that is why he wasn't answering. Or maybe Dr. Reid and Aiken were being held at gunpoint and the officer was attempting to negotiate their release. Or maybe he was just too far out to hear his call.
"Dr. Reid! Aiken!" He tried yet again, waiting half a heartbeat before marching forward, closer to where Carter should be. The beam of his flashlight danced along the silvery trunks of the trees, bathing the forest in a ghostly light which did little to illuminate his path. They would have to call it a night and resume the search in the light of day, it was too dark and the searchers, much as he hated to admit it to himself, would be needing rest. Those they searched for would not be benefited by them collapsing from exhaustion or wandering blindly through the forest. The light of day would be best for them all. He just hoped that Dr. Reid and Aiken had until the light of day.
Peters held his gun in front of him, knowing that he should probably call for backup. Knowing that there would not be enough time for the backup to arrive, he chose to continue his pursuit of Billy's killer on his own. True, he couldn't be sure that he had found the killer and that the man was holding Dr. Reid and Aiken captive, but that is what his gut was telling him and he trusted his gut.
The mismatched breathing he had heard earlier continued to increase in volume and he carefully made his way toward the sound. A strangled cry, carried off by the wind, fractured the night and Peters gripped his gun tighter as he crept forward.
Grinning toothily at his prey who crouched frozen before him, Hardy cocked his head to the side and drew the back of his knife across his neck and grimaced while signaling with his pointer finger for the man to remain quiet. There was another officer close by and Hardy didn't want him to be alerted to their presence.
The officer was frozen in place, the briny smell of fear radiated from him and his brown eyes were wide with panic. They held a knowing look in them, much as Dr. Reid's had when he realized the inevitable, that he would be unable to escape death.
Hardy could see that the officer wanted to call out a warning to his partner, but couldn't seem to find his voice. The futile bobbing of the man's jugular, his inability to issue forth a single sound and the reddening of his face at the frustrated humiliation amused Hardy.
He reached out a hand and grasped the officer behind the neck, pulling him forward. Using his other hand, Hardy deftly twisted the man around so that his back was to him. He placed a calloused hand over the officer's mouth and snaked his other arm around the man's throat. He whispered a chilling, "Shh…" in the man's ear and was rewarded with an elbow to his gut. A gust of breath, escaped his lips and he tightened his chokehold, bringing the tip of the knife up under the officer's chin, "Do that again and I will cut you," his whispering lips caressed the officer's ear causing the younger man's body to shiver.
Hardy's groin, hardened from his encounter with Dr. Reid, jerked in stimulated response as the officer continued to struggle against him. The young man's breathing became labored as he attempted to take in breath around Hardy's hand and Hardy drew the struggling man closer, melding his body to his own as he continued to deprive the man's lungs of oxygen. The hand he held over the young man's mouth had a sheen of moisture coating it, making it feel hot and clammy.
He rocked their bodies backwards not loosening his hold on the officer's neck or over his mouth. Ignoring the twisted root digging into his lower back, he straddled the officer and flipped him over, pulling the knife out and away and planting it into the dirt directly in front of the young man's eyes, now screwed tightly shut in pain and terror.
The officer continued to struggle for air and attempted to push himself up off the ground with his arms. When that failed, he tried to reach back and pull Hardy's hand from his mouth. Hardy leaned down, pressing his body tight to the officer's, he admired the firmness of the young man's body and the fight he was putting up for his life, however vain it would prove to be.
His crotch aching in need, Hardy bit his bottom lip and pressed closer to the body beneath him. He pushed his lips against the young man's ear, "Though I would love to play more, I'm afraid that our time has to be cut short, your partner might discover us and that would spoil all the fun."
He pulled the officer's head up off the ground, moving so that he straddled the man's upper back, and finally released his hold over his mouth. Allowing him to gain one last full breath of fresh air, he snaked one arm around the front of his neck and used the other to twist and snap the officer's neck.
Carter writhed and bucked beneath the man who had him pinned to the earth in an attempt to free himself even as it got harder to breathe. His assailant's whispered words didn't register. He focused solely on taking oxygen into his aching lungs. The man's body pressed too tightly against his own reminded him of his wrestling days and Carter strived to throw him off, trying desperately to remember some of his wrestling moves around the ever increasing edge of darkness which threatened to claim his consciousness.
Blinking at the white and gold stars dancing in front of his eyes as his lungs lost their battle for oxygen, Carter realized that he was going to die and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Why had he frozen up when he had the chance to call out to Peters? Maybe if he would have been more alert, he could have gotten away from the man who now had him pinned so effectively, the man whom he would forfeit his life to.
It came as a surprise to him when his burning lungs were able to pull in the cool night air. Tasting the loam and clay of the dirt on his tongue, he gulped in the air like a drowning man swallowing a lungful of water. Eager to breathe, he shuddered as he drew that last sacred breath.
The heat, as the blood rushed to his face, made him feel fevered before the flow was once again cut off as his combatant's arm wove around his neck. The dull popping sound that accompanied the efficient twist as his neck was broken did not carry in the forest.
His clouded eyes stared unseeing at the knife which had been plunged into the earth in front of them barely a minute before. The silver glint of it was reflected in his dull, lifeless eyes as it was plucked up out of the dirt and sheathed.
"One down, three to go," his killer grinned and whispered into his deafened ear.