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FIFTEEN

Westin Residence
Willow, Connecticut
Saturday, October 7, 2006
10:33 PM

Sheriff Dobbs stared straight at the back of the heads of the two people in front of him, his gun trained directly on the man whose shoulders protected the younger girl, one of the two females he remembered seeing in the interrogation room of the West Hartford precinct earlier in the day. As he kept his gun pointed at them, ordering them to remain in place or threatening to fire, he noticed that neither of them tensed as most did when faced with their current situation, instead keeping cool and holding their hands by their sides even after Dobbs had demanded them to hold them in the air.

At fifty-two, Sheriff Daniel Dobbs was getting tired of having to deal with these people, the Hunters that came in and out of the two towns his police station presided over. In the three decades that he had been enforcing the badge, the last one and a half of those as sheriff, he had seen his fair share of their kind, each of them showing up at the most inconvenient times and attempting to gain information in illegal fashions. In the past, when his father had been sheriff, he had seen Hunters come in under the guise of every government official imaginable—just like Mr. FBI in front of him—whereas others tried the indirect approach, asking around town and infringing on people's personal property a la Miss B&E beside the "agent". However, in the contest of which was worse, both of them were tied. While impersonating centralized officers and using a false persona in order to get good policemen to hand over documents and case files that would otherwise be unavailable to the public was a federal offense, breaking into homes and offices and whatever else was an equal misdemeanor, especially when it came to doing so in Willow, the town he had sworn to protect.

Of course, Dobbs' hatred for these Hunters wasn't just stemmed out of anything as smalltime as that, but rather from the thing he was trying to keep safe, the creature that lived outside of his jurisdiction but close enough to still be considered his to watch over. For the thirty years he had donned the shield, and during the time his father had held the position before him, Daniel had known about the criatura de l'aigua dwelling in Chicklow. From what his dad had told him, the creature held great fortune for his family, keeping them safe against all those who were opposed to their post as sheriff. Every ten years, whenever the thing rose for food, all the Dobbs men had to do was make sure it got its required sacrifices before sinking back into its hole, becoming out of mind and out of sight until the time came around once again. Along with that, it was their duty to make sure the tales of the missing children weren't reported in the news, keeping every Hunter within distance out of Willow until the criatura vanished.

However, in the years that Daniel and his father had kept the secret and reaped the fortune the creature brought for them, only twice had the story leaked from between their fingers—the first time happening in 1966. At twelve years old, Daniel had watched how his father had dealt with the Hunter that had been poking around, calling his bluff as soon as Dad phoned the federal headquarters and learning that there was no Special Agent Tracey working for the FBI. When the threat of arrest rose, the governmental faker had fled town, putting Willow in his rearview mirror for good. Unfortunately, this time, with not only three Hunters digging for evidence, but also a leak at the local paper, Dobbs had a mess on his hands that he wasn't sure one call would fix, a mess that he had created himself. A week ago, his youngest son, Jeremy, had turned nine—the age at which Dobbs had first heard the tale of the creature, and the age in which he had passed it to his oldest boy. After relaying the tale of the "water demon", Dobbs had promptly eavesdropped on his son repeating it to an audience at school, his third grade teacher calling to discuss it afterwards, wondering if the boy was going the same head-in-the-clouds way of Molly Walter. Telling her it was just a story Jeremy had read in a book, Dobbs had reprimanded his boy in hopes that the tale would stay contained, but he was willing to bet any amount of money that Ms. Grace had quickly spilled the beans to the local paper, knowing that her neighbor worked for the Hartford Sentinel. Maggie Grace had always had a big mouth and a tendency to buy into gossip, and it would be no surprise at all if she had been the one to get the word out. Ultimately, though, when it came to picking the criatura's victims, Dobbs had had to leave the barren woman off the list, her apartment on the edge of West Hartford being both out of range and devoid of children.

Thankfully, though, even after experiencing a panic attack over what had gone wrong, Dobbs had managed to rectify his mistake, waiting for the second attack to take place and handling the case himself. Knowing that the insane were automatically discredited, Dobbs had had David Hollbrook committed to Arkham, sniffing out both the reporter and one of the Hunters when Doctor Greene called to tip him off that a Clara Thomas from the local paper and a Rachel Dawes from the Yale University medical school had come by to talk to him. Tracking down the former with ease, regrettably after her article had been published—Doctor Greene's fault for waiting too long to make the call—Dobbs had threatened the woman out of writing anymore snippets on Willow, promising prosecution for slander if she did. However, the latter had been harder to uncover. Fortunately, after a tip-off from a watchful neighbor, Dobbs had put a stop to the searching, hauling the girl and her friend in and putting them in immediate lockdown—where they were supposed to stay, but hadn't. Though his officers, and a majority of the older townspeople, knew of what was happening and of the criatura, the new transfer officer from Wakefield, Massachusetts had apparently buckled at the sight of FBI credentials and released them, no questions asked, as well as given the agent enough information to bury the town alive. Unfortunately, by the time Dobbs had found out about it, the Hunters were already gone, probably holing up in a motel room somewhere nearby.

Waiting for either one of them to emerge or for night to fall, whichever came sooner, Dobbs had cut the power in order to allow the criatura easier passage. Though no one knew which kid the thing was going to pick except for Dobbs—who had chosen three of Jeremy's more annoying classmates, the ones that he knew either irritated or picked on his son—chances were that the Hunters would have an even harder time narrowing down the choices in the dark. Ultimately, however, it appeared as though he had shot himself in the foot, knocking all the precinct's phones off the grid and rendering them unable to receive calls. By the time he found out that the Hunters were hot on the creature's trail, it was too late, and the thing that was supposed to protect the town and his family was gone.

As a father of two boys, Dobbs cared about nothing more than keeping them safe. When his wife had passed back in 2003, he had been left to take care of his thirteen- and nine-year-old sons, clueless and unaware of how to parent alone. In the three years that he had had practice, Dobbs was certain he was beginning to get the hang of it, learning to pick his eldest son up from soccer practice in anything but the police cruiser—Collin found it embarrassing—at five o'clock and to take Jeremy to his karate lesson at seven, fully dressed in his attire each time. In all honesty, Dobbs had always attributed his success with his kids as being a good luck charm brought on by the criatura, his father even saying so right before he had died in 2004. His finesse with children had always been absent, with Dobbs unable to focus on anything except for work, but with the creature watching out for them, he had always assumed his family was going to be okay. Now, however, with the thing lying dead as if nothing more than a puddle of blackness on the floorboards in front of him, what was going to happen? Everything was ruined and it was all because of the damn Hunters he held at gunpoint.

Gripping his weapon tighter, Dobbs kept the pistol in his hands narrowed on the back of the neck of the man in front of him, letting a few inches of air distance the muzzle of his gun from skin. Behind him, other officers stood at the ready, each of them training their weapons on the pair about to be faced with another arrest. On the way over, Dobbs had made sure to stress the point that these two were armed and dangerous, and that every precaution was going to be needed when dealing with them. Agreeing, and knowing what they were about to get into, his best men had followed him over, storming the place as though ready to make a drugs bust.

Unfortunately, by the time they got up the stairs, Dobbs had been hoping to walk in on a battle in progress rather than one that had already finished. As soon as he had seen the creature dead on the ground, an anger had come over him, one that he tried to keep a cool head about despite the bubbling fury in his gut. While he knew his men were with him all the way, if Dobbs began to open fire much like he wanted to, he wasn't sure how many would stick around after the fact. If Dobbs appeared unstable, it might cause his officers to question his sanity, something he couldn't afford.

"Special Agent Burton," Dobbs began with a suppressed sneer, deciding to forgo the round of unprovoked gunshots, "I don't remember you petitioning for a search warrant. Mind my asking your reason for being here?"

"Just doing my job, Sheriff," the male Hunter's deep voice replied before he turned to face Dobbs and the armed men, not bothering to flinch at the amount of pistols aimed at him. "Though I don't know why you need all this."

"Procedure."

Smirking, the Hunter shook his head as the younger girl pivoted to look at the rest of them, her eyes widening at the weaponry and her jaw falling open in shock. In the time that Dobbs had been able to go through her personal belongings, the ones she and her friend had managed to leave behind after being freed by the older man, he had seen that her name was Amelia Mae Winchester, one month to the day away from twenty-one, and a current student at Yale. It was the first time in a long time that Dobbs had been in possession of anyone underage from the university, though mainly it was because New Haven was home to all the pubs that served the young, drunken collegiates. The only reason for anyone to head so far north was during the St. Patrick's Day festival that usually ended in green fireworks and too many tinted beers. Fortunately, for both the bars and for the police, none of the establishments in or around Hartford served anyone that wasn't of age—something that was law, though unabided by places around the school.

Narrowing his gaze to take a good look at her, Dobbs could see a glint in her eye that was similar to that of the man standing a few inches taller than her. Switching his stare between the two, Dobbs noticed that there was more than just the glimmer that was similar, but also a few facial features. Recognizing that he might be faced with a father-daughter team—something that he had never heard of before, though he hadn't run into that many Hunters in the past—Dobbs turned his gun from the man to the girl, noticing that her eyes searched him curiously.

Suddenly, the man spoke, distracting Dobbs from his stare. "Hell of a procedure you got going on here."

"Better safe than sorry," Dobbs grinned.

"I'd have an easier time believing that you if you weren't keeping a criatura on a leash."

Snapping his mouth shut, Dobbs glared at the man as he smirked knowingly, nodding toward the gun in Dobbs' hand without switching his gaze. Understanding what he was asking—that the sheriff put down his weapon and walk away, probably demanding that his officers do the same—Dobbs scowled and chuckled sardonically, nearly barking as he spoke.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You do," the Hunter said without missing a beat, his tone knowledgeable. "You're probably one of those damn morons who believe the legend that those things are good luck to have around. Probably covering up its mess when it's done. Those things just eat and kill, they don't do anything more than that, Sheriff, and you've been feeding it."

"I don't—"

"That blood is on your hands, Sheriff."

Gripping the handle of the pistol, Dobbs held the gun straighter, training it on the Hunter in front of him. From behind, the sound of audible shouts of protest sounded as a shot was fired, the man and his daughter ducking as soon as the weapon went off. All at once, several things happened. Within a moment of the bitter taste of powder tainting the air, the feel of a sneaker colliding with his hands stunned Dobbs, knocking the gun away. Next came the warmth of strong, feminine hands and cold metal touching his skin as he was pressed roughly into the wall and handcuffed, though the girl behind him was obviously too distracted with something else to notice that Dobbs was already squirming away. Running for the stairs, Dobbs was half-way down before the same fingers grazed his uniform shirt, getting enough of a grip to pull him up the steps. Once again, Dobbs felt his face get pushed into sheetrock, though this time a much more stable and firmer set of hands held him there, these rough and calloused with age. From his left, Dobbs could sense his men standing ground behind him. Chancing a glance, he caught the six men holding down the fort, obviously all ready to go head-to-head with whoever challenged them. However, after the chick connected one swift kick with Officer Carmichael's ribcage, sending him flying down the hall, the rest began to retreat, sensing something about the girl that was a bigger threat than Dobb's undoubted wrath. Grinning into the wall, Dobbs laughed as he felt the cuffs get slapped on him again, this time with the assuring lock that they were correctly fastened. Feeling one of his own men tug him away, making it look like a routine arrest, Dobbs allowed himself to be taken out to the police cruiser, his heart sinking as the sense of defeat came over him. The criatura was gone, the fortune his family had benefited from dying with it.

Amy glanced up at John as the officers filed out of the house, leaving the two of them alone as the flashing of lights signaled the departing policemen. Her body felt exhausted, her heart rate was slowed to a snail's pace, and her brain was running a mile a minute, none of her body functions seeming to be on the same schedule. As she stood against the wall, trying not to sink to the steps below her as her legs threatened to give out, she glanced back at John, who stood at the landing with an expression of deep irritation on his face.

"Are you okay?" Amy asked quietly, swallowing hard. Nodding slowly, John snapped out of his glower before heading down the stairs, not bothering to wait for Amy as he passed. Holding onto the banister as she followed, Amy trailed the man out the door, wondering if now was the time he was going to give her the silent treatment for disobeying his order that she stay out of his way. Deciding to test it, Amy bit her lip. "How did you know that the sheriff thought those creature things were good luck charms?"

"It's an old legend," John said after a moment.

Waiting for more of an explanation, Amy paused beside the passenger door of the truck while John climbed in, realizing that he wasn't about to divulge more than he already had. Taking a deep breath, and feeling her fingers begin to tingle, Amy bunched her jaw before using the frame of the rolled-down window to help herself into the cab of John's vehicle. This time waiting for her to get situated before taking off, John headed out of Willow and toward the freeway, easing onto I-91 toward New Haven.

As they drove, Amy was quickly reminded of the time during summer when John had barreled toward Chicago, coming back to the diner he had left her in looking as though he had gone twelve rounds with a block of cement. At the time, Amy hadn't known what John truly did for a living, figuring something was off but not really questioning it. Now that she understood that John killed supernatural beings professionally, the fight in Chicago made more sense. In fact, a lot of things made more sense now that she understood.

Relaxing into her seat and shutting her eyes for the forty-five minute drive, Amy rolled her head back and felt the cold wind on her face, trying to keep from falling asleep as the chill numbed her body. However, unable to fight the overwhelming urge to doze off, Amy accidentally slipped out of consciousness for a moment, waking just as the truck sped past the last exit ramp into New Haven.

"I think you missed it," Amy frowned, glancing back at the fading sign.

"I'm not taking you back to school," John replied. "We're headed somewhere else."

Swallowing hard, Amy tensed, unsure of what was happening. "Where?"

Narrowing his eyes at being questioned, John let out an agitated grumble. "Milford."