Central Park
7 AM
Jack McCoy was down at the park, helping the Park Employees maintain the grounds. This time, it didn't involve picking up trash.
There was this lovely little garden spot, and the Director of the park thought it looked a little…naked.
So, here Jack McCoy was, turning the soil so Maintenance could plant a small bed of flowers.
Except for the one man sitting quietly on the wooden bench, nobody else was there, Maintenance off to see to other areas of the park.
McCoy was effectively alone. Not that he felt all that much in danger. He knew who the man sitting on the bench was; and, insofar as he trusted anyone, he trusted Detective Mike Logan.
However, Mike Logan wasn't here to keep an eye on him.
He's here just in case The Hunter turns up again…
Jack McCoy was fairly sure The Hunter would put in an appearance again.
McCoy did feel a touch nervous about working in this particular section of Central Park.
This was where both murders had occurred.
Neanderthals…
The genetic studies carried out on both victims had confirmed that both specimens were, indeed, Neanderthals.
The first one spoke to me, asked me to help him…
McCoy hadn't understood the language, but the man's terror needed no translator.
Using the heavy iron shovel, McCoy continued to turn the soil. Then, a flare of light, off to his right, made him stop.
A man, short and squat, with wild blondish hair, clad in dirty leather, running up…
McCoy dropped his iron shovel, moved to intercept; aware of Mike Logan standing now, ready to do the same, speaking into a communicator.
…..
"We've got a guy here," Detective Mike Logan spoke into his communicator. "Looks like one of those troglodyte guys in the morgue."
He saw Jack McCoy up ahead, moving to intercept the man, and cursed under his breath. Jack McCoy wasn't exactly a civilian.
Before everything went to hell, he had been the Executive Assistant DA, and a damn good prosecutor.
He understood how cops worked.
But…that was then…
Now…
Now, Jack McCoy was serving Community Service for having been partly responsible for faking his own death.
Now, he was Dr. Skoda's patient, a man suffering from mental illness; and seeing Jack McCoy here, in a place where this unknown bowman was killing…men suffering from major birth defects?...only served to remind Logan of what happened at Skyland Mountain, of how fragile McCoy had been after that…
The…Neanderthal…had run up to McCoy, who was doing his best to steer him in Logan's direction, and glancing about warily, as if he expected the killer to turn up any moment now.
There was another flare. Now something else was in the area, and Logan felt his jaw drop.
Biggest damn stag he had ever seen, and a rider atop it, holding the reins in one hand, the freakiest-looking longbow in the other.
No one's gonna believe this…
"Police! Freeze!" he drew his gun, and the creature turned its head to regard him.
Long, silver-white hair and pointed ears.
Fuck me, Jack didn't hallucinate this.
Urging its mount into a canter, the…Elven creature…aimed its bow right at him.
Logan fired, bullets hitting the stag.
The other guy rolled free as his mount went down. Now, he stood, unsheathing his sword, yelling what sounded like curses, if only Logan had understood the language.
If asked, the most Logan could have said was that it sounded vaguely Celtic.
But he didn't have any time to wonder what the man was saying. He was charging, sword ready.
So, Logan fired again, bullets striking center mass…
He didn't even stagger.
Oh…shit.
Logan charged too, hitting the other man low.
He'd played football in college, and still knew how to take a guy down that way.
Both went down in a tangle of limbs, but the…Elf…was quick, got to his feet first, and he still had his sword.
Logan looked up at the man. He had white hair, and golden eyes, pupils closed to slits, like a cat's eye.
The man snarled something at him, raising his sword.
But Logan saw Jack McCoy creeping up behind, heavy iron shovel in his hands.
The man must have heard, began to turn, but it was too late.
McCoy swung, obviously putting all of his strength into it, and the shovel connected, with a sickening crunch, with the side of the man's head.
The sword slipped from the man's grasp, and he staggered forward a few steps. Then he collapsed into a crumpled heap on the floor.
McCoy dropped the shovel, moved up to the body.
"Keep back," Logan slowly hauled himself to his feet. "Could be shamming."
McCoy nodded, stepped back a couple of paces.
Sighing, Logan bent, picked up the sword, and slowly walked up to the body. He nudged it slightly with his foot.
No response.
Then, he turned the body over.
The face was rotting away right in front of his eyes, the skin on the side of his head impacted by the shovel sloughing off, what looked like brains boiling out of the man's eyes, ears, nose and mouth.
Logan staggered away, retching at the sight.
"Mikey!" that sounded like John Doggett. "You get him?"
"Jack McCoy did," Logan wiped his mouth, forced the bile down.
"Holy fuck…" Doggett looked down at the rapidly decomposing corpse.
Less than three minutes later, only bones were left, and even those were beginning to turn to dust.
"What the fuck did you hit him with?" Doggett turned to McCoy.
…..
Jack McCoy watched the creature dissolve into dust right in front of his eyes.
Like Dracula in all those horror movies…
He'd never expected to see that with his own eyes.
"What the fuck did you hit him with?"
"The shovel," McCoy pointed to it. "He was going to kill Mike Logan."
"Yeah," Logan spoke up. "McCoy saved my life."
"Where's the other guy?" now Logan remembered the Neanderthal.
"He ran," McCoy hung his head. "I've never seen anyone run that fast before. I lost him, so I came back. Just as well that I did…"
"Yeah…" Logan nodded, and Jack McCoy felt a thrill of relief shiver down his spine.
If he had killed Mike…
McCoy shivered again.
Doggett's partner, Agent Monica Reyes turned up; saw the bones crumbling away into dust; saw the iron shovel.
"You hit him with this?" Reyes asked.
"Yeah…"
"The legends and myths must be right after all," Reyes bent to examine what was left of the bones.
"Elves and pixies are always described as being vulnerable to cold iron," she said. "And that's exactly what you hit him with."
"Good luck proving that," McCoy watched as the last bits of bone shivered off into dust and scattered in the breeze.
…..
Logan, staring down at the site, had to agree.
I saw a man with white hair, golden cat's eyes, and pointed ears, die, and decompose in less than five minutes. He's dust in the wind now, and no one's gonna believe me if I tell them what I saw.
He watched as McCoy picked up the shovel, and headed back to work.
Why not? We don't have a body, so we can't investigate.
"You okay, Mikey?"
"Yeah, John," Logan hefted the sword.
"Oh! Let me look!" Reyes stepped forward. "You took it from him?"
"Yeah…" Logan pointed. "His stag is over there, and his bow and arrows too. Looks like the Neanderthal got away though."
Logan looked back at McCoy. He had gone back to work, turning the soil for later planting.
Then, he looked down at the sword in his hand.
Maybe I'm the crazy one…
…..
Report: Typed by Senior FBI Agent John Doggett.
One week has passed since the apparent death of The Hunter. There have been no more bow killings, so it is assumed there will be no more incidents of this kind in Manhattan.
The first two bodies have been sent to a lab for extensive genetic testing, in an attempt to tease out their origins.
The third Neanderthal, if he indeed exists, has not been found. Dr. Dana Scully believes that he may have found his way into the wilds. From there, his ultimate fate remains a mystery.