Stalker's Chase

 

Stalker's Chase

A short story by Kristen Currie

            Part One: Along Came a Death Wish

 

            Beneath the swirling veil of stars, an eerie harvest moon hung above the cemetery. Pallid rays of creamy moonlight were filtering dustily through the treetops, settling into a cold highlight on the landscape. It was the tired, run-down, sort of nightmarish place that you'd expect to find in a beat up storybook, but not set in the heart of a fabricated existence enjoyed by the rich and socially elite. In fact if the people sleeping in their homes just outside the rusted gates knew what was about to take place, the neighborhood would be ruined. Over the horizon a steady haze of fog crept, tumbling against the now unmarked graves and dew-ridden lawn like some palpable beast of force.
            Until he opened his eyes you wouldn't have noticed the man witnessing these clocked acts of nature. He was not much to look at and under the scrutinizing glare of the local housewives he would not have been thought twice about. He was half hidden deep among the shadows, waiting, long fingers twitching impatiently under the folds of his black coat. Beneath the cloth his lanky body gave the distinct impression of an unused, gangly, school boy, and yet... the arrogant quavering of his shoulders suggested otherwise. Zachary Montacane was furious. In the gloom barely a stiff feathering of stubble was visible as it outlined the piercing lines of his low cheekbones and jaw, reaching cleanly down his throat. His dark hair fell damply against his pale skin, fluttering into the conspicuously blue eyes set low on his forehead.
            His foot tapped involuntarily. "Where are you?" An almost inaudible sigh escaped his lips. He kept one skilled eye constantly overlooking the landscape. Watching...
            Suddenly, his neck twisted, held perfectly immobile. A voice crooned gently in his ear. "Be still Zachary..." The devastatingly masculine tone was steely and the command was instantly heeded.
            He stopped fighting. The pressure confining his movements vanished. With a strangled cough he allowed his hands to fly upward and straighten his coat self-consciously as he turned. "Hello Slade," he said stiffly.
            "Why such a cold welcome for a wander-weary traveler?" William Slade raised an eyebrow rakishly as he taunted.
            "Why did the Council send you?"
            "Oh... I dont know. My devilishly charming personality? My world class good looks? Who really knows?"
            "Yes, but your antics are nothing but trouble and your manners are just shy of BARBARIC!" Zachary's lips curled into a snarl as he spat the last word out.
            Slade's expression was of mock disbelief and Zachary grew furious. "You, good sir, are the equivalent of an infantile child! A weakling, a half-breed. A MAGIKAL MISTAKE!" He stopped talking as he felt his words hit home. He's so proud... so proud... Well, what the Hell did his kind have to honestly be proud of?" Zack mused. William Slade. The son of the Devil and a mere maiden. He was a tough character, and picked fights with the local boys just to pretend he was alive. A heartbreaker by birthright, and a thief by profession, with pale blonde hair shaved back and combed into a sleek line at the base of his neck and gray eyes that flashed violently deep in their sockets. He was affectionately dubbed Snatch by his fellow corrupted comrades in his early day, the care-free days.... before it happened. While discreetly pocketing a gentleman's wallet he was arrested, convicted, and hung.
            A voice cut through Zach’s thoughts. "Well, I don't understand it either, but the Council has appointed me keep an eye on you." All rivalry had vanished, the tension had melted away unbidden. Despite his earlier hatred for the man, Zachary felt himself grin and as Slade moved toward the front gate he found his feet following agreeably along.



            Part Two: The Thrill of the Chase

            Slade walked slowly, keeping one ear carefully trained on his companion's voice while navigating the shadows cast by a line of bushes standing at attention by the curb.
            "I've been following her for a few months now. She has no fathomable explanation for the murderous urges she’s been feeling lately. Factory made, that she is! Hands of a strangler, eyes of a stalker, mind of a psychopath, senses of a hit-man, all organs, ripe and supple, plucked from the graves of nameless victims. And oh, she’s a feisty one all right, a right vixen when you take away all the trappings. Changing names, trying to hide, carrying a gun, constantly moving," Zachary ticked off on his fingers as he spoke, "Unknowingly scurrying into my hands like a scared mouse when she thinks she’s fleeing in the opposite direction."
            Slade laughed uneasily, a ball of ice sinking past his ribcage as he turned into the driveway of the last house on the left. Salivating dogs snapped viciously in their sleep, guards leaned heavily against the gates in a bewitched slumber. Cameras pointed towards them no longer flashed their red lights, the nearly invisible trip cords had been lowered to lie flat along the concrete. And almost undetectable to Zach's sensitive nose was the stale scent of anxiety on the palpably moist summer air. Though he didn’t have to ask to know the answer, Slade voiced his comment aloud anyway, "I trust everything has been turned off? Wires cut? Chloroform distributed? Its going to be a safe entry right?"
            Zachary smiled undauntedly, "Of course, however in this business we like to believe that anything can go wrong in the space of a heartbeat. Tiptoes! On your tiptoes my dear man, one must always remain two steps ahead of ones quarry."
            "Ah I see,” said Slade with a little frown, “and how exactly are we going to gain entry?"
            "How am I going to get in," corrected Zach amiably, "And I suspect that the tenant has some sort of Plan B door jamb rigged, in that case the front and side doors will be locked all the same. So... I climb to the window" He pointed upwards.
            “Th-the window? Now I'm glad I'm not coming." Slade's furrowed brow smoothed in relief at not joining Zach as he eyed the fourth story window.
            Zachary laughed ruefully. "This is such a sad way to live... the constant fear of being discovered. The never-ending cataclysmically heavy load that’s always weighing in the back of her brain." He walked towards the towering live oak shadowing the side of the house, and swung himself upwards. He saddled the lowest branch momentarily before hoisting his body to the next limb. Breathing forcefully he finally leveled his shoulders with the window sill. He edged forward, nearly stripping a branch beneath his powerful grip. His eyes adjusted to perceive more than a black on black canvas. There was suddenly depth to the dusty shadows as his nose pressed against the glass pane, fingers spread slanted to keep balance.

            With a sinking feeling his ego slid a notch, bruised just enough to cause a noticeable drop in his level of arrogance. The room had been unoccupied for what looked like days. The bed was made immaculately, but the newly settled dust was undisturbed. She was gone again. Vanished into the night like some mystical beast. But then again he thought impishly. There was always the thrill of the chase.