Chapter Hunter
HUNTER
He opened Sarah’s purse and found a wallet resting near the bottom where it always did, full of cash like it always was. Hunter scattered the bills along the long dresser, nice and distracting. He bent down to unzip Sarah’s luggage, toss her clothes.
He plucked up the knife from the side table.
Sarah made no effort to stop him. She seemed too stunned to move. “Why are you doing that?”
“Keep your voice down. I’m making things look more complicated than they are. I’d rather Ethan not figure out that I’m doing this.”
“Who’s Ethan? Why would he—”
“Because the twins are going to try and scare everyone into investigating your death. They have no idea what the ceremony really entails. They’re going to think someone’s killed you before it can start and the world is going to end because of it. They’re going to want revenge.”
“You mean their father never told them what’s going on here?”
“No. He was a piece of shit by the sound of things, and they’re more than a little cracked themselves. I can usually convince Ethan and the others not to bother investigating, but I always cover my tracks. Just in case.”
Sarah finally realized the full weight of what he was saying. “You mean the ceremony has really worked? We’ve done this before?”
“Yes. More times than I can count.”
The mountain is getting restless.
Every night, every time he had a cigarette with Ryan, whenever Hunter heard those awful words of The Chief’s, it all came back to him.
With a sensation like a tooth being ripped out of his mouth—out of his mind—Hunter’s migraine evaporated.
He remembered. He remembered everything, from the first night they’d done this until now. All in a rush. Every time.
But tonight, Hunter hesitated. For the first time in a long time, things felt different.
Off. Hunter could always smell trouble, and he smelled it now: Ethan and Kyla were acting strangely.
Tabitha was nowhere to be seen. Last night, something had happened that had never happened before, and Hunter was still trying to grapple with its consequences.
Last night, Hunter had died, and he had no idea what had happened after that.
Now, in room 4, Hunter thumped his chest to clear a painful wad of phlegm. He plucked up Sarah’s knife from where it rested on the corner table and tossed its sheath under the bed. He tested the edge of the blade against his thumb, just like his father had always told him to. Old habits.
He motioned Sarah toward the bed. “Get moving. Please.”
“But I’m confused. If the ceremony works, why are we doing this at all? My death is supposed to be the catalyst that powers everything. Are you saying the ceremony restarts from a time before I die?”
“Yes. At four p.m. every afternoon, when the silver light passes over the sky, a new loop kicks in. Everything before then is just a memory. A vivid one, so strong people don’t realize they’re seeing stuff that actually happened ages ago.”
“Four o’clock? By why would it start over so early?”
Hunter was getting twitchy. Normally, he could hear Fernanda in room 5 next door: opening a drawer, washing her hands. Could hear the soft, almost imperceptible creak of Ryan Phan’s snore in room 3.
Not tonight. Tonight, the motel was silent. No sounds from the desert. The mountain. Not even a SHRIEK from the Guardians.
Silent.
“I don’t know why the ceremony starts over so early. If I had to guess, it’s some kind of fail-safe. Or maybe just a flaw in the whole operation,” Hunter said. “I don’t ask a lot of questions. I just need to get this done. Now.”
He wanted to get back to his room. He wanted to get back to Ethan, and not just because the boy would grow more suspicious the longer he stayed here.
Hunter wanted to get back to his room because the best part of the night always came next.
Hunter would return to their room. He would step directly into the bathroom, into the shower, unseen by Ethan.
He would scrub off any stray beads of Sarah’s blood that have gotten on his skin.
In his hair. He’d rinse out his clothes.
And then Hunter would step out of the shower and the steam wearing nothing, nothing between him and this kind, smart, gentle, clever, handsome man who deserved so, so much better than Hunter.
Hunter would curl up next to this man and press himself to his back and say, Can I hold you for a minute? Just like this?
Sarah finally saw the frustration on Hunter’s face. She said, “I’d heard stories about you from the guards in Huntsville. It’s why I told those lies about knowing your boyfriend’s mom in the office—I wanted you to come investigate. I wanted to get you here.”
“I know.”
“I wasn’t sure if it would be both of y’all, or just you, but I heard that if I got you angry enough, you’d do something drastic. You seemed protective of Ethan in the office. I figured if I got you riled up enough you would… well.”
“I know. You lay a good trap. The very first night, it worked.”
The very first night. Hunter didn’t want to think about the very first night. Things had gone very, very badly the very first night.
Sarah tried to smile. “Maybe I should have called back that CIA recruiter I met in undergrad.”
Hunter had seen this a million times before, and not just from Sarah. People always babbled when they realized there was no escaping an imminent death. When they were right up against the wall of the hereafter.
He took control. “Get on the bed. Face down. Unzip your jeans. And hold still. It’ll be a lot worse if you start wriggling.”
“My jeans?”
“Don’t give me that look. I just need things to look confusing. To kill time.”
Sarah blinked. She stood near the bed and unzipped her jeans with an agonizing slowness, but at least she didn’t try to argue. “Should I take off my boots?”
“It doesn’t matter. Hand me those pillows. Lay face down.”
She did, far slower than Hunter’s nerves appreciated. On the corner table, the little smokeless fire was still burning. A weird energy thrummed in the air, making the grooved stone egg chitter and shake.
Somehow, after all these nights, it was that little pulsing egg that still gave Hunter the willies.
He eased himself on top of Sarah, a knee to either side of her waist. He guided her head, making sure her neck was stretched long. He picked up a pillow. He placed it over her neck.
She said in a small, small voice, “Will it hurt?”
“Only for a second. Trust me. I used to be a professional.”
He covered her head with the second pillow.
An old cartel trick. One of many he’d learned in his time working out this way.
Hunter balanced the knife carefully in his left hand.
He brought the tip of it to the pillow over Sarah’s neck.
He would drive it in with the heel of his other hand, sink the point of the blade straight into the aorta, and step back before the real hemorrhaging could kick in.
She’d be dead in seconds. Quick and easy.
Hunter took a steadying breath. He balled his free hand into a fist. He brought it close to the butt of the blade’s hilt.
He said to Sarah, “Hold still.”
In his haste, Hunter had forgotten to lock the front door. He’d never bothered with it before. He was never interrupted before this, so why waste a second he didn’t need to?
He wished he had now.
The room’s front door swung open, and Ethan stepped inside, his shotgun braced against his shoulder. He had it aimed straight at Hunter’s head.
Ethan said, “We’re not doing this anymore.”