Torment (Primal Progeny Book 1) (28 page)

Looking up she caught sight of herself in the mirror she used to apply her makeup in the mornings, and was greeted by a face which barely resembled her own. The rapid healing ability of her kind was already going to work, but the accelerated rate made for a rush of blood flow to wounded areas which resulted in either heavy bruising, swelling, or a combination of the two. She had both and looked as though she had gone two rounds with a pro boxer. Laughing quietly at the idiocy of her appearance she watched and waited as the swelling and bruising reduced before her very eyes. In around five minutes the piercings were all completely healed. Smiling broadly she reached for her makeup bag and quickly drew on some perfect eyebrows and threw on some heavy makeup around her eyes. Things had gone smoothly and she was pleased.

Looking down at her naked body she lost the warmth behind her smile as she saw that her tattoos had once again all vanished. She knew it was an inevitable part of the change and that it happened every time… But she would have no opportunity to have fresh ones done before Varulv was caught up with and the lack of artwork bothered her. She liked the visual impact of having pictures etched into her skin, and enjoyed the fact that she had the opportunity to change them whenever she transformed. Being so bare irritated her.

She didn’t have time to dwell on it however, as she needed to get going and fast. Jumping to her feet as fast as she could she rummaged through her bedside drawers, pulling out a black bra and matching underwear. Tugging both on rapidly she then grabbed a plain red t-shirt which sat on the top of another set of drawers, and a pair of leggings out of the drawer beneath it. After dressing herself at light speed she pulled on a pair of socks, and grabbed a pair of chunky black boots from beside the door and quickly slipped her feet into them. Finally she chose a furred leopard print coat that was hanging on the back of the door and yanked it on.

With no time to waste she threw open the door and raced down the hallway with not even a hint of a limp. She would be taking someone else’s car to get to Hunter but that didn’t bother her, they all shared after all.

Chapter 29

A loud banging woke Hunter from his heavy sleep. He had waited for a while but eventually fallen into a deep slumber when Eve had not returned. It may have been the middle of the day, but he had been through so much that exhaustion completely overtook him. He had dreamed dark and twisted dreams of shadowy figures and broken bodies lying on cold stone floors. Images of blood flowing freely and great light furred beasts had plagued him, but he was simply too tired to wake from the torment. In the end it had taken the sudden noise from outside to rouse him, and even then he was not quite ready to give up the sleep he so desperately needed.

Groggily he opened his eyes and rubbed them roughly with his scarred hands. The banging continued, and as his brain swam slowly back into coherence he realized that it must be the door.

‘Alright!’ He called out gruffly ‘I’m coming!’

Despite his shouts the banging continued and he angrily swung his legs off of the sofa where he had passed out exhausted a few hours ago. Still bleary eyed with sleep he shuffled through the lounge and made his way to the front door. Fumbling with the handle for much longer than should have been possible, he finally managed to get a grip on it and open the dilapidated old door. A cold breeze rushed into the house and he shuddered, only then realizing that he had answered the door in nothing but jockey shorts. Luckily he had only opened the door part way and could partially hide behind it.

On the doorstep stood an unfamiliar face, and not a happy one.

‘Can I help you?’ Hunter asked as politely as he could muster, his voice scratchy with sleep. He looked the individual up and down quickly as they replied. The guest was a short male police officer clad in a uniform caked in mud from the knees down. He had obviously had difficulties getting to the door from his car. His pale face was young and boyish, and his dirty blonde hair scraped into a slight quiff over an undercut. His eyes were blazing with irritation and Hunter had to suppress a smile as he responded.

The officer replied agitatedly. ‘May I come in for a chat sir?’

This struck Hunter as somehow amusing coming from such a young man, and a smile did touch his lips very briefly as he swung open the door. He responded in as friendly a tone as he could bear to afford to an officer of the law considering his recent treatment. ‘Of course officer.’

He swung the door open and gestured that the man should come inside. Seeing the surprise on the younger mans face at his state of undress, he offered up his explanation. ‘You’ll have to excuse me while I run up and put on some clothes, I was asleep when you arrived. Its been an exhausting couple of days for me.’

The officer walked past him into the hallway and made his own way to the adjoining lounge. ‘I can imagine’ He replied, trying not to look anywhere below Hunter’s waist as he passed by him uncomfortably closely.

Hunter somehow managed to suppress a smirk at the uncomfortable demeanor of the policeman who was walking into the cottage lounge. He followed him and gestured towards the grubby old sofa, indicating that perhaps he might like to sit while he waited. The younger man did not respond but did take a seat, and Hunter turned and quickly jogged up the stairs to his new bedroom. Even with his sharp hearing he could barely hear any movements from the man downstairs, and so assumed he was sitting quietly and taking in the sights of the dilapidated old cottage. Smirking to himself now that he was out of sight he grabbed a pair of jeans and tugged them on, picking up a random t-shirt and pulling that over his head too. Luckily everything he had matched to a degree and so he didn’t have to worry about looking ridiculous. He wished he had been bought socks as it was beginning to chill off as the evening drew in, but he would have to do without.

Running one hand through his hair he made his way slowly back down the stairs. Though the policeman in the sitting room gave off no obvious signs of being there on bad business, he still didn’t fancy dealing with the police. Certainly not so soon after his release.

In the lounge the blonde officer was sat looking agitated. His back was ramrod straight and his hands were clenching and unclenching in his lap. He had a notebook beside him on the sofa seat, but it had nothing written on its open pages.

Hunter stood in the doorway for a moment, unsure but attempting to look calm and self-assured. ‘Would you like a cup of something?’ He asked. ‘Tea? Coffee?’

The officer looked at him as though he’d been offered arsenic. ‘No, you’re quite all right thank you sir. I’d rather just get on with the business at hand.’

‘And what exactly is that?’ Hunter asked, feeling as though things might be about to take a turn for the worse, and knowing that if he went back to the station at that stage he wouldn’t be getting lucky again. There was no doubt that he’d be revealed as a liar, and that would put him back in the frame as the murderer they were looking for.

‘Perhaps you’d like to take a seat Mr. Johanson?’ It was phrased as a question but Hunter knew it was an order in disguise. He ambled over to the sofa and sat opposite the officer in a ragged old armchair that squatted there.

The policeman continued once Hunter had seated himself and had his full attention trained on him. He cleared his throat before beginning. ‘My name is Officer Smith and I’m here for a chat about what’s been going on recently with you Mr. Johanson. I will start by telling you that we have had no luck getting hold of your solicitor, do you know anything about that?’

Hunters mind began to race. If Audra was unreachable that meant that something must be wrong… But what? Words came pouring out of his mouth despite his inner turmoil; luckily they made more sense than what was going on inside his mind. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t tried to contact her in a while so I can’t vouch for why she isn’t answering your calls. I know she’s a busy woman though, so perhaps she’s wrapped up in a case with another of her clients?’

Smith nodded slowly. That’s what we are assuming, but she really should be more conscientious about returning calls from the police force.’

‘Is that why you’re here?’ Hunter asked ‘because you can’t get hold of her?’

‘Of course not’ Smith scoffed ‘we don’t have that much spare time on our hands down at the station! No, I’m actually here with good news for you. I’m sure you’ve not had much time to watch the news since you were released, and since we have not heard from either you or your solicitor we are guessing you are not aware of todays occurrences?’

Hunter looked quizzical, his brain still whirring about Audra.

Smith continued on without giving him time to reply. ‘During your time at the station, at some point this morning… Another murder was committed though an autopsy has not yet been performed; our coroners assure us that it happened during a time frame when it would have been impossible for you to be the culprit.

Hunters face paled and genuine concern darkened his scarred features. ‘Was it another woman?’

Smith looked coldly back at the man who had been their murder suspect just the previous day. ‘Obviously I cannot reveal details of the case, but the killing follows the profile of the previous murders. We are very certain it is the same man. There was a small amount of hair found at the scene which is not the victims, and it was also not yours Mr. Johanson.’

Hunter couldn’t think of an appropriate response. He wanted to rant and rave about how they had wasted his time, and how they had left the murderer free to kill again thanks to their incompetence. All that he managed to produce was a slight shake of his head, no words left his mouth.

Smith continued ‘Obviously this would indicate that you are not the guilty party.’ Hunter nodded dumbly as the officer continued. ‘Therefore I have come to inform you that due to evidence procured after your initial incarceration, you are now free to go about your life without further interference from us. We would like to sincerely apologise for any negative effects your arrest may have had on you.’

Hunter’s mouth twitched slightly. Negative effects?! He had been cradling his oldest friend’s dead body in his lap when they had dragged him off and questioned him. Had he been a conventional working man his life would most probably have been ruined by their allegations and questionings. Did this idiot man before him have any idea how dense he sounded?!

When no reply was forthcoming from Hunter, officer Smith cleared his throat and asked quietly ‘Sir?’

Hunter shot him a look that caused the other man to recoil. ‘Do you have any idea how damaging this could all be for me? The fact that you arrested the wrong man means nothing to gossipmongers! My entire life could be ruined!’ He wanted to scream and shout about Lucy, but knew this would be his only outlet for all the rage that had built up within him since Varulv’s murder of his oldest friend.

Officer Smith tried to keep his voice level but there was a slight tremor to his words that revealed his nervousness. Hunter was a much larger man than he and he was well aware that alone, he was vulnerable. ‘We are acutely aware of how damaging false accusations can be sir. However, as I’m sure over time you will be able to appreciate… In cases like these it is impossible to be too thorough. The murders are especially brutal and we must fully cover every possibility or we will not have done our jobs properly.’

Hunter did not even try to contain his disdain, he was furious and inside he was picturing himself ripping out the little upstart’s throat. ‘I’d like you to leave.’ He finally managed to hiss after a long, tense silence.

The other man visibly swallowed, glancing down at Hunter’s feet where he knew a tag resided beneath his jeans. ‘I’ll have to remove your tag.’

Hunter curled his lip in a snarl that luckily the officer missed. Leaning forward he pulled up the leg of his jeans and scuffed his foot forward across the floor towards the policeman, who reeked of apprehension. ‘Go ahead’ He almost dared the younger man.

Smith slid off his seat and crouched in front of the man who had seemed too likely to be a murderer. Hunter heard his heart rate accelerate as he lent forwards and fiddled with the equipment on his leg. For a moment he struggled and fumbled, and then suddenly the thing released. He tucked it into a pocket and reached back to pick up his notepad.

Hunter glowered at him, enjoying the scent of his nervousness growing.

Smith rose to his feet rapidly ‘I’ll see myself out.’ The words spilled out of his mouth so quickly they almost slurred together.

‘See that you do.’ Hunter did not stand, but simply sat and watched the other man’s hasty exit. He listened to the door close, and then the fading sounds of his sloshing footfalls as he waded through the mud along the roadside back to his car. Only once he had heard the car door close and the engine start up did Hunter move.

Rising from his seat slowly he walked to the front door and opened it. His hands repeatedly clenching into fists and then unclenching. Standing in the doorway he watched as the police car drove away, and waited until its lights faded out of sight before slowly swinging the door closed. Breathing heavily he stood just behind the door and stared blankly at its scruffy wooden panels. Leaning forward he rested his forehead on the rough wood and screwed his eyes tight shut. Rage bubbled up inside him and all of a sudden he roared in anger and frustration and sorrow. The sound was utterly inhuman; it echoed around the old building and rang in his sensitive ears. Bellowing until his throat was sore he pummeled the door with his fists, slowly sinking to the floor as tears streamed from his eyes. Only then, once the police had finished with him, and he had recovered from the exhaustion of the shock of finding Lucy could he finally properly grieve.

Crumpled in a heap on the floor he slumped against the door and let himself cry. He folded his arms tightly around his knees and lent against the creaking door. Sobs wracked his body and for a while he could do nothing more than cry.

After a while his tears began to dry up, and his chest ached from the wrenching movements of truly crying with all his heart. Slowly he lumbered to his feet, roughly drying his face with his t-shirt and slowly shuffling into the kitchen. Sniffing frequently he filled the kettle and turned on one ring on the oven top. He was not surprised that the place only had an old fashioned whistling kettle, but it did irritate him, for no reason at all.

While the kettle boiled he stared blankly out of the window above the kitchen sink into the darkness outside. He felt utterly numb, his mind clearer now that he had finally had his chance to really cry about his losses. His body ached, but he felt a cup of tea would somehow help. That was the British in him, it had been drilled into him by his grandmother when he was growing up that tea was necessary in times of sadness. With a sullen face he searched the cupboards for tea bags and sugar and was grateful to find both. Tipping sugar into a mug that had been sat on the side as if waiting for him, he dropped a tea bag onto his small mountain of sugar in the cup.  Opening the fridge he found it still empty and sighed to himself. He hated black tea, but it would have to do. So once the kettle began to whistle, he filled the mug with steaming hot water and stirred.