Hunted

“Let her be,” Dr. Cole said.

 

 

Looking up, I found her standing on the other side of the exam table, her face bearing an expression that I could only assume was a reflection of mine. She knew what I was feeling, understood the depth of sadness I felt for this young man who had suffered a senseless death for me. Because of me.

 

Does the endless parade of death, of lives cut too short, make her feel this emptiness too? Does she talk to them, uttering a few last words of comfort to their spirits?

 

Answering her sad smile with one of my own I ran my fingers through Nicholas’s hair one last time, and then drew in a deep breath through my nose. I was instantly bombarded with a thousand scents, each one with its own story to tell.

 

“Are you getting anything?” Holbrook asked.

 

“I’m not sure,” I answered slowly, struggling to pick up anything beyond the caustic stink of cleaning fluids.

 

Resettling my feet, I let the first trickles of the wolf’s energy weave through my consciousness, further heightening my senses. My vision sharpened, details shifting into stark relief, as my eyes changed to the wolf’s gold. I could hear the steady drip of a leaky faucet in the room next door and the heavy breaths of a couple going at it in a broom closet down the hall, no doubt seeking to escape the grim reality they witnessed every day for a few blessed moments.

 

Leaning in as close to the body as I could stomach, I sucked in another deep breath, letting the air roll across my tongue, tasting the scents. Sifting through the varied chemicals used to clean his body, I delved deeper, envisioned the assorted scents in my mind as a tangled web that had to be picked apart to reveal each strand.

 

It was faint at first, like the barely remembered fragments of a dream. Closing my eyes I drew another breath, zeroing in on the hot copper and spice smell that I associated with my wolf’s scent. Samson’s was different from mine, it held a sour note, somehow managing to hint at the wrongness in his mind. The longer I focused on it the stronger the scent became, searing itself into my memory, never to be forgotten.

 

“It’s him,” I said, sure of my words as I opened my eyes. “It’s Samson.”

 

Whatever Dr. Cole saw in my face when I raised my head caused an expression of startled surprise to ripple across her features, her eyes widening.

 

Releasing the wolf’s energy, I willed her to sink back down into the dark places inside. For a moment I felt as if my head had been stuffed with cotton, the room appearing dimmer and my hearing muffled as I adjusted to the loss of her heightened senses.

 

“You’re sure?” Holbrook asked, tapping out a quick message on his cell phone.

 

“Positive. It was Samson alright. He’s getting closer.”

 

“Shit,” he hissed, finishing typing out the message and then lifting the phone to his ear. “Marge? It’s Holbrook. I need to speak to Santos. It’s urgent.”

 

“Thanks, Doc,” I said, smiling sadly at Dr. Cole as Holbrook stalked out into the hallway, irritation echoing in his footsteps.

 

***

 

 

I was still shaken when we got back to the hotel, the grimness of it all weighing heavily on my shoulders. Ignoring the curious looks from the hotel staff and guests as I was herded through the lobby by my entourage, I gratefully stepped into the quiet of the elevator, closing my eyes and resting my head back against the cool mirrored wall.

 

I was no stranger to death, or the brutality that one man can exact upon another, but it hadn’t made it any easier to look at the young man laid out in Dr. Cole’s morgue. The clinical, emotionless atmosphere had almost made it harder to process his death, with no one there to mourn his passing except Holbrook, the doctor, and me. Holbrook and Dr. Cole were good people, dedicated to their work, but they were jaded towards the death of innocents. They didn’t feel it in the same visceral way I did. Or maybe they did, and were just better at hiding it.

 

Opening my eyes just enough to watch the elevator’s other occupants, I studied Holbrook. At first glance he appeared unaffected by our little jaunt into Death’s domain, but the flexing muscle in his jaw and the tightness around his eyes hinted at the anger and sadness that warred within him.

 

I guess it does get to him too.

 

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