When Henry was little, he remembered hunting with his father. His father always said, "Think like what you're hunting. If you're hunting a deer, be a deer. What would you like to eat? Where is a good place to sleep? How would you travel between... "
Henry had used that technique many times before. A young child lost in the woods, a drunk trying to hide after a car wreck, a series of burglaries at some lake cabins, it had always worked. But how do you understand insanity without becoming insane yourself? Insane. Insane! Tom Peterson! Tom Peterson was insane. Lori Waithe and James Makinen were the rocks that Tom dashed his soul upon in his single-minded attempt to destroy them. They had not been phased by his assault. Their indifference had hurt him even more then his failure to harm them. He still wanted to see them destroyed.
The killer had wanted to destroy them as well. He had failed. It would burn in him. He would try again.
Henry called. "Hi, Mr. Waithe. I would like to talk to your daughter or James ... Not there now ... Uhh huh. When will they be back? No, no, nothing wrong ... Just need to talk to them ... Her apartment ... Thank you ... talk to you later."
For the first time in days, Henry felt he had a handle on the situation. He hummed while he drove.
* * * *
Billy had been rocking in the same chair for three days. The back corner of the room where he sat had the stale musty smell of a confined animal. Every time he returned to the corner after eating or going to the bathroom, he would inhale deeply the smell. He would imagine that a component of the smell was the decaying flesh of the jawbone that he carried. Frank's jaw had become his second most important trophy, after the portion of Julie's rib.
His pickup was hidden in the woods a quarter mile from where he was now waiting. In order to preserve his other trophies, he had carried his twenty-quart cooler through the thick scrub brush surrounding the town to the apartment. By the time he had placed his prizes in the refrigerator, he was covered with scratches and little flakes of blood. The sting of sweat dripping into his open cuts was a delicious inducement for his plans. Unlike what had happened to Pike, he hoped that the next victim would be lucid during his death.
A car finally pulled up to his ambush site. From his vantage point in the corner of the room, he was able to see who it was. He picked up an axe he had placed next to the chair and stood silently in the shadows of the room.
The key rattled the door. Steps traveled across the room. Finally, they saw each other.
Billy was filthy, unshaven, smelly, and standing in the shadows with an upraised axe. There should have been terror, screams or escape coming from the victim. Instead, calm eyes dissected his appearance and a soft voice said, "James, Billy finally showed up."
The calm eyes filled his vision. For the first time since his father's beatings, Billy felt physical terror. The eyes moved aside replaced by an even more assured pair. Billy had trouble catching his breath. With a scream of anguish he attacked, swinging his axe.
Beyond all reason the calm eyes locked on his. Somehow the swinging axe stopped its forward motion. Numbness traveled down his arm. Billy heard the axe rattle to the floor. He stepped forward and a powerful blow threw him into the wall. He tried another swing with his fist and found himself on the floor.
He looked up and saw the two sets of calm eyes watching him. He felt the broken jaw bone gouging his leg where he fell on it. He felt for the rib. He got up from the floor, clutching his talisman. With all of his strength, he tried to move against those eyes. Instead he whirled, diving through the window. Landing in a heap in the postage stamp sized front lawn he picked himself up. Looking through the broken window, he found the eyes still watching him. With a scream, he turned to run.
Deputy Sheriff Henry Hakanen was standing there. His gun was out, pointed directly at his head. Billy wanted to turn but he felt those eyes watching. With another scream, he lunged at Henry. Billy watched the flash of light come from the muzzle of the gun. He felt a blow, then his face was on the ground. Grass stubble scratched his face. His ears rang from the explosion. As darkness came, he finally lost the sense of being watched by those eyes but then other eyes started to examine him, Julie, the unknown driver, Jenny, the cop ... He tried to escape in the blackness but the eyes followed.
Henry was shaken. He had never before killed a man. What the hell happened? Billy had been crazed with fear. He looked up at the apartment and saw James and Lori. He saw the two touch hands, love. He felt good watching them but his eyes then turned to the body at his feet. What had happened?
Henry called for backup. When the deputies started to arrive, he went inside to interview James and Lori. He tried to do a thorough interview, but the two kept sneaking looks at each other. Henry felt like a voyeur. Finally, he called Jeffrey to come and take them home.
James sat on the Waithe's couch. Its softness encased him like an old friend. He had stumbled into the home barely able to keep his feet under him. The energy surge that had coursed through his body during the confrontation with Billy had finally subsided. His muscles felt weak and rubbery. He must have been hyperventilating because he felt his balance go with every deep breath.
He heard in the background Lori and her father talking but didn't have the presence of mind to understand their conversation. His mind continually played back the confrontation with Billy.
He followed Lori into her apartment, watching the sway of her body. He knew something was wrong when she stopped. He saw her muscles tense through her clothes. Her voice telling him that Billy was there was anticlimactic.
He stepped forward. He saw his left hand in slow motion brush Lori's shoulder and move her aside. There was no fear but just emptiness as the wild-eyed Billy attacked. He stepped inside Billy's swing, blocking it with a speed block against the nerve center in the forearm. The axe went flying, with Billy staggering backwards. Billy lunged again and this time James delivered a snap kick to the chest. Billy bounced away from the blow and was flattened into the wall. During the replay of what had happened, Jim realized that he couldn't remember any sound of the struggle, no clanging of the axe on the floor, no gasping for air. The eerie silence brought back the memory of each move and countermove with a surreal clarity.
Billy's mouth opened in some unknown utterance and he lunged again.
This time James caught his outstretched arm with his left hand. He pivoted on his center of gravity, bringing his right hand behind Billy's back. The Aikido throw was perfectly timed and Billy flew into the far wall and slid to the floor. For the first time since Billy started his attack, Jim saw Lori. He stepped to her, brushing her hand with his fingertips. They watched Billy struggle to rise. When he finally got to his feet, Billy's crazed looks had changed to fear. He jumped through the window.
Jim and Lori held hands as Billy turned to attack Henry. The sound of Henry's gunshot broke the silence of Jim's recall. He saw again the hair fly up as the bullet passed through Billy's head. His hand tightened its grip on the couch's armrest. In slow steps, Jim relaxed his grip finger by finger. He rubbed the feeling back into his cramped fingers as he relived the last few twitches of Billy's dying body.
And then the scene played back again, and again, and again...
Jim finally forgot when he felt his head being eased upon a soft shoulder by gentle hands.
* * * *
_The solitary light eases back the darkness. The hands silently turn over a card._
_A dark-cloaked man stands, head bowed. At his feet, three cups are spilled. Behind him are two cups still standing. In front of the man is a small stream. There is a bridge with a small keep on the other side._