The Monster Hunter Ch. 21-30

Over and over, the motorcade would pull up in front of a building. Bodyguards would pile out of the vehicles to establish a perimeter, escort their charge inside, and drive off. Then the drivers would pull up, the team would move them into the cars, and they would drive off again. They would return to the staging point where Michael would lead a critique, followed by instructors adding what they saw.

After lunch, the team was at it again, but this time with opposition. Instructors started simple, with a single armed attacker, then a sniper. By the end of the day, the team was defending against a half-dozen armed instructors with vehicles and RPG's.

Michael was exhausted by the time dinner ended, and he retired to his room. Picking up his phone as he lay freshly showered and naked on his bed, he texted Amber and asked her to call when she was on break from her furniture sales job. He then called Angel, who caught him up on her current status. "Free vacation," he told her. "Use the time to work with your lawyer because the hearing is the key."

"I will," his sister replied. "I'm staying with Daniel for a few days, and there's a club ride on Saturday afternoon we're going on."

"Where are you going?"

"Across to the Eastern Shore to Denton, then the scenic route on Highway 16 southwest to Taylor's Island. There's a floating bar down there with live music, and it's a fast run back on 50 late at night."

"Damn, that sounds like fun."

"What about you? When do you ship out?"

"A week from Sunday. We have this weekend off, though. I've got a call in with Amber."

"She's a nice kid. Barely legal for an old man like you, but nice." Angel couldn't keep the amusement out of her voice.

"She's of drinking age, but I know what you mean. I don't know if a college kid like that will wait around for a guy like me."

"It depends on how good the dicking is," Angel teased. "You can't keep up with college boys?"

"Keeping it up isn't the problem. Amber's young and innocent, and that makes it harder for me to get close to her. There are things I've seen that I can't explain to her, but I could with someone closer to my age."

"Some things you'll never be able to explain unless the person has seen them too. I wouldn't worry about it, Michael. You'll be overseas for a few weeks, and if there's enough attraction, she'll wait for you."

His phone beeped with another call. "That's my girl now. I'll talk to you tomorrow night, Angel. I love you."

"Love you, bro."

He switched over to the other call. "Hey, Amber, how's your night?"

"Slow. Only one sale today, and I worked my ass off to get that." They talked for ten minutes before she asked him his plans; she'd traded days and had the whole weekend off. "Are you coming this way?"

"Why don't I get you a ticket so you can fly down here? I can pick you up in Myrtle Beach, and we can stay at a hotel on the beach."

"Could we?"

"If you can get a ride to Baltimore-Washington International, I'll take care of the rest." He found her a flight leaving at five and arrived at ten after a stop in Charlotte, then booked a hotel. He called her back with the information. "We're all set."

"What should I bring?"

"Nothing much, Amber. We're going to relax and have fun."

That wasn't the case for the rest of Michael's week, as the instructors pushed them hard to be ready for their job. He was exhausted by the time he left Sumter on Friday after dinner. The weather was warm, and the ride to Myrtle Beach was fast. It was the off-season for golfers, so it wasn't that crowded. He picked Amber up from the airport.

Michael thought Amber took his 'nothing much' comment to heart as he watched her walk out. She was wearing sneakers, Daisy Dukes, and a crop-top T-shirt that showed off her toned abs and her navel piercing. A small backpack carried the rest.

They drove up the beach to the Marriott Myrtle Beach Resort and Spa, checking in and going to their ocean view room. "This is beautiful," Amber said as she opened the door to the deck overlooking the beach.

"It sure is," Michael said from the doorway. He turned the lights back off and started to strip; Amber was faster and was on her knees in front of him as soon as his cock sprang free. "God, yes," he said as she swallowed his length.

"I missed this, too," she told him. He grabbed her and tossed her on the bed, diving between her legs before she could close them. She screamed as he licked her to a fast orgasm, then she moved around to get them in a side-by-side sixty-nine. Once she'd taken his edge off, she made him hard again and rode him reverse cowgirl style for ten minutes and two orgasms. The ocean breeze cooled them off after she fell into his arms, still quivering from the powerful shared climax.

It took a few minutes before she'd recovered enough to get up to use the bathroom. They showered together and went back to bed. "We're going to have a lot of fun," she said as she unpacked her bag.

They did. The resort was on the beach, plus it had a large pool area and a spa. They would have sex, get a massage, have sex, go to the pool, have sex, eat lunch, have sex, nap, and so on through the whole of Saturday. Their last round was in the shower after a sunset walk on the beach.

Michael came out of the bathroom first, taking out a bottle of orange juice and water from the fridge. Going to his bag, he withdrew a small packet of powder and poured it into the juice bottle. Shaking it up, he sat on the bed and handed it to her when she came out. "Thanks, I'm so thirsty from those beers earlier," she said. She drained the juice and snuggled into his shoulder. "Today was so much fun, but someone can't keep up," she said as she played with his limp member.

"He's not used to this pace of play," Michael said. "Tomorrow, we can sleep in, get a big brunch, and I'll drop you at the airport."

They watched the news for a few minutes before Amber let out a big yawn. "That sun wiped me out," she said.

"Sleep," Michael replied. He waited a few more minutes to make sure the sleeping pills had taken effect, then got out of bed and changed into black jeans, boots, and a black long-sleeve T-shirt. Michael put on a floppy beach hat to cover his face and walked down the stairs to a side door, keeping his head down to avoid the cameras. A few minutes later, he was driving out of the parking lot and into the night.

Ch. 26

Father William Hogan drove through the humid night past the Charleston docks, heading for the address he'd received. The sixty-two-year-old priest knew he was taking a chance; the Church had moved him from the Milwaukee diocese after an allegation of inappropriate sexual contact with a boy in 1982. He'd since moved to Los Angeles, Kansas City, Atlanta, New York, and now Charleston, where he had been for five years.

Prayer and counseling couldn't rid him of the compulsions he kept buried. Late at night, he met with other pedophiles on the dark web, viewing and trading photographs of the young boys that excited him. The people in the chat rooms and exchanges were wary; law enforcement was always a threat, and transfer or possession of these images was a Federal offense. He met Mr. Blue, a codename, on one of these boards. Mr. Blue liked to post live videos of his conquests, and tonight, he'd invited Mr. Newkirk to 'break-in' one of his new boys.

William adjusted his hardening cock under his cargo shorts as he made the turn into an industrial area. It was an older section of town; most businesses had moved elsewhere, and the buildings were in disrepair. Broken windows, graffiti, and for sale signs were everywhere. He followed his GPS to a concrete-block building with a faded sign reading "Brewton Plumbing Supply." The gate was open, and he parked in front of the building.

Father Hogan was nervous as he looked around. He didn't see any signs of life, but Mr. Blue had warned him he couldn't do anything around his wife and family. Two in the morning on a Saturday night in front of an abandoned building? This better not be a trap, he thought.

"Mr. Newkirk," a voice said inside the building. William could see a dim light in the background behind the cracked-open door.

"Mr. Blue."

"Come in."

The door squeaked as it opened, and William walked up the step to the door. His eyes went wide as he stepped inside; it was not because the man was not Mr. Blue. It was because the stranger grabbed him from behind and was holding a foul-smelling cloth over his mouth and nose. "Oh, shit," was all he thought before he lost consciousness.

When he woke up, he couldn't move, and he couldn't open his eyes. He was uncomfortable, as he was lying on a narrow piece of wood with his hands spread wide above shoulder height. Water was splashing over his cloth-covered face, making him choke as it cut off his breath. In a panic, he started to cough and get away from it. Finally, his captor took the cloth away. "Welcome back, Father William," the voice said. "Don't bother trying to look at me; I used superglue to hold your eyelids shut."

"What do you want?"

"You've been a naughty boy, haven't you, Father? You've seduced and abused young boys for over four decades now, and you thought you got away with it. You didn't."

William felt something cold and pointed touch his left wrist, right before it exploded in pain. He screamed as the landscape spike penetrated through his flesh where the radius and ulna connected, continuing into the soft slab of wood below him. Three more hammer blows sent unbelievable pain up his arm. "Please, for God's sake, STOP!"

"I used to pray to God to save me, and he didn't. God made me into what I am now."

Father William felt the cold steel on his right wrist and struggled to get away from what was coming, but it was futile. His hands were tied tightly to the wood, and he couldn't move them. He heard the whoosh of air as the hammer came down, right before his right arm exploded in pain. Three more blows before the hammer clanged on the floor. He was crying, as the pain was more than he could have imagined.

"Do you know who I am yet, Father Hogan?" He slapped him with a gloved hand, snapping him out of the brain fog. "Say my name."

"You're the Monster Hunter."

"I'm the avenging angel who will make you suffer untold agony for your sins," he replied. "You are not the only person who requires my justice. You will tell me all you know. I have to leave in an hour; the more you tell me, the less time you'll spend in unspeakable agony. It's your choice."

It turned out the Father had learned a lot over the past four decades. He gave up names, addresses, emails, passwords to websites and chat rooms, and where he hid his photos. The Monster Hunter recorded the information over the next thirty-five minutes; he'd go back and ask questions again to see if he got a different answer. Hesitation and lies ended with the impact of the heavy hammer on a finger or toe.

The Monster Hunter stopped talking, and he felt the steel pressing on the instep of his left shoe. "NO, PLEASE GOD NO!" He screamed as the spike penetrated his foot, and again with every hammer blow after.

"You know why crucifixion was such a feared punishment under Roman rule, don't you?"

"I'm a Priest, damn you! Of course, I know!"

His tormentor didn't respond; instead, William and the cross he was attached to started to rise into the air. The movement caused his weight to move to the three points that connected him to the timbers, causing him to scream again until the motion stopped. He could feel himself spinning in the air as he hung from his arms. "The word 'excruciating' literally means 'out of the cross.' The condemned man's weight hung from his arms; this pulled on the spikes, as you are feeling now. Your entire weight pulls your chest apart, making it more difficult for you to inflate your lungs. Of course, you can breathe if you take the weight off your arms by pushing up with your leg, but that transfers the pain to your feet. In the meantime, fluids build up in your lungs and around your heart. Condemned men could last for hours, even days of agony before finally suffocating to death."

"Oh God, please, kill me now!"

"I think not," the Monster Hunter replied. "Your suffering will focus your prayers of repentance and will be a lesson to others. Maybe God will have mercy on the soul of a serial child rapist?"

"God's forgiveness is mine for the asking."

"I hope not. You deserve an eternity in the depths of hell for all you have done."

The Monster Hunter walked out of the abandoned building, closing the door on the screams coming from within.

His body would be found two days later after an anonymous call to the Charleston Homicide unit. The detectives took one look at the scene and called the FBI office. Six hours and an FBI jet flight later, the leader and eight agents of the Monster Hunter Task Force took over the investigation.

"Jesus," Special Agent Mark Prentice said as the group walked into the building from one of the loading docks. The killer did not use that entrance, but the group stayed behind the tape erected by the crime scene people still working there. Only the lead Homicide detective and the local FBI senior agent accompanied them. No one else wanted to be around, as the flies and the smells were sickening. A hot room filled with rotting flesh, blood, vomit, urine, and feces was an effective deterrent to onlookers.

"Jesus was wrongly convicted," Ken replied. "The thieves admitted their guilt."

"Cut the chatter," Supervisory Agent Dan Robinson said. "Anyone have any questions for the detective?" The group discussed the 911 call made to a detective and not on a recorded line and did not have caller ID. The caller passed on two pieces of information: the victim's location and the location of the hidden cache of photographs Father Hogan hid in his quarters. A search warrant located his child pornography. "Our Task Force will need electronic copies of everything," Dan told the detective. "Were there any traffic cameras, surveillance cameras, or anything else in the area?"

"We're looking, but I'm not hopeful. You probably saw how depressed this area is; most of the properties are not maintained."

"Get anything you can find within six blocks; maybe we'll get lucky. What is the time of death?"

"Saturday night to Sunday morning. The Medical Examiner said he might have been hanging there for hours before he died."

"Let's go." They headed back outside. "Ken, find out where Angel's brother, Michael, was this weekend." He picked up his phone and dialed a number. "Mark? Get ahold of Angel. Find out where she was from Saturday afternoon until now, and see who backs up her alibi. Call me when you know." He looked at the faces of his people; none would believe that Angel could have done this.

Ch. 27

Angel spent the weekend with Das D, finally returning home Monday morning after he left for work. She didn't see a search warrant or any evidence someone had been inside as she set her purse down on the table. Angel showered and got ready for bed; sleep had not been a priority during the long stretches Daniel was in bed with her. She was sore, sated, and happy.

Their relationship was different now that love was involved. Neither had said the three words yet, but it was there. Daniel was inside the defenses she'd built to protect her heart, and she liked it. He didn't push to know more, but he listened without judgment when she revealed something new. He was smart, caring, good-looking, and gave her a righteous dicking in bed. His ex-wife was a fool to leave him.

Angel checked her phone for messages one last time before going to sleep. No messages from work; she was still on paid administrative leave. It was frustrating being in limbo, but her lawyer warned her this would take time. Once the FBI figured out what they wanted to do, they'd have to schedule the hearing. In the meantime, he had requested and received a copy of her personnel file so he could begin preparing her defense.

She was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. Waking at two in the afternoon, Angel spent the rest of the day cleaning the house and the hot tub. She did her strength workout, then ordered Thai food and binge-watched 'Arrow' on Netflix until well after midnight.

She slept in until nine on Tuesday morning, and still nothing from the office. Angel knew that she wouldn't get back to work until they had cleared both her and her brother of involvement in the killings. She grabbed a notebook and her phone, writing down all the dates and times in one column. The second column was labeled "Angel" and the third "Michael."

Angel opened her phone and opened the calendar app. She had it synced to her work computer, so it showed all of the meetings and events in the past. Going to each date, Angel wrote down what her calendar said. Later she could go back and find corroborating witnesses or evidence.

Michael's activities were tougher to find. She looked back to their text messages and emails for clues, finding times he was out of the country or on training assignments. She became frustrated when she could only find information on half of the killings. Her stomach growled, so she made lunch before continuing. By one o'clock, she'd exhausted both her patience and her available information. Angel needed to burn off some energy and think.

She changed into her running clothes and heading out to run the trails. As an FBI agent, she could protect herself from attackers with a small Kel-Tec pistol and her badge while she ran. Without a badge, she had no carry permit. Angel placed a folding knife, house key, and phone in her pockets before locking up and began to stretch by the garage.

It was a cloudy and cool day with rain likely by dinnertime as she set off towards the paved bike path that wound along Rock Creek from the DC boundary to a lake northwest of town. The entire trail was 18.6 miles long, but she joined it a mile and a half from the northern end. She turned right and jogged the long way.

The trail wasn't as crowded as morning and evening in the middle of the day, and the bike commuters weren't out. Angel settled into a good pace as her body loosened up, the trail taking her through woods and over hills between the suburban sprawl. Unlike most of the runners, she didn't have earbuds in playing music at high volume. The young women on the trail were oblivious of their surroundings in what could be a dangerous situation. "Never lose focus on your surroundings" had been drilled into her as a child, and she would never be defenseless. Angel ran in silence, the noises around her competing only with her breathing and the sound of her feet.

It was about forty minutes later when she reached the Ireland Trail. Turning left, she followed it over Rock Creek and looped back around to meet up with the Rock Creek Trail near the underpass of Interstate 495. She'd done six miles, and her lack of workouts outside of bed was catching up with her.

Angel was startled when a Golden Retriever crossed the trail in front of her. He was carrying a sneaker in its mouth.

And the sneaker was attached to part of a leg.

"FUCK," she said as she took a second look. "Come here, boy! Come on!" The dog stopped and turned towards her, holding the grisly toy in his mouth. Angel put her hands on her knees and kept encouraging him, and soon he trotted up to her and dropped the leg at her feet. "That's a good boy," she said as she grabbed his collar. Angel pulled him away from the evidence and told him to sit, which he did. Taking out her cellphone, she hit the quick dial and speakerphone.

"911, what is your emergency," the dispatcher said.

"This is FBI Special Agent Angel Johnson from the Washington field office," she replied. "I'm on the Rock Creek trail, about three hundred meters west of where Jones Mill Road crosses under the Beltway. I have a dog here who was carrying a shoe with part of the leg attached."