Dark Side of the Cloth by Brooklyn Cross
Dean stayed low and crept down the side of the steep and twisted trail toward the small cabin. Small loose pebbles chased him down the hill as he neared the bottom. Pausing in the surrounding shadows, he surveyed the darkness. The man he was after walked past the warm glow of the small window and disappeared, but the sound of a television turning on could just be heard.
Breaking from the cover of the trees, he sprinted for the late-model rust-bucket of a pick-up truck and slid underneath. Pulling the pliers from the small pack, he made a few alterations that would hinder the truck ‘dead in the water.’
The bang of the cabin door had him sliding down as far as he could to avoid being seen. The dirty work boots with the laces undone crunched past his hiding spot and headed toward the back of the cabin. He lost sight of the man but could hear the bang of yet another wooden door and knew he’d gone into the outhouse. He had to admit that he’d contemplated killing him in the outhouse and shoving his remains in the hole to rot. It oddly seemed fitting, but again too quick, too easy. On the bright side, the man wouldn’t have a shit while being tortured, so the night was indeed looking up.
Dean rolled out from under the truck and gauged the surroundings. The place was right out of a horror movie, and the dimming light casting shadows made the house scream “home of a serial killer.” It was the kind of place that even if you were starving and freezing to death out here in the woods, you’d seriously consider taking your chances in the wilderness. All it needed was a crazy woman with a sledgehammer inside and a guy tied to the bed to complete the picture.
Dean moved swiftly and silently across the open space and slipped inside the little cottage, and took the opportunity to snoop around. He pulled open cupboards and the closet door, but he found what he was looking for under the television. He gripped the old-style VHS tape and stared at the label. A girl’s name was scribbled across it along with a date. He picked out another one, and it too had a girl’s name and date written on its label. He flashed his small penlight into the dark space, and his teeth ground together as he caught the name, Raquel Jacobs. He placed the tape back and decided he’d deal with this later.
Dean grabbed the only kitchen chair in the place over in front of the fire and had a seat facing the door. He checked his watch as the sound of crunching feet neared the door. There was an unceremonious belch just before the door handle rattled.
Right on time.
Dean pulled the knife from his leg sheath, flicking it in the air to hold it by the blade. Come on, little piggy. As soon as the guy spotted him, this beautiful moment of confusion entered the man’s eyes. He froze, trying to gauge how his night had gone from normal to fucked.
“Hello, Simon,” he said and let the blade fly.
“What the fuck!” Simon swore and jumped back out of the door as the blade lodged in the wooden door frame beside his face.
Dean calmly pulled the knife from the wood as he wandered to the door frame and leaned against it to watch the show. As expected, the guy ran for his truck, and Dean smirked as the guy jumped in. He heard swearing as the motor whined and sputtered but wouldn’t turn over. The man leapt back out of the truck and left the door open as he sprinted for the woods and straight for the hidden garage. Dean started a slow lope into the night after his prey.
“Sexy, activate night vision,” he said flicked the little lens down over his eye.
“Night vision activated.”
The lens flickered, and Dean could see the man veering through the trees. His pace was labored with the darkness. Dean stopped and leaned against a tree as the man lost his sense of direction and ran in a circle. Unbelievable. Dean aimed and fired his gun, the bullet filleting the bark off a tree near the guy’s head. He shot a few more times to veer the guy back on course.
Dean stalked his prey, his speed much better than the older and out-of-shape male. He kept having to slow to a walk not to get too close. Nearing the location where he wanted him to make a sharp turn, he pulled the pin from a flashbang and threw it to the right of the trail. Using his forearm, he covered his face as it went off. Just like any other animal running from its predator, the man let out a sharp yell of fear as he veered off his course.
Dean kept his distance but made his presence known as he continued to herd the man in the direction he wanted him to go. Simon stopped and grabbed a tree, his breathing heavy. Dean let him rest. They still had a ways to go. Dean had to admit that he was shocked Simon had run this long.
Not wanting Simon to get too comfortable, Dean pulled his gun up and fired. The bullet slammed into the tree nearest his prey, pieces of bark and ice sprayed Simon. The guy ducked, covering his head, and then he sprinted off again, more labored this time. There was a hitch in Simon’s gate, a bad knee Dean suspected with the way he favored the leg.
Simon was right on course now, following the path Dean had taken the time to create to make sure Simon ran into his waiting trap.
Dean pulled up and waited with anticipation. As soon as Simon let out a blood-curdling scream, Dean smiled wide. He watched in amusement as one of the carefully placed snares cinched tight around Simon’s leg. Dean let out a low chuckle as the guy was dragged across the rough terrain, smacking into small saplings and over frozen rocks before finally being hoisted upside down in the air. Some nights were just more fun than others.
Dean stepped over the hidden bear trap that Simon had narrowly missed and wandered toward the swinging slab of meat.
“Who the fuck are you?” The hefty, older man gasped and then coughed. His plaid shirt was bunched up around his neck and showed off his pale pot belly and hairy chest. Dean could smell that this man hadn’t showered in a long time. The stench of old sweat, grime, and now piss permeated the air.
“Who I am is of no consequence. What I want is to have a conversation, little piggy, but if you don’t answer my questions…” He grabbed the guy by his thinning hair and heaved him up to stare him in the eyes. “I will make you squeal, just like I made your brother scream.”
Simon’s eyes widened as his words sunk in. “What did you do to my brother?”
“Don’t worry. He is alive. Just a few pounds lighter.” Dean sneered.
“I’m not like my brother.”
Dean knelt so he could look Simon in the eyes. “Oh, I know, you are far, far worse.”
The slow-burning rage that lived under the surface of his skin coursed through his veins. Reaching back with all his might, he let his fist fly, and the man went limp as he knocked the fucker out.
Time to have some fun.